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“I say take a trip there already, Sadie,” Mom says. “Might as well. Your Dad and I had a great time when we visited Freddy and Courtney. Very fun town and has one helluva skyline, Geesh. Don’t mind your father. He’s just a little uptight running around here.” Mom laughs.
I give her a smile and mouth the words “I Love You” to her. She does the same to me. Dad’s got quite the temper. He’s not a dangerous man, but he’ll throw a grown-man tantrum or two. He blames it on his upbringing, and I’m sure that has something to do with it.
“Where’s Savannah?” I ask, wondering where my little sister ran off to.
“She’s picking up some detergent for me,” Mom answers.
“Did she take the truck or walk to Martha’s store?”
“Martha’s. Why? Did you need something?”
“Just wondering. Want to make sure she cleans as much as I do,” I tease.
“Sadie, you’ve been in your room all day.” Mom scoffs.
I shrug, catching my reflection in the mirror above the console table by the front door. My long auburn hair looks dynamic against my kelly-green summer dress, and my red lips are the muddied color of dying roses. I wasn’t sure about this dress. I thought it’d only make me look paler, but surprisingly it’s sort of stunning. I could be in an ad, like an Old Navy ad, not quite Calvin Klein.
“I look too good to be stuck in this small town.” I joke.
“So, what’s your exit plan?” Dad chuckles.
I turned twenty-five last week and told myself this would be my last year at home. I never went to college, never been out of this state…well, I’ve been to Indiana and Michigan, but one could argue that those states are extensions of this one. Well, kind of.
“Thinking of working at “Nightingale’s.””
“Hmm. The restaurant that brings in out-of-towners?” Mom slides the seasoned chicken into the fridge to marinate.
“Yes. I need to work on my people skills, Mom. It’s one thing to be alive and outgoing in this town, but out in the rest of the world, I don’t want to be so reserved.”
“That’s a beautiful trait. Being reserved is protection for your spirit. Didn’t you share something like that with me once?” Dad asks Mom.
Uncertain, she shrugs and says, “Maybe.”
Dad is literally fluffing the pillows, and I want to laugh so bad.
“Well, maybe it’s a beautiful trait for a small-town hermit,” I say, “but that’s not what I’m going for.”
“What are you going for, Sadie?”
“You know, I want to travel and see the world, Dad. Maybe blog about it.” Still looking at myself in the mirror, I fix a couple of loose strands.
“Freddy would be a good person to ask about that,” Dad replies.
“Freddy. Freddy. Freddy. He has all the answers.” I tease, and they ignore it.
I don’t think they have any clue of how much I research. I have six possible Chicago neighborhoods in mind that I wouldn’t mind moving to. Still, there are probably only two of them I could imagine myself affording. I’m an avid follower of over twenty vloggers from the Windy City, ten from Detroit, and about five from Kansas City, Missouri.
If I go anywhere, I know it’s best to be close enough to my family. They are Hillpike, Illinois lifers. I’m okay with that. There’s something special about small towns. An underlying loyalty we share with each other. It’s just that most of my peers are getting married and having kids. Even though I desire that, I’d rather explore life first if I can. But since that takes money, I’ll have to find a good job, if not a steady career.
When you factor all that in, motherhood and marriage may never come to be. Oh, well. As they say, “No one can have it all.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Dad says.
He’s staring at a large white SUV coming down our dirt drive. I glance at the clock. It’s fifteen past five in the evening. We were all under the impression we’d be having a late dinner. Freddy was supposed to arrive after seven. Looks like he’s here now.
Dad pulls his flip phone out of his back jeans pocket. Shaking his head, he grimaces and slurs, “Fuck. Can’t keep my phone on silent. He texted me an hour ago saying he’d be here earlier.”
“The house looks great, Dad. Nothing to worry about.” I don’t think my reassurance helps, but I’m not lying.
