Page 95 of The Burbs and the Bees
He leans forward as mom drops a tea bag into the pot she’d fished out of the cupboards. “Tell me why you think you like it here so much. Does it have anything to do with the farmer next door? You know that’s not a reason to make a big life decision, Alyson. Look what happened with Bradley.”
He’s right. It’s not, especially if I pack up my life and move here only to discover Jay and I don’t want the same things. Again, all the more reason we need to talk, and it should have happened long before now. I was just too afraid of rejection, I guess.
For the next couple of hours, I sit with my parents at the table, bragging up Farmington and telling them everything I’ve been doing. I also told them I’d been helping with Colin’s wedding and learning about sustainability, how to process milk and honey, and what needs to be done for fall harvest. At first, my dad is skeptical, but something in his expression changes, morphs from disbelief to acceptance as I ramble on with enthusiasm.
“You really do like it here, don’t you?” he asks.
“I’m not doing it for the trust fund, Dad.” He smiles at me and gives a slow nod.
“I’m proud of you, Alyson.”
My insides soar, but deep down, I know it’s not his praise or approval I’ve been after all these years; it’s my own. I’m damn proud of myself. Damn proud to do a good hard day’s labor and fall asleep at night exhausted and knowing I’m being a productive member of society. My chest swells with the pride I have in myself.
My mother stifles a yawn. “It’s been a long day. How about we pick this conversation up tomorrow?” She stands and kisses the top of my head. “Is there a room for us?”
“I’ll show you,” I say, wanting to get them settled so I can sneak next door and talk to Jay, but my cell phone rings. My heart leaps, hoping it’s the honey farmer next door, but I don’t recognize the number. “Just give me a second,” I say and slide my finger across the screen.
I answer the call. “Hello.”
“Alyson, is that you?”
“Tyler?” I say, pushing to my feet as panic grips my stomach. He sounds…off. “What’s going on?”
“Can you come get me?” he slurs. “I can’t drive, and Jay will kill me if I call him.”
“Yes, I can come.” I pace the kitchen and clutch my car keys. “Where are you?”
He gives me directions, and I end the call. I crinkle my nose, tossing my parents an apologetic look.
“Sorry, a friend needs a lift. I’ll be back soon. Go get yourselves settled. Second door on the left, you’ll find another spare bedroom. I haven’t cleaned Jack’s things from his room yet.”
“This friend must be very important to you,” Dad says, and I nod. Unlike my friends, I can count on the guys next door, just like they can count on me. But like Tyler once said, we’re more than friends. We’re family.
“They are,” I say, ready to run outside when I realize I’m in my robe. I rush upstairs to change. Mom is rinsing the mugs when I come back down. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”
I hop into my rental and head out into the dark. I’ve gotten to know my way around town, so I can easily find the house where he’s hanging. I ease into the driveway and gasp when I see that Jay is already there, standing beside Tyler as Tyler vomits into a bush. I unbuckle quickly and rush up the driveway, but when the guy turns around, I realize it’s not Jay. It’s a guy I’ve never met before.
“Tyler,” I say and bend to check on him. “You okay?”
“He’s fine,” the guy beside him says with a hearty laugh. “Kid can’t hold his liquor.” My face burns with anger at his flippant remark.
“Come on, Tyler. Let’s get you home.”
“Won’t be home for long,” someone else yells, and I have no idea what he’s talking about.
I get Tyler into the car, and he groans and leans his head back against the seat. Once he’s buckled in, I slide into the driver’s seat, and the pungent smell of vomit and rum hit like a punch to the face. Gag reflexes kicking in, I roll my window down and negotiate the long driveway.
“I’m sorry, Alyson,” he slurs.
“We can talk about this in the morning,” I say, feeling for the kid. I used to be a party girl, so I understand exactly how he feels. “You need to sleep it off.”
“Jay’s an asshole,” he murmurs and presses his arm to his forehead.
I chuckle. “You sound like Capone.”
“Capone is right.”
“You shouldn’t talk about your brother like that. He’s really good to you.”
