5. Eden

5

EDEN

Monday family dinner is sacrosanct for the Storm girls. Esther's bar is closed, and family dinner is pretty much the only time she ever sits down. Eila and I are hosting one last time as roommates, but it's been too hot to cook, so we're eating a giant salad she put together from all her many plants. My big contribution is honey dressing. Of course.

I set the cute little pitcher on the table just in time for Eila to announce, "Eden's been hanging out with Disease Dick again."

I freeze, a flush creeping through my cheeks that's unrelated to the humidity and heavy heat. "Eila, God. What a way to phrase it."

She points at me with the salad tongs. "Did he or did he not give you the clap last year? With his penis?" She sways the tongs back and forth. "A diseased… dick…"

Eva chortles, and Eliza arches a brow. I have to set the record straight. "Look, he didn't know he had it. And I was making bad choices that night, too."

Esther's husband, Koa, shakes his head. "Why are you seeing this fella?"

Esther points at me with her fork. "You always wrap it, Eden. I've been over this."

I roll my eyes and sink onto the wobbly stool I dragged in from the living room to complete our eclectic seating. It's nice expanding our table to include Ben and Koa. It reminds me of a TV family, and TV families always make room for more. "Nate's a client now. His construction site has a colony of bees inside a wall."

Eliza takes a bite of her salad, chewing noisily. "Will you quarantine the shit out of the bees in case they have extra diseases?"

Eva snorts, and Ben groans, like he never wants to discuss a penis ever again. At least not with his girlfriend's family. I cross my arms defensively, although I'm not at all sure why I feel defensive of Nate Donovan. "If you must know, he apologized. His dad died suddenly, and he was in a dark place, and he sees some sort of grief counselor now. And I am getting more out of the deal. I negotiated keeping half the honey from inside the wall."

"Hmm." Esther furrows her brow and turns to Koa. Koa lost both his parents, but as far as I know, he didn't resort to self-destruction. He did marry my sister after knowing her for an hour, but that was less impulsive and more practical—he needed a green card.

"So anyway," I try to change the subject. "The wall project is really interesting to me. I am using a bee escape tool I had to customize since there were some other holes in the wall. I got the majority of the bees out already, but?—"

"Are you sure you have the capacity for this project?" Esther doesn't usually interrupt me, so I'm really rattled when she leans across the table and pats my arm. "I want to make sure you're expanding intentionally, slowly. Trust me when I say it's not easy having more work than you can handle."

I scrunch my face. "Thanks? And it's not a lot of hands-on work at this point." I'm not sure why my sister is being so bossy, especially when she knows I'm up a creek about rent.

Okay, yes, I've cried to her on the phone a few times when I had way too much honey to process at once and had to beg my sisters to help me get it into jars. But I have a different business model now—selling the honey by the bucketful. Hopefully, the two new colonies I gained this week will really amp up my honey production and the income from selling it.

And what does Esther know about me expanding too rapidly? I absolutely need as much income as I can get. For starters, I'm using vintage, inefficient equipment I got at an estate sale. I glance over at Ben, who works as an inspector for the city, and remember I never got around to filing the permit paperwork to keep hives here at the rental property. Shit.

I'm about to change the subject again, when there's a knock at the door. "Girls? Yoohoo!" It's a voice I haven't heard in a few months, and it sends my heart into a deep freeze.

Our mother.

Esther's face tightens. Eliza looks like she's going to vomit. Eila claps a hand over her mouth. "How did she find us?" she hisses, running fingers through her hair to straighten it, like she knows our mother is about to lecture her appearance.

Eva slouches low in her seat and bites her lip. "So, um, you know how I have Esther's old phone?" She explains Mom called looking for Esther and, Eva being Eva, now we have another guest for dinner. "I didn't think she'd actually show up."

"Oh, Christ." Esther throws her napkin on the table and stomps toward the front door, Eliza hot on her heels. "Emma Storm, what are you doing here?"

"Esther!" Mom rushes in and hugs Esther like it's been a week since she saw us. "So good to see you, sweetheart." She wraps her arms around my stiff sister as we peer around the wall. Mom takes in the room. "Oh, you're all here. This is so wonderful. And there's food!"

Mom darts around the room, planting wet kisses on our cheeks. She doesn't seem to notice the men until she lowers into Esther's seat and peers up at Esther's huge, muscular husband. "Well, well… Who are you and can I get your number?"

Koa frowns. "My wife was sitting there."

Mom looks at the chair, avoiding the word wife . "One of my girls? Well, she can give her old mom a seat and find her own." Mom glances around again. "This place is so… creative."

Eila and I painted each room a different color, both because we love bright colors and because it hides the stains. We love living in a crayon box.

Esther leans against a teal wall, arms folded in a defensive posture. Koa rises to join her, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Shall I get the car, love?"

Esther shakes her head, and he stands by her side like a shield. I wonder briefly if he'd shield the rest of us, too.

Eliza—who never got a hug and seems to prefer it that way—asks, "What are you doing here?"

Mom takes a sip of Esther's water. "Oh, I have the best news. I have a lead on a real opportunity here in Pittsburgh. I'm back, girls. For good."

None of us say anything, and Mom seems to wait for us to cheer and pop champagne. She circles a finger in the air. "I just need a place to hang for a few days while I talk to my partners. Whose house was this again, Eva? You've got room for your mommy, right?"

Esther glares at our baby sister, who makes a face like she's constipated. "This is Eden and Eila's house, and they only have two bedrooms."

Ben, who is autistic and struggles to let things go when they're not precisely accurate, blurts, "Eila moved in with me, so her room is free. She even left her bed—ow!"

Eila elbows him in the neck. Normally, we'd probably defend Ben and yell at our sister for being a dick, but he blew our excuse.

"Oh," Mom coos. "That sounds like my timing was perfect. Eden, it'll be me and you! Like old times. Who can get my things from the curb? The Lyft driver wouldn't stick around while I asked for help getting them up all those rickety stairs. Don't worry—I won't be leaving a tip."

I study all my sisters, at Ben and Koa. Everyone seems as uncomfortable as I feel. Frankly, I'd rather sleep in Eliza's goat shed than stay here with the woman who left for days at a time if her boyfriend of the hour wanted her at his side for a trip. I was changing my sisters' diapers when I was barely out of them myself, and I don't want to clean any more Emma Storm-related messes.

But I also don't want to toss my mother to the curb with her bags. I never want to be that inconsiderate, even though Mom never did much to help us in the past. "I'll grab your stuff, Mom."

"No, no, I got it." Eva rushes to the door, and I let her, since apparently, she got us into this mess. It's hard to fault her, when I'm doing just as much enabling.

I take a deep breath. "Let me show you around the house." I hear my sisters cleaning the dishes while I walk Mom past the half-bath, living room, and toward the stairs.

Mom runs her finger along the arm of my favorite thrift chair in the living room. Mom has dyed her hair onyx black. I swear she had laugh lines and wrinkles the last time I saw her, but now her skin is strangely smooth and stiff. I wonder how she afforded to get this sort of work done, thinking about what she would have traded for vanity.

Mom frowns at the room and says, "I didn't realize ‘mismatched' was a style choice. You've certainly committed to it, haven't you?"

The comment stings, reminding me that Mom always cares about appearances, but not enough to take responsibility for how things appear. I respond with a "hm," and gesture toward the stairs. Mom walks up and stops at my room.

"Oh, Eden, you know men prefer a clean, welcoming space. You're not going to land a husband with a sloppy room like this."

My room has been cleaner, sure. Laundry is piled up because I spent my weekend dealing with Eila's event and Nate's wall. I should correct her. I should tell her I don't base my decorating and housekeeping decisions on what a man might think. But she's moved on to the other room, muttering about color choices and the character of the house.

I nudge Mom toward the back set of stairs, which leads to the mudroom where I keep all my beekeeping gear. Mom reaches out to touch the vintage honey extractor, and I snap. "Don't touch that."

Mom's eyes widen like I slapped her face. I don't think I've ever spoken sharply to her before, but I rely on that extractor to keep this eclectic roof over my head. "It's for my work. You can't touch my work stuff, okay? You must not, under any circumstances, open the freezer or touch its contents."

After the last tearful honey bottling, I've taken to processing in batches, and I have the frames in the deep freeze until I can get to them. I'm waiting for a shipment of new containers, so it's been a minute, and the freezer is full.

"Eden, baby, I would never touch your things. You know me." Mom appears hurt at the suggestion. I'm probably a minute away from loudly accepting her apology and hugging her, but my phone rings.

I pull it from my pocket, and for the first time, I'm grateful when I see Nate's name on my caller ID.

"I have to take this," I call to the entire household, not pausing to consider how quickly I shifted to gratitude at the sight of Nate's name.