Page 3 of Nine-Tenths

"It's all outdoors and nature, isn't it?"

"Give it a rest."

"It’s just a job," Stu presses. "I know you're still figuring out the career thing, but you gotta make money in the meantime—"

"I have a 'just a job'. Hadhirah pays as good as you, and I don't have to get eaten alive by bugs in the backwoods—"

"Orillia is hardly the 'backwoods'," Mum tuts.

"I'm happy in St. Catharines," I say, trying to stay firm but non-confrontational, like Dr. Chen taught me. "I like my friends, and I like Beanevolence. I don't want to work for Stu when he has no idea what it is that I actually do."

"It's not like I'm going to kidnap you and force you to wear a tool belt. Don't get your feathers in a ruffle,mo leanbh," Stu says, in his best imitation of Mum's Scots brogue.

Mum was seven when she and my Nan emigrated to Canada to get away from Nan's horrid husband, and Mum still has that pretty Scottish burr. Doubly so when she gets off the phone with her half-sister Patricia. I wish you could inherit an accent.

"Thank you for the offer," I say, baring my teeth. "But I decline."

"Suit yourself," Stu says. He rubs his hand through my hair, which,rude!Some of us actually style our hair and use product, like civilized people, Stuart!

"Plan to." I take a sip of my cold tea before I can say anything that will turn this into an actual argument.

"Need help, Gemmy?" Mum asks. As a way to change the subject, it's not a subtle one.

"I'm coming," Gem says, over the clink of glass tumblers on Dad's mid-century bar tray. Dad had a thing for cocktails and James Bond. Mom has a thing for a good peaty scotch, so it was a match made in a shaker.

Gem sets down four Old Fashions, extra ice in Stu's, and extra cherries in mine. Our "Slàinte mhath!" is maybe too forced, but whatever.

Casting around for something to start a new conversation, Gem says: "I like your shirt. It's not black."

"Oh, yeah," I say, stroking the olive button-down. It's a tight fit, one of those tailored shirts that makes me look gawky and skinny, but Mum always appreciates the effort. Gem is wearing one of those cute dorky matching summer-dress-and-cardigansets that makes her look like the librarian she is, and Stu is in a bright blue tee-shirt and dark jeans that are actually free of construction debris or paint. Whichisdressing up, for him. "Beks picked it."

Mum perks up. "And where is Rebekah? I expected her to drive you."

"Mum," I groan, and it's a waste of Dad's good Scotch and Gem's artful work, but I down the cocktail in one go.

"What?" she asks.

"They broke up last year," Gemma reminds Mum gently.

"Doesn't mean she's not still your friend. She could have driven you up."

"It's five hours, Mummers," I protest. "I don't want to be in a car with her that long."

"Maybe all you need is the chance to have a good conversation, sort out—"

"There's nothing left to sort out," I cut in sullenly. "Yeah, we're still friends, but that doesn't mean I can just let you ambush her—"

"Ambush!" Mum echoes, looking guilty enough that it's obvious she totally had plans. "I would never."

"Youhave," Gem reminds her. None of us have forgotten Gem's high school crush, and the inflatable kiddie pool.

"Well," Mum says, flustered and caught-out. "It still would have been nice to see her."

"You could have brought Caden," Gemma says with a sly eye-side.

"Choke and die." I offer up a sharkish smile.

"Colin!" Mum scolds.

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