My mother had decided at the last moment to invite the neighbors to a barbecue before we would all head out to the dock to watch the fireworks, and had enlisted me with bringing home supplies. Five p.m. couldn’t come soon enough, though it was more like five twenty by the time we got through the line of people who wanted fries and sodas and water and—shockingly for the beach—burgers. As we locked up, I reminded Lucy about the barbecue, and when Elliot heard that Lucy might be coming, he invited himself along too. By that point, I figured that more was definitely merrier, so I invited Fred, who only thanked me without committing, and Leland, who told me regretfully that he’d have to miss my rager, as he was one of the people on the water with the company that was setting off the fireworks from the middle of the lake.
“They needed a lifeguard,” he explained as I unlocked my bike from the beach entrance. “You know, in case someone gets hit by a firework or drowns setting one off or something.”
I didn’t exactly find this reassuring, but I told him to be careful, then biked to Henson’s and grabbed all the rest of their corn on the cob, hoping it would be enough for however many people ended up coming. I walked my bike past the bakery, peering inside, wanting to see Henry, if only for a few minutes. But Borrowed Thyme was packed, and though he caught my eye through the window and waved, I could tell that he looked stressed-out, and I had a feeling this wouldn’t be the best time to bother him.
So I biked home alone, feeling the wind through my hair and smelling the scent of backyard grills as I went. The Dip didn’t faze me anymore—it wasn’t until I’d coasted down it and crested up the other side that I looked back and realized how far I’d come.
I leaned my bike against the porch and headed up the stairs, feeling desperately in need of a hot shower, so that I wouldn’t smell like fryer grease and the batch of lemonade that I’d spilled on myself. I had no idea what the surprise Henry had promised me might be, but just thinking about it was enough to make me smile.
But I snapped out of it as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. My mother was stalking between the counters, her hair frizzy and coming out of its normal neat bun. She was banging pans much harder than was necessary, and I felt myself instinctively shrinking back, remembering in a rush why I’d never liked it when we entertained up here—the smallness of the kitchen always seemed to exponentially increase my mother’s stress. Murphy had apparently picked up on this as well, and he slunk past me, his ears pressed down against his head, and huddled behind my ankles. I bent down to pet him, and as I did, it was then that my mother turned around and saw me.
“Finally!” she snapped, brushing back a lock of hair. I could see that her face was flushed and her eyes looked red-rimmed. “Did you get the corn?”
“All they had left,” I said, holding up the Henson’s bag but making no move to come any farther into the kitchen. “So I’ll just shuck it outside, okay?”
“I need you to set out condiments and plates,” my mother said, either not hearing or just choosing to talk over me. “And then if you could get the junk off this table, I’d appreciate it. I don’t even know how many hamburgers to make; I guess Warren’s girlfriend is coming, but he’s not sure….”
“Oh,” I said quietly, suddenly regretting the invitations I’d extended at work. But this was supposed to be a barbecue; I wasn’t sure why my mother was getting so stressed-out about it. “Well, I actually invited some people from work. So we might have three extras as well.”
My mother slammed down the pot she’d been lifting up and turned to face me. I suddenly wished that Warren or Gelsey were here, so maybe we could spread around some of my mother’s anger a bit. She didn’t get mad often, so when she did, it was like all her pent-up frustration got unleashed at once. And now, it seemed, it was being unleashed on me. “God, Taylor,” she snapped. “Did you ask me? Did you realize that this might be a huge inconvenience? Did you consider checking with me first?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking a tiny step out of the kitchen. I could feel what always happened when someone confronted me—my flight instinct, kicking in, telling me to be anywhere but there. “I didn’t think—”
“No,” she interrupted me, moving another pot off a burner and slamming it down. “You didn’t think. Because that would have involved thinking about someone else, wouldn’t it? Someone other than yourself?”
I felt tears prick my eyes, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to go back to five minutes before, when I’d been riding my bike and everything had still been fine. “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling how hot and tight my throat was, and not wanting to cry in front of my mother. “I’ll go shuck.” And I took the bag of corn and walked out to the front porch as fast as I could. Once there, I looked for a long moment at my bike, but I knew that if I left, I’d just be making things worse. And besides, where would I go?
I sat down on the nearest chair and picked up the first ear of corn with hands that were trembling. As I pulled back the husk, I felt a tear hit my cheek. My heart was still beating hard and I was, for whatever reason, more upset now than I had been when my mother was yelling at me. I wiped my hand across my eyes, took a shaky breath, and started to shuck the corn.