“Lol. Maybe you're jealousy over me being the youngest and not yet saddled with responsibilities is the problem,” I reply.
Not only am I the youngest, but I’m also the youngest by a lot. There’s a ten-year difference between my sister Sawyer and me. My parents thought they were finished after Sawyer. Dad even had a vasectomy. I was a mistake. Mom and Dad call me a happy surprise, but I know they never meant for me to happen. My youth is the only quality I have that I can hold over all their heads.
Bryan is a marine biologist and an engineer working on eradicating the floating island of plastic in the Pacific. Our oldest brother, Beau, is a director of the non-profit Homing In, which helps qualified families in need of housing become homeowners through sweat equity. Our sisters, Sawyer and Tabitha, both work for the Special Olympics. Occasionally, my band of weirdo siblings and my parents travel around the world and sing in an a cappella group. Sadly, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. But I’m also shy and would rather have oral surgery than perform for a crowd.
Dad’s a published author and a music professor at UNC-Asheville, and Mom’s a songwriter who has low-key made a name for herself among people in the business. Average music fans wouldn’t know her name. However, everyone from Taylor Swift to Garth Brooks to Dolly Parton is on a first-name basis with Emmeline Gwynn.
But we all know her as Mom, the poet, the singer, the artist, the consummate chef, and the woman with whom Professor Gwynn is madly in love.
Me? I didn’t get the music gene. I’m going to be a public defender.
Yep. We’re a family of do-gooders. Our parents experienced significant success at young ages, so now we kids are expected to give back. It’s a lot of pressure to be a part of a prominent family that expects all their children to make the world a better place.
“I am jealous,” Tabitha, the second oldest, writes back. “Jealous that all of us have jobs, and yet you’re the one who Mom switched dates for.”
They love to pretend that I, the baby, get preferential treatment. It’s their favorite pastime.
Now, I love my siblings and all the nieces and nephews, even their dogs. But my family gets an intense about these reunions. And also very nosy when it comes to my personal life.
“It’s not like building houses with a former president and playing tackle football is even my cup of tea,” I retort.
The family reunion has been rescheduled this year to accommodate my college schedule. So, Tab is correct, up to a point. I am the baby of the family, and Mom and Dad will move heaven and earth if there’s a possibility I might come home for these crazy reunions.
“I’m sure Mom and Dad and the former president and his wife will be happy to change the event to do whatever your heart desires, little brother. Just say the word,” Bryan writes.
That might make my big brother seem like an asshole. But that’s how we talk to each other. Always has been. The truth is, I would jump in front of a runaway train for the guy, and he would also, for me. We are a family of big personalities. Some are louder than others.
“Mostly, I want the questions about my love life to stop,” I write.
Beau unexpectedly pipes up: “Lol, you know there’s a straightforward way to make those questions stop.”
I know what he’s implying. If I bring home a sweetheart, everyone will stop fussing over me, stop warning me of being antisocial, and stop worrying about my burnout.
This is the life of an introvert in a family of extroverts. It’s a blessing and a curse. They look out for me, but they also drive me insane.
I stuff my phone back in my bag and stare out the window at the quad. The foot traffic is starting to clear out, and I begin to understand perhaps why after two years at Pine Mountain, I’ve never had a date. Not a serious one. I’ve had girls accuse me of ghosting them, but I work hard and have a job on weekends. They’ve all been friendly, and I wish them well, but most of them wanted to go out to bars and parties and became quickly frustrated by my rigid homework and work schedule. Guess I’m a freak.
Too bad because I’m ripe for an adventure if the right distraction comes along.
I stare down at my books and exhale a heavy sigh.
I’m done with studying tonight. Maybe I’ll do what needs to be done: go to a bar, find a party, meet a girl, and fall in love in time to bring her home to my family’s reunion.
Yeah, right. As if I even know how to talk to girls.
Just as I’m packing up my things, a flash of color out the window snatches my attention.
I look up and am jolted by a wash of bright pink on a thick round butt and a mass of big, blonde curls.
There’s something instantly arresting about the entire vision. And I have this strange feeling that I’ve been zapped. I’m supposed to follow her. That’s all I know.
Like a man on fire, I shove all my books and things into my backpack. I have half a mind to leave everything behind, run out the door, and look for this mysterious flash of hot pink.
After I gather up my things, I hear behind me a loud “Oof!”
I turn and see that the mass of blonde curls sporting a hot pink tank top is owned by a tall, curvaceous woman who is stuck at the library turnstile.
She’s here. And she’s even better looking than a second ago, now that I have the entire picture.