The Mother Road

by Meghan Quinn

  Hell, you were able to act like that as a child, but as an adult, you are held to higher social standards like keeping your legs crossed in public, not shooting snot rockets at the dinner table, and saying please and thank you rather than, “Give me that syrup, you whore.”

  As a model citizen, one who’s picked up trash on the sidewalk and opened doors for elderly women who fart while they pass you, I deserve this moment. After everything I’ve been through in the last couple of days, I deserve to toss my sanity into the air for birds to crap on it. When you have that moment, you will know exactly what I’m talking about.

  And do you know what the best part is? People will see how utterly crazy and psychotic you’ve become in that moment that they will forget about it and never bring it up, and do you know why? Because that’s what being an adult is all about, ignoring the psycho that seeps out of you and moving forward as if nothing ever happened, because one day, they will find themselves in the same situation and will enjoy the same courtesy from others.

  It is what we do best as model citizens. To the person’s face, you act like nothing happened, but behind their back, replay the video you recorded of them over and over again.

  There are no words of wisdom I can give you other than, if you’re going to absolutely lose your ability to live by the adult rules, then do it right, go all out. Froth at the mouth, skitz out, kick things as you pass them, punch walls, stab bales of hay with machetes, and sound out unintelligible words while bouncing up and down, caressing your nipples. If you’re going to go crazy, do it right.

  The End

  Not really, but if it really was the end, please tell me you would have tested the above? Chuck a few water glasses, slam your head against your reading device, maybe throw a few death threats at your pillow? I would at least hope so.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  **PORTER**

  There is a time in a man’s life when you realize you need to not interact with anyone, take a step back, and understand the fact that you might just have fucked up everything you’ve ever worked toward.

  That’s what I’m doing.

  It’s Monday morning. Marley left for the airport early Sunday morning, only saying goodbye to her dad and Paul before she took off. I wasn’t on the hug brigade list before she left. Do I blame her? Not one bit.

  Let’s get one thing straight, when I said what I had with Marley was a fling…that was me trying to make our relationship not look like a big deal to her brother and dad. The last thing I needed was them meddling in whatever it was we had. When I told Savannah Marley was like a sister to me, that was before she asked about our relationship and we were just talking about her as a person.

  Do I think of Marley as a sister? Fuck no, more of a best friend, a best friend I’m madly in love with.

  I pull my hands away from the goat I’m currently milking and rest my elbows on my thighs, hands clasped in front of me. I bow my head and try to erase the image of Marley out of my brain. Even though the dress Savannah made her wear was hideous, she was still gorgeous, even when it looked like she peed her pants and had her bouquet decorated on the top of her head as if it was the star on top of a Christmas tree.

  The night before the wedding, shit, I will never forget the way her hands ran across my body, the urge and need pouring out of her, the way she screamed my name, or the way I held her afterwards until I had to ask her to leave. Telling her to go back to her bed that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  Desperately, I wanted to ask her to stay, not just that night, but to not go back to California at all. I racked my brain that entire evening, trying to find a way to make things work for us, but nothing came to mind. Instead, I distanced her away from me, ultimately pushing her three thousand miles away.

  From what I heard, Paul apologized yesterday before Marley took off. They laughed off their “fight” and chalked it up to another McMann Massacre. At least she was able to leave on good terms with her family. Me, on the other hand, I wouldn’t be surprised if she left town with a voodoo doll that replicated me, clippings of hair and all.

  Knowing I have a long day in front of me, I get back to work, milking the goats, feeding them, and cleaning out their stalls. Bernie tends to the crops on his tractor, wearing a chopped up flannel shirt, courtesy of Marley, and a long-sleeved shirt under it.

  Before I know it, it’s lunch time and Bernie is calling me into the main house to take a break. I wash up at the sink and then take a seat in front of two hot dogs and chips on a plate. There is something I failed to mention, Bernie just doesn’t eat hot dogs on road trips; no, he eats them almost every single day. I try to have lunch on my own a lot of the time, but the start of the week always consists of eating lunch together to talk about what we have going on for the week. Hot dogs are always served.

  “Chilly morning, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah.” I pick up the hot dog and shove it in my mouth, trying not to gag from eating the phallic shaped object so many times in the last few days. “There was some frost on the grass when I woke up. I heard it’s supposed to be a bad winter.”

  “That’s what the almanac says,” Bernie confirms, chip crumbs casually falling into his beard, which he’s been growing out for the winter months.

  “How’s the corn? About ready to be harvested?”

  “Almost. It’s getting there. We have a ripe crop this year and the pumpkins are bigger than ever. My friend Thomas has been helping me with the Pumpkin Patch and Tractor Pull. If we can get things set up this year, it might be an annual tradition. He’s retired and looking for something to do, and I know a few ladies in town who want to sell homemade apple cider and doughnuts. It could be the beginning of a fall tradition at the McMann Farm.”

  “Really?” I ask, a little shocked to hear about this Pumpkin Patch idea for the first time. “I didn’t know you were going to open the farm up for visitors. When did this start?”

  Bernie wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking. “I’ve been thinking of ways to expand. There’s a need for a local pumpkin patch here, so when you started with your soaps, I started brainstorming with Thomas.”

  “But, why didn’t you include me?” I might be a little hurt by not being included in the Pumpkin Patch idea.

  Setting his hot dog down, Bernie folds his hand in front of him. “Porter, once I saw the passion you had for Man Soap, I knew it was going places…”

  “You don’t know that.” I shake my head. “You heard Marley; it’s a fat chance in hell it might actually happen, given what’s out on the market right now.”

  “I love my daughter, very much, but she can be a moron sometimes. She might know the ins and outs of the beauty industry, but she knows it for women. She doesn’t know what goes on in a man’s mind…what we might be looking for. Will your soap be sold in Walmart? I don’t know. Can I see it being sold in consignment and hipster type shops like Urban Outfitters? Yes.”

  “You know Urban Outfitters?” I ask, a crinkle in my nose.

  Bernie laughs. “I did my research. I have confidence in your brand and I know it will go places. You just have to have faith. That’s why I started thinking of other ways to spend my time on this farm. Other ways to get people engaged. You’re not going to stay here very long, Porter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you see? Once your soap takes off, you will probably have to move to be closer to product development. You’re not going to live on the farm forever, son. I need to find new ways to spend my time here. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

  “I won’t move, Bernie. You need me.”

  Bernie pats me on the shoulder and smiles. “I love you, Porter, but you’re not the only hired help out here. If you don’t leave when your soap gets picked up by the Pederson Group, then I will kick you out.”

  “But…”

  Bernie stops me before I can finish. “Let me ask you something. Does my daughter mean something to you?”

  Sweat starts t
o form on my upper lip from the stare-down Bernie is giving me. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a simple question, Porter.” Bernie takes a sip of his root beer. “Does my daughter mean anything to you?”

  It’s actually not a simple question, but I’m not about to dive into details with Bernie. “Well, I’ve known her for most of my life, of course she means something to me.”

  “Not a good answer. This past road trip, were you intending on breaking her heart?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, my leg bouncing and my nerves completely shot.

  “Yesterday morning, before she left, I held her in my arms while she cried. She didn’t say why she was crying or why she was so upset, but from the look in her eyes yesterday, I could tell it had to stem from you. When you three were young, Gloria and I used to watch you play from the porch. We would sip our root beers together and talk about what the future held for you when your hormones started to engage. Gloria always told me she saw something between you two, but I never saw it. It wasn’t until Marley’s senior year in high school that I noticed a change in the way you interacted with her. You just weren’t protective, you were possessive. And when I thought something was going to finally form between you two, Marley left for college, without looking back.”

  So much for being incognito.

  “Was there something between you two back then?”

  I clear my throat and stare down at my plate, not able to look Bernie in the eyes. “Not really. I mean, there might have been, but I didn’t let it happen. Not because I didn’t want it to, but because I didn’t want to hold her back. If I told her how I felt, she would have given up her internship and stayed. I didn’t want that to happen.”

  “So, you made the sacrifice, hurting her, but also protecting her.” I just nod my head. “That’s admirable. So, what happened this time?”

  This is such an awkward conversation to have, but Bernie has determination and I know he won’t quit until he receives all the details.

  “I lost control. I gave into my feelings, and before I could stop myself, it went too far.”

  “Too far?” Bernie raises an eyebrow at me and I swallow hard.

  “Um, we don’t need to go into details.”

  Silence falls between us and I don’t know if I should start running or shove the rest of my hot dog down my throat so I’ll stop talking.

  Finally, Bernie glances up at me, a serious look in his eyes. “Do you love her, Porter?”

  Growing up, I quickly learned that no matter the repercussions, you never straight up lie to Bernie McMann, ever. He’s a good man…if you’re honest with him, he’s less likely to kill you. So, I strap on my balls and lay it all out on the table.

  “Madly.” I rub my hand over my face. “I love her so fucking much it hurts to not have her around, to see her leave without saying goodbye to me, to know that I probably screwed up my one chance at finding my true soulmate; it’s slowly killing me.”

  Bernie nods his head. “That’s what I thought.” From his shirt pocket, he pulls out an envelope and places it in front of me. My heart seizes in my chest when I see the familiar handwriting of the woman who used to take care of me as if I were her own. I glance up at Bernie, who is gripping my forearm. “Mama McMann knew you two were meant for each other. Before she passed, she made me promise to give you this letter when you finally realized Marley was the one for you. Read it, and when you’re done, I want to know what your plan is for getting my daughter back.”

  With that, Bernie grabs his root beer and plate and takes off toward the living room, where he flips on the TV and starts watching sports recaps.

  I stare down at the letter, no longer hungry for my lunch, wondering what is written beneath the cream sealed envelope.

  From the living room, Bernie calls out, “It’s not going to read itself, boy.”

  Needing some privacy, I pick up the letter, shove it in my back pocket, and take my half eaten plate to the kitchen where I set it on the island. Knowing Bernie, he will probably finish it off for me.

  As I walk outside, I hear the screen door shut behind me and I survey the farm, the land I grew up on, the home where I fell in love with Marley. I can see her little gangly body, chasing us around the fence, trying to keep up, I can see her training her pigs for best in show, and I can see her brushing the mane of her horse, Snickers.

  Everywhere I look on this farm, I see Marley. Escaping her is impossible when this is the place where I learned to love her.

  Instead of going back to my shack to read the note, I walk to the old tire swing that’s hanging from a giant oak tree that we named Oakey. Don’t judge; we weren’t very creative back then. I lean against Oakey’s trunk after I pull the letter out of my back pocket. I sit down and twirl it in my hand, a little too nervous to read it. If Paul was here, I would have him read it with me, but he’s off on his honeymoon with Savannah, much help that is to me.

  The front of the envelope says Porter on it in Mama McMann’s perfect script. She was so particular with her pens back then, there were only certain ones she wanted to use. I can tell from the lettering that she used the same pen even for a letter for me.

  Curious, but terrified, I open the letter and unfold a matching cream piece of paper. I rub my beard when I see what’s inside.

  I read the first sentence out loud. “To my dearest Porter.”

  Fuck.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and lean my head back, remembering the gentle way Mama McMann used to hug me whenever I came over, the way she would light up when she would see me playing with Paul, and the way she would treat me just like her other two children.

  When I fell down and scraped my knee, she was the first one to bandage it up, and when I needed advice on how to deal with my dad, she would sit with me, under this tree, and help me understand what it meant to make good decisions and bad decisions. When I didn’t have any clean clothes, she would have me bring mine over to the house so she could wash mine for me, and when I didn’t have a lunch to take with me to school because my dad was too wasted to realize I was hungry, Mama McMann would slip a ten dollar bill in my pocket to last me the week.

  This woman saved me day in and day out when she was alive, and even now that she’s no longer on this earth to kiss me on the forehead, she’s still trying to save me through her words.

  Wanting to read what she says, I take a deep breath and look down at the paper.

  To my dearest Porter,

  If you’re reading this letter, two things have happened, I didn’t make it through my chemo treatments and you’ve finally realized you and Marley are meant to be together.

  Before we get into Marley, I want to talk about my chemo treatments. First of all, I want to thank you for standing by Paul and Marley’s side as I grew sick over the last couple of months. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend for them. Secondly, I want to tell you how much I love you for visiting me when I was too sick to get out of bed, for bringing me soup and water when I needed it, and for reading me books when they weren’t what you would have necessarily read yourself. Even though I wasn’t able to win the battle, I still am so happy I was able to spend those last precious moments with you.

  From the first day you came over to our farm to introduce yourself, I fell instantly in love with your brown scruffy hair, knobby knees, and dimpled smile. It just so happened to be that you were Paul’s age and became instant best friends. You helped a shy farm boy turn into an outgoing, confident, albeit drama queen, man. I’m sad I won’t be able to see your friendship continue through the years, but I know it will stay constant in your lives because of the bond you built when you were so young.

  Then there is Marley. At first, she was a tag-a-long who annoyed you boys to no end. I spent many an afternoon talking to you and Paul about being nice to Marley and including her in your adventures. Remember when I used to bribe you with cookies? To this day, I have no shame from doing so because it was precious to see you three play togeth
er.

  As the years rolled by, I noticed a shift in your relationship. You were more welcoming to Marley than Paul. You thought it was okay for her to hang around, to play, to be included in your grand adventures across the farm. I don’t think you knew it at the time, but I did, I saw it in your eyes. Marley wasn’t just Paul’s sister to you, she was your match. The person you’re supposed to spend your life with.

  I’ve always thought you two belonged together, there’s been no doubt in my mind…you just had to realize it yourself. Now that you’re reading this letter, I hope you have.

  So, what are you going to do about it?

  If there is one lesson I can teach you in this life, it’s to seize the day and not wait, wondering what could have been. Porter, my son, life is short, embrace what you have now, react to your feelings even if it means putting your heart on the line, because if you don’t, you will always wonder what life might have been if you took a chance.

  Be with my baby girl, make her happy, and bring her the kind of love I know comes around once in a lifetime. I had it with my Bernie. Share the same kind of unyielding love with my Marley.

  I love you, Porter. I’m watching over you, kissing those scraped knees and ruffling that messy hair of yours.

  Love you always,

  Mama McMann

  Tears stream down my face, the letter heavy in my hand as I set it down and look out at the farm. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?