As usual, I welcomed myself inside with a turn of the oblong doorknob. The chain wasn’t latched. No surprise there. “Hey, Mom!” I yelled through the doorway.
A blanketing heat of warmth socked me, the air stagnant and stale— familiar. Iris didn’t open the windows. Ever. She had a theory it would tempt criminals. Evidently, said lawbreakers didn’t know how to use the front door, which always remained unlocked.
I let the screen door slap closed behind me.
“I’ll be out in a minute!” she shouted from the back of the house.
The TV was on, flipped to the local news station for the parade, the sound muted.
I noticed flimsy paper doilies on the coffee table. Each one was Halloween-themed in orange or black with a snack resting on top. Chips. Popcorn. Charcuterie board. Bottled water. Pickled pig feet.
That’s both new and disgusting. My nose scrunched at the sight.
I set my tote bag down on the worn papasan chair and wandered around the room to survey the fresh…or not so fresh additions. They were what Roxy referred to as my mom’s “stuffed animal collection.”
Taxidermy— Iris’s favorite craze. She was a collector, a hoarder, an accumulator of anything dead animal. The obsession creeped me out. And after Mama Nash learned the trade details from a friend down at the local community center, no one could stop her. When I suggested she take up a hobby, I envisioned arts and crafts, bingo, or gardening. She took my idea and ran with it. Without a state license, she couldn’t sell any of her disturbing masterpieces. Thank goodness.
I walked over to the standing lamp. The first piece she’d ever made was a hedgehog wearing a sombrero. It sounded cute until you noticed it sat on a python’s head. The snake’s mouth was open wide and said hedgehog had a rope snared through the reptile’s upper jaw. Did I mention the miniature bottle of booze in its other hand? The duo cost her a small fortune to put together, but she was prouder of that artwork than any macaroni-and-glitter project I’d ever made in kindergarten.
She poured every penny of spousal funding into her hobby so she could gloat she’d otherwise supported herself. At the time in Washington, one year of alimony was shelled out for every three years of marriage. Iris’s shackling to Cranston lasted for nearly two decades, but she also had a cutthroat divorce lawyer who won her more than five times the standard. My father didn’t bat an eye at the cost. That meant I’d be subjected to many more years of animal stuffing. Squirrels, geese, and rabbits likely cowered in the local park, knowing Iris would come for them next.
I walked over to the fireplace and crouched down to look at a rat-like dog holding a losing hand of poker, beady eyes crossed behind tiny glasses with a sadistic leer on its face.
The list continued and only became stranger through the depths of the house.
A cat holding a teeny pistol and wearing a ski mask was positioned mid-stride with a sack of fake money spilling behind him.
An alligator with braces, complete with headgear, held its jaws permanently wide with four stuffed guinea pigs strewn across its back. Each of the rodents lounged in swimsuits, one on its stomach, exposing a polka-dotted G-string.
A legit flea circus, complete with tight rope, merry-go-round, and a unicycle took center stage on the dining room table with fine china as place settings. Where. People. Ate. Meals. So gross.
If you could imagine it, the animal, regardless of size, likely sat somewhere in Iris’s menagerie. It was reason number 4,561 why I’d never bring a man around Casa Nash.
I squealed and spun around when someone tapped my shoulder, absurdly thinking one of her pieces came to life. There stood Iris. She towered over me by seven inches, most of that due to her bouffant defying gravity.
“Good morning, honey,” she said disapprovingly.
“Hi.”
She skipped over the usual kiss on the cheek. “You know, you could’ve done your hair or put on a little makeup. You won’t land a man traipsing around town like that.”
“Land a man? Am I some kind of pilot now?” I tried so hard to stay calm. “I’m not searching for a relationship. Especially not in this town. It’s like that whole saying about Alaska. The goods being odd and the odds being good. All of Cannon Cove’s goods are odder than most.”
I watched her straighten out her shirt and look in the mirror to check her teeth. Something was amiss. Iris always wore stirrup pants and the same oversized, pilled-up hoodie when I stopped by. That day, I saw her in a fitted button-up blouse. Cleavage. Definitely one more button open than appropriate for a televised parade. Her jeggings sparkled, reminding me of something a teen would wear, and she wore chunky black heels. Iris had slapped on makeup, including lipstick. Maybe she didn’t get the memo, but the people on TV couldn’t see us from the other side of the screen.
I opened my mouth to question her sudden interest in fashion when a chiming sound pinged from the kitchen.
Flustered, she threw her arms up in the air. “Oh! Oh! I need to check the oven. Appetizers should be ready. I made mini-quiches.”
“Okay.” I flopped down on the couch and popped a cheese puff into my mouth. The sucker was so stale, I thought I’d broke a tooth.
After Iris disappeared around the corner, I spit the puff halves into a napkin, wadded it up, and shoved the evidence in my tote. Inspecting the bag, the expiration date read four years prior. It’s a miracle I survived my childhood years. I unmuted the TV just in time to see the Cannon Cove cheer team making their way down Main Street wearing their navy and silver uniforms. Known for crashing parties at bars, they were more often mocked and called the Cannon Cove “beer team” instead. “Mom, it’s starting!”
“Cheesus! I’ll be out in a minute!”
“Chill out,” I muttered and swallowed, trying to ignore the stinky foot flavor in my mouth.
The doorbell rang.
“Can you get that?” Iris still sounded rattled.
“Is everything okay in there?” I asked.
She cursed as metal pans crashed to the floor. “Fine! Door, please!”
“Sure thing.” I forced myself up from my slumped position, muted the TV again, and walked over to the entryway.
No additional response from Iris.
“I’ll come help you in a sec,” I said over my shoulder as I gripped the knob and pulled.
When I turned around, I screamed.
“What is the…” Iris bustled into the room wearing a pink apron that read, “Your opinion’s not an ingredient.”
I clutched at my chest. “What is that… thing?”
“Ahh!” Iris squealed. “He’s finally here! Such a beauty.”
He? I had a hard time not frowning at the “beauty.” No description adequately conveyed what I saw. A massive ram, maybe a goat, sat, ankles crossed, on a toilet with an animal-themed magazine perched between his front hooves. And someone hit that sucker with an ugly stick more than a dozen times. It had a severe underbite, eyes threatening to burst out of his skull, and don’t get me started on his puny udders. In comparison, his impressive meat and two-bean combo could give most men I knew a run for their money.
“That’s… something,” I said, sucking in a horrified breath. The goat’s yellowed teeth contrasted in color against its mottled black-and-white fur. That was the first time I wondered if taxidermy animals could be flea-infested. Never mind. It didn’t matter. Iris already had a circus on the dining table to house any strays.
“Isn’t it magnificent?” She clasped her hands together.
I realized a goat hadn’t actually rang the doorbell. Standing behind the monstrosity was Theodore Simpson, or who I’d silently nicknamed Taxidermy Teddy.
“Hey, Iris,” he grunted, carrying the bulky artwork through the door. “Where do you want him?”
She gestured for Teddy to follow her toward the kitche
n doorway.
Fantastic. A goat sitting on a toilet next to where food was prepared.
“Right over here, handsome.” Iris pointed.
Handsome? Snap! I suddenly understood and thought back to past conversations. With what my mom wore, the way she made eyes at Teddy and spoke about him, albeit disgusting, she had a crush. Double snap. Much like a caged animal, she’d trapped me in the uncomfortable flirt fest.
Theodore Simpson. Another Cannon Cove anomaly. Fortunately, he didn’t visit me at The Rub Hub. Teddy looked about ten years younger than Iris. I rarely heard about him around town, which told me he kept to himself. Knowing he was close friends with Eddie made me keep my distance, though. Plus, his occupation creeped me out. He stood in the room wearing saggy jeans that hung half off his flat rear and a white cotton t-shirt. If he coughed, there’d be a full moon in my mom’s dining area.
“This is one of your best artistic designs yet.” He wiped his moist brow with a red-and-white handkerchief. “Ten out of ten in my book. Hi, Jade.”
“Hey,” I replied with a nod.
“Thank you for dropping him off,” she said before turning toward me with a titter. “And on a holiday even! That’s service. Don’t you think?”
“I guess so.”
“Thanks.” He beamed. “I take a lot of pride in my work.”
“Do you want to stay? The parade’s just getting started,” Iris said. “We have plenty of snacks.”
“I could probably get away with ten or fifteen minutes,” he replied with a grunt.
I plastered on another fake grin from my arsenal. Just when I thought the morning couldn’t worsen from expired snacks and a menagerie of shriveled animals, it’d plunged off the chart with Taxidermy Teddy chilling in my mom’s house.
She gestured for both of us to sit down on the loveseat.
I went to move my tote bag, and Iris already occupied the recliner. The only seats left in our game of musical chairs that wouldn’t leave me looking rude were the two spaces on the mini-couch.
The slipcover crackled as I sat down closer to the arm rather than near the middle of the cushion. Teddy’s stout frame took up the left half and spilled over onto the right. His face was unnaturally flat, much like his ass, and compared to the size of a dinner plate. Facial hair sparsely dotted his cheeks and chin, and I doubted he could grow a full beard. The color matched his hair, a muddy brown dotted with gray, styled into a mess of greasy curls that dangled down to his shoulders. My nose wrinkled when he repositioned his stature. The smell of cheap cologne and sour sweat wafted my way.
Awkwardness ensued, and I wished I’d have found the remote control sooner to fill the air with any kind of noise. The top right of the screen read MUTE in large, mocking letters.
“Oh! Dang it! The appetizers!” Iris said, flashing Teddy a wink. “I got distracted.”
Yuck.
My mom hurried toward the kitchen, leaving Teddy and me alone.
He stabbed a pickled pig foot with a toothpick and slurped it off the wooden point with a loud suction sound.
I fought back a frown and watched him smack with his mouth open. “These are my favorite. Tastes like fancy, tart bologna. Want one?”
“Uh, no.”
The clock teamed up with the MUTE letters with its own vile taunt. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Do you know why people eat pig feet?” he finally broke the quiet.
To creep me out? “Nope.” Please, don’t tell me.
“Pigs root around in the dirt, pushing onward. It’s supposed to be good luck. Always moving forward.”
Not so lucky for the pig.
Teddy leaned forward with the same toothpick he’d just used to dislodge a meaty chunk from between his two front teeth and jabbed at another foot in the juicy bowl.
With Iris, I’d always been blunt— directly and indirectly. Her smarts rivaled a box of rocks. As much as she aggravated me, she was still my mom, and I wouldn’t let someone take advantage of her. I needed to know Teddy’s intentions.
“So…” Teddy struggled to cross his left ankle over his right knee, groaning as he leaned back into the firm loveseat cushion.
“How long have you been interested?” I asked.
He laughed with a snort, likely channeling the rest of the pig he’d eaten. “Wow. You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“I’m not a fan of wasting anyone’s time.”
“I like the way you think.” He smiled and turned toward me a little, deep in thought. “Ehhh. Roughly a year. You?”
Me? Wait. Why? Where is this conversation headed? “Huh?” Each letter pinged around inside my head like a pinball machine.
“I mean…” He casually yawned and stretched to put his arm across the back of the love seat, a giant yellow-and-gray pit stain showcased on his t-shirt. The thin, worn material revealed a larger ring where the moist cotton clung to his skin. “I’ve wanted to stuff your beaver for a while now.”
Shut the front door. The guy my mom made puppy eyes at, and I didn’t mean that in a weird taxidermy sense, just hit on me. Right? Did I misinterpret his beaver stuffing comment? Nope. No detour around that one.
He leaned in a few inches. “I guess you could say, I’m pretty good at… mounting things.” His chest heaved with laughter; it sounded like someone pulled a donkey’s tail.
“Mom!” I yelled and stood up.
“Is something wrong?” He furrowed his brow and rose to his feet, adjusting his loose-fitting pants. “I thought—”
Iris appeared between the kitchen and the living room, bracing the doorway with both hands. “What’s wrong?”
I smiled and spoke through bared teeth. “Can I see you outside, please?”
“But the quiches—”
“Now!”
She blinked. “Sure, honey.”
I grabbed my tote bag and stormed out to the front porch.
Once the door slapped shut, I pointed toward the living room. “What the everloving fuck was that?”
“What was what?” she asked.
“Your boyfriend hit on me in there.”
Her forehead wrinkled like a walnut. “My boyfriend?”
“Are… aren’t you into him?”
She laughed. “Me? Cheesus, no!”
“Then what’s with the gimmick?” I surveyed her from head to toe. “You only get dressed up like this for the farmer’s market.”
“Dress for the son-in-law you want.”
“What…” The scheme was outlandish, even for her. “Did you try to play matchmaker between me and,” I flinched, “Taxidermy Teddy?”
“You know I don’t like it when you call him that.” She crossed her arms. “He prefers Theodore.”
“He prefers beaver,” I muttered.
“Huh?”
Another euphemism sailed right over her tall hair.
“You’re single. He’s single. I thought you two could go out and have a good time. See if you can fill your wide-open schedules with a few dates. Maybe more.”
“This is disgusting. I don’t care what he fills or stuffs in his free time.”
“You be nice. He’s a polite man with a respectable job… unlike someone else I know.” She flashed me the stink eye.
“Are you freaking kidding me? He probably says ‘I love you’ with a bouquet of roadkill. He’s an animal vandal.”
“And what am I?” She huffed. “An artist, that’s what. At least I don’t have a bed in my office where—”
Like always, we’d traveled full circle to bashing my line of work. “It’s a table! Not a bed!”
“Just give him a chance. I even put the goat idea together…”
“What does,” my prolonged pause hinged on dread, “the goat have to do with anyth
ing?”
“Goats symbolize fertility.”
“Mom, you can’t seriously be considering trying to have a…”
She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Not me.”
“Slow your roll! You can’t possibly think… Taxidermy Teddy… and I…” I balled my hand into a fist and held it to my mouth, unable to halt the gag reflex. The urge to purge was strong, but I didn’t give in.
“I’d like a grandchild someday, you know,” Iris replied. “Wouldn’t it be adorable? A mini-Jade or mini-Teddy learning taxidermy from their daddy in the garage? I can see it all now. You could make it into a family business.”
If possible, I’m sure my ovaries and uterus would’ve packed their bags and took off down the street. “You know what? I gotta go. There’s this thing for the wedding…”
“Wait. What about the parade? And Theodore?” she asked. “What do I tell him?”
Truth be told, I’d planned on skipping the pool party and dug for a reason not to go. Plans change. Going became my excuse. As much as I never thought I’d say it, the trip to Eli’s house would be a welcome reprieve from my taxidermy love journey. “Watch the parade. Talk shop. I don’t care. Just don’t mention mounting anything.” I slung the tote bag up on my shoulder and marched down the steps toward the Jeep.
“Jade!” she shouted after me.
I slammed the door and revved the engine when my phone beeped to alert me a new message arrived from Roxy. While driving down the street, four more sounded with her machine gun texting skills. If I didn’t grant an immediate response, I’d pay.
Roxy— “Roxicodone”
Happy 4th! How are things?
Don’t ignore me.
I’m glaring at you right now from Maui.
I know you’re at Mama Nash’s, probably being subjected to her stuffed animal collection again.
Call me.
I looked down at my phone and groaned. Roxy checking in didn’t mean she was actually checking in— she wanted to ensure I followed her directions. Reprimand wasn’t on my radar, and an interrogation didn’t sound like fun. Instead of responding, I set my phone in the cup holder and delayed my punishment.
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