by Mj Hendrix
“Mom, Harley doesn’t care. Please let’s go in and eat! I’m famished.” She loops her arm through mine as we lead the group in.
This is my first family brunch. Ever.
22
Adam
We’ve been showing my family around to where our classes are all morning. This afternoon is supposed to be when they meet Harley, but they just know her as “a friend.” The pit of my stomach feels like it could combust, sucking me in like a black hole. I need it to be over with, so I can eat and breathe fully again.
“Adam, you wanna play Red Rover at the campsite?” my four-year-old sister, Rebecca, asks me.
Her eyes are nearly the same color as Harley’s. She smiles at me, and I notice one of her front baby teeth is chipped. No doubt the result of her wild little farm girl life.
“I don’t know, Becks. Let’s let Terrence the tosser decide.” I pick her up in my arms, throwing her up into the air.
Her giggles fill the campus parking lot, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders in the October sun.
“Grrrr. All right, Terrence says yes.” I set her feet back on the ground, her cheeks pink.
“Again, again!” She jumps up and down.
“Can’t. Terrence’s arms might fall off,” I say, attempting to maintain a serious tone.
My ten siblings, including Dan, are all starting to pile into the fifteen-passenger van when Kenna’s Jeep blazes into the parking lot, finding a space several cars down from us. The lump in my stomach flips over as Harley gets out, her inked golden skin contrasting with the pink dress she’s wearing. I wish it were longer. I know what my mom will think when she sees it.
Harley waves good-bye to Kenna, turning toward me. My black tee suddenly feels like it doesn’t fit as she walks over. Heart pounding, I step toward her.
“Hey. You look beautiful.” I try to smile casually.
She returns it, but it’s not as bright as usual when she sees me.
“Hi. Thanks.” She looks behind me, staring in amazement at the navy-blue van.
It’s almost completely full. Children, ages four to seventeen, are crawling around, fighting over window spots inside. My parents are already seated up front, buckled in.
“We, uh—I figured we could take my truck.” I gesture behind her to where it’s parked.
She nods, speechless. I rub my hand on the back of my neck, debating if I should introduce her now or wait until we get to the RV and start cooking hot dogs over the campfire.
“Do you, um, do you want to meet them now or…” I stammer out, hating how flustered I feel.
“They’re…already driving away,” she observes.
I flip around to see the filthy back doors of the van getting smaller as it reaches the edge of the parking lot. It merges into traffic, a set of hands pressed to the windows.
“Okay, well, let’s go. Do you, uh, want to change first?” I look down at her legs, so much smooth skin on display.
She crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head. “I’m good.” She strides toward my Chevy.
I wonder if I should tell her we’ll most likely be playing volleyball or that there will only be a few lawn chairs and everyone else will be sitting on the ground. She’s already at the truck, so I jog up next to her to open the door.
“You know we’re going to a campsite?” I sputter. Please want to change.
She buckles in. Looking firmly ahead, she nods. I shut the door and walk around to the driver seat. This should be interesting.
We drive through the city with the windows down, her jet-black hair blowing around her. Finding out she was a model didn’t really surprise me. She’s picturesque and gorgeous all the time. I find it hard to inhale when she’s around, like I have to remind myself I require oxygen.
“So, how was brunch?” I ask after we merge onto the highway.
“Fine,” she says, not elaborating.
She seems upset, and I wonder if it’s because of her visitor yesterday.
“Are you…okay? You seem upset about something,” I finally ask.
She doesn’t respond. Looking over to see if she heard me, I see that her elbow is propped on the door, supporting her chin as she stares out the window.
She finally answers, “I’m good.” Her voice is quiet.
The lie slips past her lips effortlessly, and I grip the steering wheel. Is she always going to shut me out like this?
The last few minutes, we don’t speak, the tension in the cab palpable. She gets out of the truck when it comes to a halt, pausing to wait for me.
“Look,” she begins, blue eyes sweeping over the rowdy group setting out buns and digging through ice chests, “maybe this is a bad idea.”
Her eyes turn back to me, wide and glassy. I grip one of her elbows—the one the group can’t see.
“What’s the matter? Please tell me why you’re upset.” I plead with my gaze, fingers brushing her arm.
She stares down at the dirt, not responding for a few seconds.
“I just—I don’t—” she stutters. “I’m not used to families. Happy families, where everyone laughs and hugs and doesn’t hate each other’s guts, just—it just reminds me that I have no one. No one wants me for anything besides…” She trails off, breathing in a giant gulp of air and rubbing her eyes.
I abandon the pretense that we’re just friends I was trying to adopt for my family’s sake, wrapping her in a tight hug. She presses her face into my chest, body slightly trembling.
“My family is huge and loud and definitely overwhelming, even to people who are from a loving family. They talk a lot, and yes, they all love each other. You deserve to know what that’s like. I’ll take you back if you want,” I say, turning my mouth down to kiss the top of her head, “but I hope you’ll stay and give it a chance.”
Pulling back from her a few seconds later, I give her hand a squeeze. She slowly nods, and we start walking toward the cluster of people. Unfortunately, most of them are staring at us, a few mouths gaping at Harley.
My sister, Eden, approaches, a smile on her face. Her long golden hair is in a braid that stretches down to her waistline. Her face is makeup-free. I’ve never seen any of my sisters or my mother wear it. Their clothes are loose, all a bit oversize and plain.
“Hey, I’m Eden. What’s your name?” She extends a hand to Harley.
Harley grips it, a timid smile forming on her lips. “It’s Harley.”
Eden looks down at our joined hands, then back up at me, her gaze unreadable.
“Come meet everyone, Harley. I hope you’re hungry.” She turns around, leading us toward the group.
My family is plain and a little unusual. I wasn’t aware of it until recently. Now that I’m scrutinizing them, trying to see what Harley might be, I realize they’re all dressed in worn, ill-fitted clothes and old tennis shoes with unruly hair and baseball caps. At first glance, they probably look poor, which they aren’t at all. I’ve only been away from them for a few months, but my world has been expanded to an extent that I didn’t even realize was possible.
Eden leads Harley up to my mother, who is busy preparing the hot dogs and laying out buns on plates.
I clear my throat. “Hey, Momma. This is Harley.” I feel the urge to let go of her hand, and I’m such a coward for it.
My mother is the kindest person I know, giving up her time and her life daily for her eleven children and her husband. She’s a hard worker and an active member of our church. She donates homemade canned goods to charity every season we have an abundance.
But I know she’s going to judge Harley; there’s no doubt about it in my mind. From her tattooed skin to the low-cut front of her dress and the short hem. She’ll judge her sultry mouth, and if she knew the things we’d done in her bed and mine…
“Marley? Is it Marley?” she says, speaking loudly over the ruckus of children. She’s looking over Harley as she says it, her smile a little pinched.
She’s a plain woman, but I’ve always thought she was beautiful. Her
face is wrinkled, gray hair beginning to edge out of her hairline. It’s tied back in a long, loose ponytail at her nape. She’s a little heavyset, but her mouth is almost always turned up in a genuine smile, except for now.
Harley stumbles a bit. “Uh, no—no, ma’am. Harley, like a motorcycle,” she says, blinking and attempting an awkward smile with her hand outstretched.
She’s met with a cold perusal, eyes zeroing on the short hem of her dress. My mother takes in all the ink, the low cut of the front, and it’s painfully obvious that she does not approve. I inwardly cringe, wanting to pull Harley back to the cab and take her somewhere she won’t be analyzed like a beast at a sale.
She tugs down the hem of her dress, but all it does is make the front show more of her chest. Finally, the cold inspection ends, and my mother’s eyes reach up to Harley’s.
“I’m Bethany. Do you have a class with Adam?” She briefly shakes her hand, turning back to open plastic packets of food.
My mother is always Beth, never Bethany, when she’s speaking with people she likes. The discomfort I’ve been feeling in my abdomen all day is getting worse, but there’s not a single thing I can do about it.
I squeeze Harley’s limp hand, trying to tell her I’m sorry she’s being received with such coldness. Does she sense it?
“Yes, we have horticulture together. He’s been helping me study,” she says, her voice strained as she continues to wear a smile.
My mother looks up at me, and the smile I know so well is finally on her face. She reaches out to rub my arm with her hand. “My Adam, always such a giver, almost to a fault. He’d help any soul in need. We taught him that.”
She grabs a paper plate with a bun and a cold hot dog. Her mouth in a line, she focuses on Harley. “Here, have a hot dog. There are sticks to heat it over the fire. We’ve got plenty.” She gestures to the group of children with suspended sticks over the flames.
Then, she turns away, walking toward the RV.
This is the first time I’ve ever thought of my mother as ugly.
23
Harley
Somehow, the fact that being around Kenna’s family made me uncomfortable at first makes me want to laugh now. I would give anything to be with them laughing over mimosas while her little brother stared at me, making kissy faces when her mother wasn’t looking. Kenna and her dad thought it was hysterical.
“Hey, Harley. I’m James.” Adam’s dad approaches me with a grin as I wait my turn to roast a hot dog.
The source of Adam's good looks is also becoming clear as I glance through a time machine twenty-five years. Brad Pitt is this man’s twin. His faded plaid shirt is almost identical to the green one Adam had on the first time we met.
I wanted to jump at the chance to leave with Adam to get firewood, but there are only three seats in his truck. The young blonde kids, whose names I will never get down, were overjoyed to get alone time with their big brother. It’s painfully obvious he’s the favorite of the group, especially among the children and his mother.
“Hi, I’m Harley, Adam’s friend,” I say quietly, reaching out to grab the hand he’s holding toward me.
“Well, I heard that. You two just doing homework together?” he says casually, but I sense it’s an interrogation.
All I do is nod. I’m not playing a game with him. If he wants an explanation, he can talk to his oldest son—or the second one for all I care.
He smiles at me, no teeth, while spearing my hot dog on a stick and handing it back to me. He gets another one for himself.
“We sure do trust Adam. He’s always been a good boy. He’s one of those who will do anything for you, no questions.” He’s smiling into the fire, the light reflecting in his eyes. “He’s also a leader. I know when he takes over the farm, he’ll run it well. That’s why he wanted to go to Ole Tex. Get a degree that’ll help him in the new world of business, ya see.”
He rotates his stick, and I do the same.
It’s enrapturing to listen to a proud parent droning on about the child they believe so strongly in. Unconditional love is a concept that fascinates me. As uncomfortable as I am here, I’m glad Adam has a family that loves him.
A little boy runs up, dirt smudged on his cute face. He’ll probably grow up to be a heartbreaking farmer like his older brother.
“Hey, Noah. This is Adam’s friend from college,” James says, smiling as Noah stands near him, hand on his knee.
He stares up at me with big blue eyes.
He looks back at his dad. “Dad, what’s a harlot?”
James looks completely taken aback. Noah appears to be maybe five years old.
“Uh, well, son, you’re a bit too young to understand what that means. When you get older, I’ll tell you.” He smiles reassuringly, bringing his stick in to pull the hot dog into a bun with a stream of mustard inside it.
Noah contemplates this answer, his little forehead scrunched up.
“What’s a Harley?” he asks.
James laughs. “Well, this here is a Harley, this young lady. But it can also be a motorcycle—a dangerous vehicle some people drive.” He looks over at me, a twinkle in his eye.
My stomach is cramped, a sinking feeling forming inside it. My skin feels itchy. I pull my hot dog back and follow James’s lead with the bun.
Noah blows out a breath, wheels still churning in his mind. “Well then, why did Mom tell Eden that we have to pray because Harley is Adam’s harlot?” he says, picking at a little scab on his knuckle.
The air in my lungs disappears, my entire body turning to ice. I don’t need my limbs—they’ll never move again.
James’s face pales a bit as he glances nervously at me.
“Well, son, like I said, that’s a topic we can discuss when you are around eight or nine, okay? Run along and play.” He pats his head, and Noah runs off, completely unaware of what he’s done to affect my emotional state.
James says nothing. He simply shoves his hot dog into his mouth and walks over to the ice chest, rummaging through it.
I close my eyes, forcing the air to move in and out with my diaphragm.
I can survive this. I will survive this. Much worse things have been said to me, much harsher, more hateful things. This is a blip on the radar of the abuse I’ve withstood in my lifetime.
People I don’t know don’t like me. So what?
These aren’t just any judgmental people, passing me by on the street. This is Adam’s family, and they think I’m a whore, trying to drag him down to a pit of sin.
Shakily forcing my legs to support my weight, I stand and start to walk out of the campsite. Nobody says anything. Not a word is spoken to me. I trudge in the direction we came from, mindlessly trekking as far away as I can. I know it’s too far to walk, and once my fingers are functional, I’ll call someone to come get me. The dirt stirs up in the wind around me until I reach the area with grass.
My body jolts as my phone vibrates with a text in my hand. I look down at it.
Kenna: Hey, Riley’s having a party tonight. Do you and Adam want to come?
Kenna’s name on my screen sends a wave of relief through my aching chest, and I hit the Call icon. She picks up right away.
“Hey, I thought you were having dinner with Adam’s family?” she asks, the background noise loud with chatter.
“Can you come pick me up, please? I’m at a campsite outside of town,” I say, my voice hoarse.
I hate asking for favors, but this is an exception.
“Uhh, yes. What’s wrong?” she asks, wariness in her tone.
“Nothing, just—please just come get me. I’ll send you my location,” I say, suddenly feeling the urge to cry as reality sets in. My steps falter.
“Okay, yeah, sure. I’m just finishing up a pedicure with my mom, but I’ll skip the polish. On my way, okay?” she says, her voice softening. It’s her turn to reassure me.
I mumble a thank-you, hanging up. After sending her my location in Maps, I keep walking. My steps are slow. A
truck full of high schoolers passes me, and the boys inside yell, asking if I want a ride.
After about ten minutes, I finally see the exit for the campgrounds in the distance. How big is this place?
A familiar blue truck is driving toward me, so I step off the road, praying he doesn’t see me somehow.
Adam slows the old Chevy, his face creased in concern.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you walking?” he says, worry in his voice. He hops out of the vehicle, leaving the door open. He walks up to me, stopping a few paces away.
Why does he have to be so damn good-looking?
“I’m leaving. Kenna’s coming to get me,” I reply, setting my jaw and walking past him.
“Wha—what happened?” he asks, reaching for me. “Why are you leaving?” His amber eyes are boring into mine, clearly distressed.
“It’s not going to work, okay? Let’s just admit, we knew this from the start. I’ve been lying to myself, and so have you. This is just—it’s ridiculous that we even tried. It’s stupid.” My voice cuts off as I jerk my arms out of his grasp, folding them both over my chest.
His hands drop to his sides like he was stung, lips parting. He stares at me for a few seconds before responding. “Why—did something happen? Did someone say something? You knew we had our differences. I did too,” he forces out, his voice higher than usual. “We can make it work, Harley. I wanted to take you out. I have a whole day planned—”
I cut him off, eyes blazing, voice loud, “No! Okay? No! I don’t want your stupid, perfect, nice-boy date. I don’t want your purity, and I don’t want your wholesome life.” I lower my rising voice, feeling surprisingly calm. “I don’t want to live on a farm or even have kids. I don’t need your stupid charity. My life is dirty, and it always has been. Find a nice girl, someone who’s…someone that’s not damaged. Someone you can take home to momma. I’m not that girl.” I shake my head. “I never was.”
My eyes fill with tears, one slipping down my face. The past I can’t control is choking me, but reality is what it is.