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For as much as some things in the Thicket had changed while I was gone, the essential truths about life here hadn’t and probably never would… and that was more comforting than I’d imagined.
“Who else is going to be there tonight?” I asked. “I thought I saw Brooks at the Biddin’, but I wasn’t sure. Is he home for the holidays?”
Jory turned around from the passenger seat with a comical look of disbelief on his face. “Brooks Johnson’s been back in the Thicket for years and years. How’d you miss that?”
My mom bumped her shoulder against mine. “He and his husband, Mal, renovated an old farmhouse in town. Cindy Ann is over the moon to have all three of her kids here now.”
“You said he was gay, but I didn’t know he’d moved back here. Wow.” I knew that, like me, Brooks had left the Thicket, and I’d imagined it was because he’d felt stifled here just as I had. Knowing he’d come back and built a life here was… well, strange. I wondered what had changed for him.
Once we arrived at the Johnsons’, I was swarmed with a mix of old familiar faces and curious new ones. I hadn’t had the chance to talk to much of anyone at the Biddin’ the night before, but now that I was here, I enjoyed seeing people I remembered from before and meeting the new members of the town.
The place was packed with people, and the smoky scent of barbecue mingled with the tart, boozy aroma of “spiky sweet tea”—Cindy Ann’s secret family sweet tea recipe, which her “adorable bonus son” Mal had “jazzed up a little”—and the overwhelming spice of the homemade potpourri on the table under the gallery of cow art in her entryway. The combination was a reminder of my childhood and brought long-forgotten memories flooding back.
“Dude, come with me. The cool kids are out back,” Brooks said, grabbing my elbow and yanking me toward the sliding glass doors.
Outside, I found a bunch of camp chairs arranged around a fire pit, most of them occupied by people from our generation. There was enough of a nip in the air to keep my mom’s generation safely inside with the children under their watchful eyes, while the teenagers had taken off to parts unknown, despite Cindy Ann’s instruction that there’d be no “canoodling” at her house.
Brooks beamed at me as he paused behind the chair of a man with a mop of wavy brownish hair and bright blue eyes. “Junior, I want you to meet my husband, Mal. Mal, baby, this is Junior Nutter. We grew up together, until he took off for greener pastures… and then I did.”
“Charlton,” I corrected, shaking the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” Brooks’s partner looked like the least likely person to have chosen life in Licking Thicket, which made me undeniably curious about their story. “So, you two met in New York, I take it? And… decided to move back to the Thicket for some reason?”
“Not quite.” Mal laughed. “Believe it or not, we met right here. I was a beautiful, mysterious artist who’d come to town for the Lickin’ Festival, and Brooks was the local golden boy on hiatus from his Big Job in the Big City. I defeated him in the Lickin’ Lope.” He pressed a hand to his chest and fluttered his eyelashes at his husband. “He lost the race but won my heart.”
Brooks rolled his eyes and plopped down in the seat beside Mal’s. “More like I handed you victory after your pail malfunctioned.” He grabbed Mal’s hand and kissed his palm. “And then I lost the race and won your heart.”
Mal snorted, but I noticed he didn’t let go of Brooks’s hand either.
“You’re omitting a few crucial details, boys.” A woman across the fire flipped her blonde ponytail in such a familiar way that I remembered her immediately. “If it weren’t for the folks of the Thicket, you two would probably still be dancing around each other all these years later.”
“Ava? Ava Ivey?” I guessed.
She gave me a friendly smile and rested a protective hand on her very pregnant belly. “Ava Siegel now. And this is my husband, Paul.” She gestured to the man beside her.
“Her long-suffering husband,” Brooks teased. “Foot massages every night for eternity. Right, my little Paul?”
Paul made a noise of disagreement. “Nonsense. Whatever my darling bride needs, I’m happy to provide.” He gazed at her adoringly.
“He wouldn’t be massaging nearly as often if he could keep from knocking her up,” Mal commented.
“Malachi!” Ava sat forward with narrowed eyes. “This baby was planned and every bit as wanted as the last three.” Mal grinned widely, and she hmphed. “Just for that, I’m giving Charlton the full, unabridged version of your twisted love story.”
I sat down, and she proceeded to do just that—with “helpful” commentary from Brooks’s brother, Dunn; Dunn’s husband, Tucker, a large, tattooed man I recognized from the Stuffin’ who appeared to be the Diesel-person Jack had mentioned; and Diesel’s husband, Parrish—until Brooks turned the tables and began telling the tale of how Dunn had fallen for his doctor husband. By the time Cindy Ann’s voice called that supper was ready, we were all in tears from laughing so hard.
