Savage Pride

2

I direct him to my parents’ home and give him an extra tip after the long trip from the train station and the delay at the gate. The kid drives off, clearly taking the long way around the lake. I can’t blame him—the scenery is gorgeous, and most people will never be granted access or have reason to enter. My favorite thing about the area is the explosion of color from the fall leaves. The warm hues are the perfect complement to the chilly, serene landscape. For now, summer is just spreading its wings. Everything is green as far as the eye can see, which isn’t all that far since the forest of trees is full of new leaves. The lake isn’t even visible from my parents’ house, but I know exactly where it is. I know the wooded pathways of the Hardwick estate so well that I could walk them blindfolded. Even now, the shaded trails call to me, urging me to explore. And I will, but first, I need to get my suitcase inside. After lugging my heavy bag to the front steps, I’m surprised no one has raced out front to greet me. I can only assume they’re all out, which is unexpected. At the very least, one of my younger sisters should have been home. They all knew I was coming. Luckily, the front door is unlocked. Mom never sees any point in locking the house when so many other more valuable homes are nearby to lure potential criminals. She isn’t totally wrong, but personally, I still believe in the benefit of a good deadbolt. In this instance, however, I’m glad for her lack of security measures. I let myself inside and take in a deep breath—the smell of aged wood that goes hand in hand with old homes and the cherry tang of my father’s cigars. The scent lingers in the upholstery, despite my mother insisting he only smokes on the back porch. Every time I step inside, no matter how many years I’ve lived away, I regain a sense of my childhood. I cannot exist under this roof without resurrecting dormant emotions and memories. Hugs from my father. Secrets whispered between sisters. School and friends. Arguments with my mother. Her signature brand of chaos can be found in a heap of dishes piled in the sink as well as the living room window framed on either side with two totally different drapes. She’d decided to make new curtains several years ago, then moved on to another project midway through when the winds of her creative mood shifted. She has yet to complete the project, like so many others. No corner of the house remains untouched by her flighty whims. I love my mother, but she’s exhausting—maddening, even—yet visits are worth it to see my dad and sisters. Especially the eldest, Gia. We are only eighteen months apart in age and have always been as close as any two sisters. She’s the biggest reason I come back as often as I do. If I could get her to move to the city with me, I would. Her repeated rejection of my offers never keeps me from trying to convince her of the merits of city life. I have no doubt this visit will be no different than the others. I’ll urge her to come to the city with me, and she’ll find a reason to refuse. Gia just turned twenty-nine. She’s the oldest of us girls, and I can’t understand why she won’t leave. I get that she’s family-oriented, but she has her own life to live. I moved out the second I graduated. Of course, Mom doesn’t bother her the way she annoys me. Apparently, Gia got that sneaky strain of patience from my father, along with the uncanny ability to be blind to people’s faults—that’s her own special gift without a known origin, and it’s frustrating as hell. I adore my sister, but she is the worst person in the world to vent to. She’ll insist there’s been a misunderstanding and assume all parties are acting with the best intentions when I really want someone to empathize about a messy situation. My next-door neighbor did not accidentally sleep with my boyfriend, and even if she did, I don’t want to hear it. I digress. Returning home always involves baggage, and I don’t mean of the Samsonite variety. I shake off the swell of unwanted emotions and take my suitcase to the room Gia and I shared throughout our childhood. We still share the same double bed when I visit, even now as adults, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I slept so many years snuggled up with my big sister that her slumbering form next to me provides instant comfort. A boyfriend or cherished pet could never compare. Gia’s love and acceptance are absolute. Happiness draws my lips back into a broad smile at the same time the front door flings open downstairs. “Lulu? You here?” Daddy’s coarse voice resonates through the house. My smile stretches farther to a vibrant grin. I abandon my suitcase and zip down the stairs straight into my father’s open arms. “Hey, Daddy!” I move from him to my mom, then each sister in turn so as not to elicit any sore feelings by showing favoritism. The entire family has come home to greet me. Mom begins to chatter before I even finish my hugs. “We heard you’d arrived, but where’s all your stuff? I figured you’d come loaded with boxes since your new place isn’t ready for another week. You are staying here for the whole week, right?” “I decided to put my things in a storage unit rather than lug it all here. There’s not that much, but it would have been a pain.” After living in a tiny studio apartment with another girl for the past four years, I’ve saved enough to sublet my own room in a two-bedroom place. The new room isn’t available yet, but my old lease expired, so I took the opportunity to visit my family … for a whole week. It’s longer than my usual stay, which is a mixed blessing. A week is a lot of family time. “Those things are so damn expensive. You shouldn’t have wasted your money. We could have had your uncle help you bring it from the city.” “It wasn’t too bad. And now, I can sit back and enjoy seeing you all.” Without worrying my stuff will find its way into one of your closets. Mom has a communal closet philosophy with her daughters. Not a big deal, except that she doesn’t take care of other people’s belongings any better than she does her own. My budget is tight enough. I don’t need her accidentally ruining things that took me weeks to save up for. “Well,” one of my younger sisters Livia starts in, “you couldn’t have picked a better time to visit. Although, we won’t have as much time for fun stuff, it’ll be totally worth it. Mr. De Rossi died, and now everyone is coming to town for the funeral. They’ve already started arriving—so many hot guys—capos and everything. Even Gia could land some deep pockets if she’d do her hair and try a little.” “Liv, have some respect,” Gia chides softly. “This is a time of mourning, not a singles mixer.” She rolls her eyes.