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Tetchy, my ass.
Pete got up and went to the fridge to grab a beer, gifting us all with the sight of a little too much butt crack. When he turned back around, he said, “Elmer’s alright. Can’t kiss worth shit, but his other oral skills make up for it.”
He cracked open a can of beer and meandered out of the kitchen toward the ball game playing in the family room like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb.
The rest of us stared after him in shock.
“Did he…?” I began faintly.
“My stars,” Great-Aunt Selma whispered. “My Pete’s been moved by the power of the Stuffin’. Ain’t that somethin’?”
“Oh, for the love of— If Pete’s gay, it’s got nothing to do with the Stuffin’,” I grumbled.
“I don’t know,” Alana said, a thread of laughter in her voice. “I’m no expert, but I think it might have something to do with that.”
I shot her a dirty look.
My mom clasped a hand to her décolletage. “Well, I think it’s great. I wonder if Cindy Ann’s put him on her list of eligible LGBTQ bachelors.”
“Probably.” Alana reached over and grabbed the dough sliver Pete discarded and dropped it in her own mouth. “Please tell me y’all know Pete’s hooking up with Mr. Pascal from the library. It’s been going on for like… weeks.”
Great-Aunt Selma and I gave Alana identical shocked-church-lady stares, which was lowering.
“It has?” Selma demanded.
Alana smirked. “Yep. Pretty sure Pete’s bi, not gay. He was still seeing Mayu Yamada there for a while. I’m low-key suspicious he was dating them both together at one point, although I don’t think Mr. Pascal’s into women.”
Selma gasped. “Cheating? My grandson? Now, that I do not hold with. Pete will be hearing about this on the way home, you’d best believe.”
“Actually, open relationships are—” Alana began, but I slashed a finger across my throat before she could serve up an impromptu lesson in polyamory.
“Not a thing we’ll be talking about today,” I finished. I gave Selma a smile. “Especially since it’s Stuffin’ day, right? But your holiday centerpiece, on the other hand… How’s that coming along?”
Great-Aunt Selma’s face lit up in excitement as she described the various gourds and dried corn stalks she’d sourced for her decor.
The knowing grin my mother shot me had a tinge of pride in it that made me feel smug… for about twenty minutes, until Selma remembered there was something much more interesting to talk about than cornucopias.
“But enough about my mums and Pete’s revelations. What happened with the turkey-Nutter, Hunter? And how’d Amos finally get him back to town, anyway? Roberta overheard Cindy Ann saying Junior has some kind of big-shot job up in Chicago. I figured that’s why he never came around anymore.”
“I guess so. Fancy office job in logistics and distribution,” I said. “Distribution means…” I realized I was quoting Charlie and forced myself to stop. “Er. Anyway. Sounds boring, but he seems to like it.”
My mom made a disapproving noise. “Just because you can’t think of anything worse than being stuck inside all day doesn’t mean it isn’t a good job for the man. I’m sure he loves it as much as you love your plants.”
I thought back to his reaction when he’d defended his job. “I don’t think he loves it,” I said slowly. “Not all of it, anyway. He might be proud of it, but that’s not the same thing. Anyway.” I shrugged. “None of my business.”
“Hunter Jackson.” My mother put down her pastry whisk and faced me with a glare. “Now, you know I’m not one to involve myself in my children’s lives—”
“You’re not? I mean… no! No, you’re definitely not,” I agreed swiftly when she set her hands on her hips. “Never in a million years.”
She nodded, accepting this. “But you and Junior Nutter have always been friends, so you just stow that attitude right this minute. I bet Junior’s job is stable, and stability’s important when you’re living in a big city.”
“Or even if you’re not,” Selma interjected. “Life wasn’t all that easy for Junior and Katie-Bird after his daddy left. If the Nutters didn’t own half the land around here and Amos hadn’t made sure the two of them had a place to live, well…” She shook her head.
I frowned. Charlie and I had never talked about that stuff back when we were kids. My own parents had experienced rough years here and there, when a crop didn’t perform well or market prices went down, but I’d never worried much about having everything I needed or even about finding odd jobs to afford the things I wanted. Looking at it as an adult, though, it was easy to see how a kid like Charlie might not have seen the Thicket as a land of opportunity… and why he might be so proud of his big Chicago job today.
