Seonaid
I skip down the hill nearest to our farm, headed straight for town. I quietly recite the items I need to buy so that I don’t forget anything.
“Soap, meat, liquor, bread,” I whisper repeatedly.
I’m most excited about the bread. New man in town. I think I’ll stop there first today.
As I grow nearer to the bakery, I walk faster and faster. I can’t wait to ask him what he thinks of Còmhla. I’ll bet anything he’s bored already. Maybe he’s already packed up shop, and is waiting for the next ferry ride out of here. Take me with you!
I grip the door of the bakery and fling it open roughly, smiling. I look side to side. I bite my lip. I stop smiling when I don’t see anyone behind the counter.
“Tryna break my door already?” A man asks as he pops up from behind the counter. He has wavy blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He’s very handsome, I’d say. More handsome than most of the men that live here…Although Miore was right, he is particularly small in stature.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean to open it like that. I was just excited, is all,” I answer.
“Excited?”
I walk up to the counter.
“I’m excited to meet you. Hallo, I’m Seonaid.”
He looks at me suspiciously. Maybe he’s not used to friendly people. He is from the city after all. I heard they can be very cold there. I put my hand out and smile.
“Taog,” he says as he grabs my hand firmly. He looks deeply into my eyes. “Can I ask why a beautiful woman like you would be excited to meet me?”
Beautiful? He’s very forward.
“Oh. Yes, well, that’s just the thing. I don’t think we’ve had anyone new move here since I was born!”
“And exactly how long ago was that?” He asks. That’s an odd question.
“I’m nineteen years old.”
“Aye, I’m twenty-six. Been in Inverness my whole life up to now. You know a man by the name of Artur Glas?”
“I do.”
“He’s my uncle. Told me about the empty shop. He said it’s not easy to get by here as a new-comer, but because I’m a Glas, I’d be welcomed with open arms.”
I laugh at the thought of it. “And have you been?”
“No, not really,” he says and laughs. “Well, by you I have been, so thank you for that.”
“Ye’re welcome!”
“Would you like anything?”
“Yes. Came here for bread.”
“What kind?”
“Wheat’ll do.”
He moves away from the counter and begins to slice my bread. We’re silent. I want to keep talking. I really want to hear more about Inverness.
“So what’s it like in the city?”
“It’s alright I suppose. Needed a change.”
“A pretty big change!”
“Yeah. Had a falling out with my girlfriend. Just wanted to move far away, try to move forward.”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“Well, I’m married.”
“Nineteen and married?” he asks. I can’t see him very well from this angle, but it sounds like he’s stopped slicing.
“That’s what we do here,” I respond.
“Oh…Do you like being married?”
“No, not really.”
“Your husband no good to you?” he asks.
“No, he’s fine. He’s quite boring,” I say, as I stand on my toes and bend over the counter to get a better look at him. “We own this farm, Catanach. It’s been in his family for generations. He works so much. Honestly, he doesn’t do much other than work, eat, and sleep…You’re more than welcome to stop by for some fruits or vegetables, by the way. We also have oats, eggs—”
“I’ll hold you to it,” he interrupts my rambling, turns back to the bread, and continues slicing.
I don’t know what to say. I’ve already bored him. Us folk here, in Còmhla, we’re very good at that. We hardly ever have a repeat tourist. I cross my arms and twirl the curls of my hair with my pointer finger, looking at the ground. I peer back up when he approaches the counter.
“Your bread,” he pushes it toward me.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Free, for the only lass who’s made me feel welcome here.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Maybe he doesn’t find me as boring as I thought. “I do appreciate it.”
“So you’ll return?” he asks, leaning over the counter with a tiny little smile. I’ve never seen a smile like his before. It’s not that it doesn’t seem real, it seems astonishingly genuine, there’s just something else behind it. It’s far different than the kind you find here, the wide-opened mouths bearing teeth, with creasing at the eyes. He uses no teeth and pointed eyebrows. He taps his fingers in anticipation, waiting for my answer.
“I will. You’re the only bakery in town, you know. I have no choice.”
He laughs disingenuously as he leans back, slapping the counter. It’s like he’s annoyed by my answer.
“Well then, you best be getting on out of here to your husband now.”
“Well, yes, I—”
“Go on, get.”
He shoos me away with one hand, kind of like a child, or a bug. He’s rude and he’s strange. But he’s handsome and he’s different. As I leave the store, I can’t help but wonder more about his smile. I won’t be able to think of anything else all night long.
Danny
I run into the locker room and down the long freakin’ aisles. I’m late to practice again. What’s the point of extra help when it doesn’t even help anyway? I still suck at math! I drop my bag to the floor and search through my jean pockets for the little yellow pass. Fuck! Where is it?! Maybe I put it in my bag? I unzip it and dump all of my shit onto the floor. There it is! Man, I really crumpled it up. I sit on the ground and lay it out. I press it down flat, as if my hand is an iron. I mean, my hand is kinda hot and sweaty, so that counts. I hold it up and take a good look. Still looks like shit. Who cares anyway? I don’t think coach will.
“Exactly! He’s never even at practice on time!”
That sounds like Reese… Great. I start to collect my clothes.
“Facts. Bro, he was so pissed that he wasn’t invited to your party,” Preston answers.
Reese laughs. I hear him whip open his locker. Wait… Who is he talking about? It’s gotta be either me or Matt… and Matt is usually on time to practice! I try to breathe as quietly as possible. They’re talking about me! I want to lean back to get more comfortable, but I know my back hitting the lockers will make a sound. I’m frozen completely still, kind of like when you play that traffic light game.
“Bro, why would I invite him though?!”
Preston laughs. “I don’t know—”
“Like, why was he even expecting to be invited in the first place?! You know what I mean? We weren’t even friends in middle school!”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you though! Noah thought your last party was lowkey lame.”
“Seriously? What did he say?”
“Well, when Danny was literally antagonizing us about the party, Noah was saying he’s not even going anyway because your last one sucked.”
“Oh yeah? Facts. He can hang out with Danny and Matt instead.”
Preston laughs so hard. Why is hanging out with us funny?! Well, hanging out with Matt is kinda funny, but not hanging out with me!
“Two biggest fucking losers on the team,” Preston adds.
“Yeah, now it’s three. Danny, Matt, and Noah.”
A locker slams shut, and I hear footsteps like they’re walking away. I try to listen as closely as I can, but their voices get quieter and quieter.
“Yo, Danny is the biggest fucking —”
“COACH SAYS!”
“Yo, what the fuck?” Reese asks.
“COACH SAYS to MOVE your butts!”
Oh my God, that’s Matt’s voice. REALLY?! I wanted to hear that! I’m the biggest fucking WHAT?!
“Chill,” Preston says.
I hear running and then laughing.
“Sheeeeesh!” Preston says laughing.
They’re still talking, but I can hardly make out their words. Why does Reese hate me so much?! What did I even do to him? I stand up and pace around. When I get back to my locker, I kick it really hard. Now it’s dented. Great!
I think about everyone who Reese hangs out with. They’re all white guys! That’s gotta be it. It’s the only reason I can think of! I open my locker and rip my lacrosse shit out of it. Fucking asshole.
As I get dressed, I think about myself some more. I still don’t know what the hell I am! There’s gotta be a way to find out, right? There’s gotta be a way to find my birth family or something! How can I ever fit in anywhere if I don’t know what I am? I think about those stupid block games. You know, the ones babies play with? The square goes in the square hole, and the circle goes in the circle hole. Imagine playing that, but like… You don’t even know what shape you’re holding! I pick up my phone and go to Google. I type words like “find out what I am.” Nothing interesting comes up. Just some bullshit about discovering yourself in like a weird girly way. What’s the word for being Black or white? There’s a word for that. Race? I think it’s race! I type “Find out my race.” That’s it. Something interesting comes up now. This might be my answer!
Hayley
I started a job at the local gas station. Working is not fun at all. I hate it. Nothing about it is fun. In fact, restocking the snack shelves is the best part. Sounds super boring, right? That’s because it is. I guess I like it the most because it’s easy and I don’t have to talk to people. I don’t like talking to people. I don’t know what to say. The worst part of this job is when someone buys hundreds of lottery tickets. I’m still slow at entering the numbers into the computer, and then I get nervous, and all the people in line get agitated. So many times I just want to scream “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO WIN ANYWAY!” and run out the door. Don’t these people know they have better odds of getting injured by a toilet? I know I read that somewhere in a magazine, or online, or something. That’s why I don’t play lotto. Why waste the tiny bit of money I do have? I could put it to much better use, like trying to save up for a cardboard box to live in. I guess I should be thankful that DSS helped me find a job so quickly. I can actually buy some things I need. Maybe I’ll be able to get Everleigh some Christmas presents.
You would never believe the waitlist for subsidized apartments here in Suffolk County. I’m not talking months. Years. There’s so many people out there just like me. I wish something could change. The shelter has been OK, but still, I never imagined I’d be homeless and raising a child. I guess I should have. I’m sure the odds of that are much higher than winning the Mega Millions, especially for a former foster kid.
I’ve searched online for apartments or even just bedrooms in my budget. They don’t exist. When something turns up, I hold back my excitement, because I know it’s very unlikely that the other tenants are willing to welcome a crying baby into their home.
The bell rings. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I slowly back away from the potato chips and pretzels. As I walk over to the counter, I smell this guy before I see him. When I get close enough, I find a disheveled-looking man waiting there with his hands in the pockets of his dirty jeans.
“Fifty on pump six,” he says as he pulls out a wad of cash.
I stare at the computer intently. I have to make sure I click pump six. I’ve made that mistake before. I double check before I tap on the screen. I’m nervous. I’m always nervous.
“You’re all set,” I say.
He nods and wanders toward the door, whistling. I wonder why a man with that much cash in his pocket would go out in public that way. Like, take a shower or something? Wash your jeans, maybe? I know Tristian used to do that, but come on, he didn’t have thousands of dollars. If he did, he would have dressed better, right? Nah, probably not.
I go back to stocking. I wonder if I could find something affordable out of state. Maybe even just a studio apartment. It’s not like I would miss anything here in Suffolk county. Something keeps me here though, I’m not sure what. Peter, maybe? The thought that maybe one day I could talk to him again… He could meet his daughter… He could take care of us. I know that will never happen.
Sometimes I think about what it would be like if Peter walked into the gas station. What would he do if he saw me? He’d probably be surprised to see me working. Sometimes it’s a daydream. He walks up to the counter, saddened to see me here all pathetic and homeless. He takes one look at a picture of his baby girl and invites me and her back into the apartment with open arms.
Other times it’s a nightmare. He calls the police immediately to tell them what I did to him. My baby gets taken away and placed in his custody. He raises her to hate me. She visits me in prison occasionally just to remind me of what a horrible person I am. She has nothing but love and praise for her father.
I’m startled when the bell rings again, thinking this might be it, this could be that moment. If this is my nightmare, there’s nothing that could be worse than Peter walking in. Well, maybe a robber, like my mother. Then again, I’ve been through much worse than being held at gunpoint. If this is my daydream, there could be nothing better than Peter walking in. Well, maybe hitting the Mega Millions, but what are the odds of that? Right, worse than getting injured by a toilet.
I peek around the aisle of candy and see a woman standing at the counter. Obviously, she isn’t Peter. I sigh in relief. It’s probably best that I never see him again.
Peter
I haven’t heard from Kara yet regarding a specific move-in date. That’s why I haven’t even mentioned it to Danny. Why bother if she isn’t even going to come anyway? I think it through once more as I squeeze the last drips of dirty water out of the mop and finish closing for the night. If I don’t hear from her by the end of this week, I’ll reach out. I roll the mop bucket outside and dump its contents into the storm drain. When I finish, I head straight for the office. Allen is seated at his desk chair, but he’s not working. I think he’s sleeping. I hate to wake him from his slumber, but I’ve been here since five in the morning, and I’m completely beat.
“Mr. Vorhees,” I say and tap on his shoulder gently.
“What, yes? How can I help you, Peter?” He rubs his eyes, then feels around his desk until he locates his glasses.
“It’s time to go home. I closed-up shop.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Do you need a ride home?”
“No. I can drive.”
“You seem a wee bit tired.”
“I wasn’t sleeping, just resting my eyes.”
“Right…”
He tugs the lamp’s pull string, shutting off the light, and stands up with much difficulty. I mean, I shouldn’t really talk. My back and legs have been shot ever since Tristian beat the shit out of me. Still, I’m in better shape than poor, old, Allen Vorhees.
We walk to our cars together. It’s only five o’clock, but it’s already pretty dark out. Daylight Savings can really screw you all up.
It takes what feels like decades for him to get into the driver’s seat. I’d help him if he wasn’t such a proud man. Instead, I shove my hands in the pocket of my coat to keep them warm. After he’s in safely, I get into my own car. We’re parked next to each other. I stare at him as he tries multiple times to turn over the engine of his 2003 Buick Century. After at least four attempts, I roll down my window.
“Hey, Mr. Vorhees?” I ask, but I don’t think he hears me. He turns the key repeatedly, but the engine just sputters.
“Goddammit!” I yell and smack my steering wheel. I lean back and close my eyes. I just want to go home!
“You should help him, Seamus. He helped you.” I hear Adair’s voice from the backseat. I turn around.
“You’re right,” I answer, looking down at the center console. When I look back up, he’s already gone.
I knock on the window of the old Buick. Mr. Vorhees stares up at me. I wave and smile. He rolls down the window to talk.
“Not starting, aye?” I rub my hands together to keep them warm.
“This happens every now and again,” he says.
“I have cables in my trunk, I could give you a jump.”
“You know how to do that?”
I stare at him and blink rapidly. Why wouldn’t I know how to do that?
“Of course I do. I’ll grab the cables.”
I pop the trunk of my Fusion and rummage through all of the crap in here. God, it smells like Danny’s gym socks. Why would Mr. Vorhees think I don’t know how to jump start a battery? Everyone who drives knows how to jump start a battery. Well, maybe not most women… His question reminds me of the things my mother used to call me as a boy… Wait, is my manhood in question here? OK, I’m ‘spiraling out of control,’ as Hayley used to say. I find a Nike bag. Perhaps the cables are in here? I open it up. NOPE! It’s dirty laundry from Danny’s gym locker, that explains the smell. I guess I have laundry to do when I get home. I put the bag down on the ground beside me. Finally, I find the cables. I carry them over to Mr. Vorhees’ car. I knock, and when the window opens, I lean inside. I can get a better view of the interior now. It’s quite dirty. There are lots of stains on the seats, and crumbs and dirt galore. There’s some garbage on the floor of the passenger side as well.
“Start the car when I tell you to, but for now, don’t touch anything… Oh, and turn your lights off,” I instruct. I make sure I look him in the eyes and not at the filthy conditions.
I head to the front of the car and watch as the cloudy looking headlights dim to black. I stand there and stare at him. He does nothing. He knows he has to pop the hood, right? I tap on the hood of the car. He still does nothing. Jesus Christ, Mary, and Joseph. I walk quickly back over to the window.
“Pop the hood.”
“Oh, right!” He says with a chuckle. “I wondered why you were just standing there.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say with a smile. Not a happy smile. I’m sure he can tell my patience is fading. I’m freezing my balls off out here.
He looks down to his left, and soon enough, I hear the clunk of the trunk pop open. I walk back in front of the car and look inside. God, this looks like shit. How old is this battery…? Fuck. Alright, worth a shot, anyway. I begin hooking up the cables.
“I can do it!” I look to my side. It’s Adair again. His red hair bounces up and down as he jumps with excitement.
“No. NO! You are not to touch this! Do you understand me?!” I scold him.
“Is everything OK out there, Peter?”
Oh shit. Fuck.
“Yes.” Adair disappears. I turn forward again. I don’t think Mr. Vorhees can see me past the open hood... At least I hope he can’t. “Everything is just fine.”
“I thought I heard you yelling, Peter. Are you sure everything is OK?”
“It’s just that this battery looks very old, Mr. Vorhees.”
“What?”
“EVERYTHING IS FINE!” I yell.
I grab the other end of the cables and hook them up to my car’s battery, get in the driver’s seat and start the car. I look over at Mr. Vorhees and give him a thumbs up. He twists the key, but the engine doesn’t turn over.
“GIVE IT A FEW SECONDS AND TRY AGAIN,” I shout. It’s not worth even trying to talk at a normal volume, I know he won’t hear me.
We continue on like this for at least twenty more minutes. The car just won’t start. That battery is shot to shit. I finally get out of my car and approach him.
“Come on, get in my car,” I say.
“And just leave mine here?”
“No, we’ll call for roadside assistance, but it’s too cold. My car has heat.”
“I don’t have my phone book on me.”
“We don’t need a phone book. Where’s your insurance card?”
He opens the glove box, pulls out an insurance card, and hands it to me. It’s two years expired. Damn it, I really hope this policy is still in force. State Farm. Imagine if this is the agency Kara works at?
“OK, let’s go.” I walk around to the driver’s side and open the door.
“Takes me a little while to get out, you know,” he says as he hoists his legs around and out of the car.
“Oh, I know,” I answer.
He uses all of his strength, plus a little help from the grab handles above the door, but he gets out all on his own.
When we get inside my car, I immediately call the phone number for emergency roadside assistance. Mr. Vorhees stares at me throughout the process, gaping at me as though I’m a genius. Thankfully, his policy is on autopay and still in force, he just needs to replace the card.
“They’re going to have to tow it,” I tell him.
“It just needs a jump.”
“We tried that already.”
“But are you sure you were doing it correctly?”
“Positive. One-hundred percent positive. I’ll drive you home tonight.”
“OK, but let them try to jump it first.”
“Sure. I’ll let them try to jump it first.”
“You know, maybe you just weren’t doing it right, mistakes happen.”
I laugh sarcastically and roll my eyes. “Yes, they do.”
I want to turn on some music. The customer service representative said we could be waiting here for an hour, so we might as well get comfortable. I click on my phone screen. How You Remind Me by Nickelback starts playing. I lay my car seat all the way back and stare at the roof.
Danny
“So there’s this thing I found out about on Google. It’s pretty freaking awesome, and Christmas is coming, so I hope the fat man will bring it for me,” I say as soon as Peter walks in the door. He’s home late, and he looks tired and pissed. Maybe now isn’t the best time. He doesn’t say a word. I stand from the couch and follow him into the kitchen. He pulls a Gatorade out of the fridge and plops down onto a chair. I sit on the one next to him.
“Are you OK? You look wiped out.”
“I am.”
“Hard day at work?”
“Suppose you could say that.”
“Like what happened?”
“My boss’s car broke down. He’s really old. I had to help him get it towed and then drive him home. Worst part is, I’ll be driving him to and from work until it gets repaired. So instead of 4:15 in the morning—” he picks up his phone and squints at the screen. He clicks on some shit and then puts it face down on the table. “I’ll be waking up at 3:45.”
“Oh, man that sucks.”
“Yes…What were you saying?”
Now I feel bad asking him for anything. But it’s super important to me. It’s the thing I found on Google in the locker room. You can figure out your DNA with science! Just by hocking a loogie into a cup, a scientist can figure out if you’re Irish, or Spanish, or Italian, or Black! The magic of spit! The coolest part is, you can also meet other family members there…People that are actually related to you by blood! I need this!
“I was gonna give you my Christmas list,” I answer.
“Bit early for Christmas lists,” he says as he sips his Gatorade. “Not even Thanksgiving yet.”
“Well, I only have one thing on the list.”
“Just one?”
“Yes, just one tiny thing and it’s not a video game.”
“OK, you have my interest. Go on.”
“So there’s this thing you can order online, and all you have to do is spit in a cup!”
“You want a cup to spit in? We have cups here you can spit in.”
“No, it’s for a reason! You spit in the cup and you mail it away. Then, you get an email telling you all of your DNA! Like, exactly what you are and where your ancestors are from!”
He slams his Gatorade down on the table and blinks his eyes so freakin’ fast!
“I know, right?! I couldn’t believe it either! But it’s true!” I say.
“Absolutely not.”
“What?”
“You are not getting that for Christmas. Pick as many video games as you please, but you aren’t getting a DNA testing kit.”
“But it’s only $129!”
“This has nothing to do with the price, Danny. I said no. The answer is no.”
“But…Why? Why not? I thought it would be something we could do together. We could BOTH learn more about our—”
“Go to your room.”
“Peter…What? Why?”
“You’ll learn more when you’re older. Now it’s time to worry about being a kid, not about adult matters!”
“But I just want to know—”
“Trust me, you don’t. Find something else for Christmas. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet! Jesus Christ, coming to me after work with this nonsense.”
“I—"
“Go!”
My heart is beating so fast. I stand up quickly and grind my teeth. I wait for him to cave, but he doesn’t break eye contact with me. I knock my chair down to the floor and storm out of the kitchen. He doesn’t freaking get it! He knows exactly who he is and where he’s from, good, bad, or ugly! I don’t know shit! I don’t fit in anywhere, not with the Black kids, not with the white kids, not with anyone! I go into my bedroom and slam the door behind me. Fucking asshole. Maybe he just hates the truth. He hates it so bad that he won’t even let me know my truth.