13. Eden

13

EDEN

Esther wrinkles her nose at my goat-loving sister. "Eliza, please leave your boots on the porch." The boots do seem a little gross for indoors, especially at Esther's house, which is neat and tidy at all times. Eliza rolls her eyes but unlaces before collapsing onto Esther's couch as we wait for our brother-in-law to finish whatever smells amazing in the kitchen.

Family dinner at Esther's house is next level, and not just because she has matching chairs at her dining room table. Koa can really cook and thinks about things like how side dishes pair with various meaty main dishes. Sometimes Esther makes cocktails, but today Eila brought a bunch of beer since she just harvested hops and got a fresh batch from her brewing partner.

I soak it all in—the teasing and aromas and easy functioning—and appreciate how far we've all come in the past few years. Then I think about Nate last night, how we both have so much further to go but also how it felt to finally kiss him. How it felt to be open about our attraction to one another.

Eva throws a pillow at me. "Why does your face look like that?"

I throw the pillow back. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She frowns. "Something's up. Tell us now, so we can focus on our food later."

Eva leans forward, elbows on her knees, like she's ready to guide an icebreaker activity. Eliza adjusts her posture on the couch so she's facing me a bit more, and Eila scoots toward me and drops an arm around my shoulder. "I've only been out of the house for like a week. Do you miss me this much?"

"First of all, Mom was sucking the air in the house." They all make matching groaning and understanding sounds. I tuck my hair behind my ears and sit up straighter. "I went on a date last night. With Nate."

"Diseased dick?" Eliza arches a dark brown and purses her lips. "When did we land on him as an acceptable person to date?"

"I'm begging you to stop calling him that." I tell them about the past week. Cleaning honey, subbing in for bowling, and his amazing handmade gifts. Hopefully I don't swoon too much.

Eva munches on crackers from a plate of appetizers that appeared. "What's the issue? You look… troubled."

I sigh. "It's a lot, you know? He's going through some hard stuff. We're both having similar issues with our businesses, with the paperwork and all that."

Esther pops her head around the corner from the kitchen. "You're having business trouble, sissy? Why didn't you ask me for help?" She takes off her apron and folds it on her lap, joining us on the couch.

"I know you're there for me, Esther, but I also don't know where to start. I won't bore you with the details." I don't want her to take over. She always bails me out, and I need to understand how to do it myself if I'm going to keep this going.

Eliza snorts. "Oh, yeah, because I hate talking about urban agriculture." She pushes a finger into my leg. "You know I speak permit."

"That's true. But it's not the bee stuff. I don't know guys… I'm just overwhelmed. Eila moved out, and it got me thinking about who I am when I'm just me. Sure, I'm a crazy bee lady. But who else am I?" I hold my hands out, palms up. "Am I a doormat who lets Mom continue to treat me like crap? Am I a saint who rescues brides from swarms of stinging insects? Am I just a girl listening to music with a cranky carpenter who maybe didn't leave the best first impression?"

"You're not a doormat." Esther's tone is very assertive. "It's okay to be kind, but you don't have to tolerate it if Mom is being unkind. You don't owe her anything."

Eva nods and snuggles closer to Esther.

Just then, Koa taps his fingers on the doorframe from the kitchen. "Hate to break up the pep talk. Dinner is served, ladies."

Everyone gets up to walk to the dining room, and Eila stops to hug me on her way in. "You are still my best friend. You can call me or text me and all that jazz."

I smile, but we both know it's not the same wandering into her room to lie on her bed while we unpack a situation. I have to start figuring things out on my own. Like what did it mean when Nate stopped kissing me? What does it mean to go slow on purpose?

My worries get drowned out in the chorus of praise for Koa's dinner—some sort of corn dish with seasoned beef. He paired a bread made from scratch that was so warm, the honey I spread changed viscosity within five seconds. Everything is garnished with lime and basil, like summer on a platter, especially with chilled glasses of beer.

I glance through the doorway to the kitchen, expecting it to resemble like a war zone since Koa made all this food. He catches me peeking. "I clean up as I go. Can't have the boss frowning at a mess, can I?"

Eila reaches for the salt. "Remember when Mom started that massive flour fight?"

Esther dabs at her face with a napkin. "Yes. And now I live in a house with a clean kitchen, thank you very much."

Eliza forks a mouthful of dinner and gestures with the cutlery. "It was fun, though. She decided we all needed to learn how to bake. Did we ever bake anything?"

Eva smiles behind her water glass. "Yeah, the place was a disaster, but Mom just laughed and said we were making ‘snow angels' on the floor. We actually managed to make some pretty decent cookies."

Esther grunts, and we all turn to our meal, changing the subject to traffic and potholes and other Pittsburgh favorites.

I drive home happy and full, a container of leftovers for my lunch tomorrow sitting in the passenger seat. But as soon as I pull into the driveway, all the good feelings whoosh away. The front door hangs open, and my mom reclines in the living room, blowing smoke from her cigarette toward the open door.

"Mom, what are you doing?" I close the door and bite the inside of my lip, worried about how she'll respond to me leading off with a criticism like that.

"Well, aren't you all high and mighty." She stubs out the cigarette in the bottom of a plastic cup that probably had boxed wine in it. "Like this house is so fancy I can't smoke a single cigarette inside."

I cross my arms and try to appear bigger than I am. "It's my house, Mom, and I don't like the smell."

She waves a hand and groans, standing and flicking on the box fan. "Happy?" Mom points her index finger in my direction. "I expected more of a welcome when I got home from my seminar. Where have you been?"

I open my mouth to tell her I was at Esther's but decide against it. Her mention of a seminar confirms she's probably back in the pyramid scheme world, traveling to Vegas for expensive brainwashing with a side of Cirque du Soleil.

I take a deep breath to cool the boiling frustration on the back of my tongue. "What was your seminar like?"

"Well, now who's curious?" She clacks over to a box by the door, her wooden sandals popping against the hardwood floor. Mom opens a box full of tiny yellow cartons. "Voila!"

I'm afraid to ask, but the question rolls off my lips despite the fear. "Soaring Rejuvenation? What's that?"

Mom presses a hand to her chest, feigning overwhelm or disdain or something else meant to make me feel small. "I wouldn't expect you and your sisters to know about something high-end like this. It's cosmetics, darling. It's never too soon to worry about those frown lines, Eden. Are you moisturizing when you spend all that time in the sun?"

I press a hand to the skin by my lips. I didn't think people got frown lines in their mid-twenties, but I do also moisturize with some of the products I make from beeswax. "Can I see the box?"

Mom hands me a pot of night serum. "These are extremely high-end. We have many celebrities waiting to endorse this. Read those ingredients."

"Um, I don't really know what any of those are."

"Of course you don't," she says, snatching it from my grasp. "You're not a skincare scientist. But let me tell you, this is the good stuff." Mom dives into an obviously rehearsed speech, and I tune her out while I stare at the box. Realization dawns on me—she would have had to pay for the materials up front, as well as attendance at whatever sales pitch she went to.

"Mom, where did you get your startup capital?"

"I have my ways," she says coyly. "Why don't you give me some of the names of your friends so we can start setting up a party for them to learn about these awesome wellness solutions."

"I, um, don't have any friends." It's not a total lie, but I'm not giving my mother the contact information for my beekeeper mentors. My sisters are my best friends, but Mom should know that. Parents should know that about their children.

She arches a brow at me and pops her hip, resting a manicured hand on her shorts. "What about those people you were bowling with the other day?"

"Those are co-workers. Mom, you know I make cosmetics, right? That's part of my business? You're…" I drift off, not quite ready to call my mother a competitor as she stands here with a box of pyramid scheme products.

"Oh, you're worried I'm cutting into your bottom line." She taps her lip. "I'm sure we have a different target market, Eden. As I said, my products are very classy. Be a good helper and carry this to my room for me?" She clacks up the steps, leaving me next to her box of makeup.

I heave it into my arms and follow, stomach sinking as I enter her room and see two more crates stacked by the door.