1
RYE
It hasn’t always been like this.
I used to come home for Sunday dinner and enjoy myself. Sit at the table, watch my family, shoot the shit, and think how good I had it. Think how lucky I was to be the oldest of seven siblings, living up here on Rough Mountain, my family the ones who built this town of Home, Washington.
As my father's go-to man with the world in the palm of my hand, I had the respect of anyone I wanted. Hell, I built a home of my own by the time I was twenty-two years old.
Far as anyone could tell, I had it made.
Then one year ago, everything fucking changed.
“Would you like another serving?” Mom asks, bringing me back to the present. Those bad memories are pushed aside as she hands me a platter of her chicken. She’s sitting next to me at the table, trying to fatten me up, thinking maybe if I get some more meat on my bones, I might become happier. Smile more often. I know she's worried. Everyone here is worried.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, adding another chicken thigh to my already heaping plate of food. My mom has a few love languages. One of them is feeding her kids until they're more than full. I would never resist my mother's home-cooked meals.
She smiles at me softly but she looks tired. Like she needs a break. And hell, I'm sure she does.
Fig, the youngest of us Rough kids, is in the second semester of her senior year of high school and giving my mother a run for her money. You'd think by the end of raising all seven kids she would have this down pat, but Fig is like none of the rest of us. Wild in ways I wasn't. Which is saying something considering I know I've been a handful.
“How's work going?” Mom asks me.
Work is the last thing I want to talk about.
The table is full and loud. Mac and Graham are arguing as usual. Fig and Lemon are discussing the dress Fig is planning to wear to some school dance. Bartlett is staring at his new bride, Abby.
Plum is looking at her grandpa Red like he’s the greatest man on earth which, well, in her eyes, he is. Rueben, Plum’s dad, is in the other room on a call and I'm wondering what that's all about, but I'm not rude enough to ask. Even though everyone at this table thinks I've turned into an asshole.
But there's all different kinds of assholes. Me? I'm just rubbing everyone the wrong way. It doesn't mean I don't know how to be polite.
And I hope it means Reuben is talking to some woman. God knows he deserves to be happy after the hell he and Plum have gone through.
Mom nudges me. “How are you doing? I tried calling this week and never heard back. You busy with work?”
“Work is going fine, Mom.”
“Is it?” she asks, taking a bite of her green salad. “Because your father said things haven’t been going so great at the lodge build site.”
I scowl, feeling like shit for bringing trouble to my mother’s life. That’s the last thing she needs. “Well, you don’t need to worry, Mom. It’s all good.”
“Since when have you fought with the newer guys on the crew?” Mom presses. “Used to keep to yourself if you were unhappy, now you seem set on making everyone around you miserable.”
“Annie,” Dad says softly from across the table. He never has to speak loudly to get her attention. I swear they have a secret language. “Maybe we should have a family meeting if we are going to go there.”
Mom nods. “You’re right, Red. We should. We all need to clear the air. I only see Rye once a week. When else am I supposed to talk to him? God knows he won't come over any other time unless it’s a family obligation.”
Across the table I hear Lemon scoff. “Yeah, when you don’t come around, it means we pick up your slack.”
I run a hand over my beard, annoyed at the sudden shift in conversation. “Point taken, Lemon. Anyone else have something they wanna say? Family meeting can begin. Say whatever you want.”
All our lives, if there was something that needed to be said, my parents let us go for it—they preferred us talking it out, even if it felt harsh, rather than leaving things to simmer under the surface.
Unfortunately, right now, everything I feel inside is about ready to boil over.
“Yeah, matter of fact I do have a few more things to say to you,” Lemon tosses back, sour as ever. “Why are you so mad at us? What did we do to you?”
I balk looking at her, unable to answer. If I do, it will only make this worse. But me keeping my mouth shut pisses her off something fierce.