Life In Reverse(4)

“I heard that, Avery.” Mom’s tone is stern as she peeks over her shoulder and raises a sharp, black brow. “I’d like you to stay away from those Kensington boys. I hear them all the time when their mother and I are discussing design ideas.”

“Mom,” Avery sneers, because she can’t help adding fuel to the fire. “I’m twenty-two, not fifteen. You kind of don’t have a say anymore.”

My mother’s full body emerges, her arms poised across the jacket of her black suit. Her oval-shaped face set in a scowl. “You’re still living in this house for a few more months, so I still have say. And what I say is they have quite the mouths on them.” She spins on her heel, wielding what little control she thinks she has left over my sister and disappears into the living room. Avery and I look at each other and bite back a laugh.

“I hope so.” Avery mouths with an exaggerated expression.

“Speaking of which…,” Mom pops back in and takes a seat across from us at the table, “Mrs. Kensington told me the house down the street and the colonial around the corner sold. I guess she saw moving trucks this morning. Perhaps they might be able to use some of my design magic once they get settled.”

“Yes. Maybe you can give them tips on shaping their bushes, too.” It takes a second for me to absorb Avery’s words, and then I practically spit juice into my cereal bowl. Our mother gives her a one-eyed glare.

“Avery, sometimes I wonder.” She smiles, tossing a dishtowel at her face. “I really do.”





“SO HOW WAS work today?”

“Work was… whoa.” Avery cocks her head, straight blonde hair hanging over one shoulder as she tries to get a good view of whoever is standing beside the moving truck.

“Avery. You crack me up. You can’t see anything from here.”

She pinches my arm and snorts. “You know I’ve got bionic vision when it comes to guys. I can certainly see that whoever that is… has a great ass.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that Avery Bennett,” our mother chimes in from behind. “I’ve got a wonderful idea though.” She steps in front of us and hands Avery a broom and a smile. “Why don’t you finish sweeping the kitchen floor and then you two can make some brownies and bring them over to our new neighbors.”

Avery takes the broom, a frown pulling down her lips. “Brownies? Mom, we’re not nine years old.”

Mom holds the door open, waving a path with her hand. “There’s no age limit on welcoming someone to the neighborhood. Let’s go smarty pants.”

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Avery grumbles. “Let me loose in New York City.”

“I’ll be right in,” I call after them, hoping Mom didn’t hear her comment. “I’m going to clean up some of this stuff.” I bend down to scoop up Mom’s gardening tools from the grass, but not before I catch Avery’s waggling brows as she disappears into the house.

Navigating my way around the garage is a bit of a challenge. Piles of fabric and design books lay on the floor while Dad’s tools litter a countertop covered in sawdust. Bundles of wood from a new project he’s working on scatter the ground and it makes me smile. Dad is always dabbling in new ideas, but never manages to finish one thing before he moves on to the next. This last notion shouldn’t make me laugh, however, it does. My parents divorced five years ago but remain the best of friends. Because of that, evidence of Dad is still everywhere. Today is Wednesday, and every Wednesday he comes over and has dinner with us. This is aside from the rest of the time we spend with him. I’ll admit that it’s a strange setup. But it works for them and Avery and I couldn’t be happier they’ve remained close. It used to give us false hope. Now we understand and have settled with it.

I set the pruning tools down on the wooden counter. A picturesque rendering of a new design for our backyard snags my attention. We live in a craftsman-style home in Eastmoreland that, as far as I’m concerned, is already fairly picturesque. My mother, being a visual person, has bushes trimmed to perfect ovals and tulips in every color dotting the brick path surrounding the house. I told her I’d much prefer Mickey Mouse-shaped bushes but she didn’t go for it.

Sifting through the dusty maze, I find my way back outside. It really is a beautiful day. The sun shines bright in a cloudless blue sky. It makes me want to get in the car and drive, the wind on my face and freedom within my grasp. I really do know how Avery feels. Still, I worry about Mom.

I lift my arms above my head in a catlike stretch and make my way to the front door, stopping only when I see someone in black running shorts on the sidewalk. He’s bent over at the waist and I try not to stare, but muscular calves and a flattering behind give me pause. Asses aren’t really my thing, though. That’s Avery’s department. I much prefer eyes.

Take Exhibit A—the eyes that catch me gawking from a distance. Mortified, my cheeks flame but luckily he’s too far away to notice. He waves and I lift my hand to return it, fleeing into the house like Cinderella leaving the ball, sans the glass slippers.

Avery has her ear buds in and she’s humming along to, I’m guessing Taylor Swift, as she sweeps the floor and attempts to dance at the same time. I sidle up next to her and pull the white cord from her ear. “You might want to get started on those brownies right away.”