Page 4 of The Fine Art of Faking It
Eden and her sister had had to listen to the story on a daily repeat since then.
“Mom, maybe the judges just weren’t a fan of your Tuna Surprise It’s Tofu Casserole,” Eden suggested.
Lilly Ann’s gasp nearly leveled her.
“I’m not getting peaceful vibes from you two,” Eden’s father, Ned, called in a sing-song tone from the opposite side of the tent. He lifted one of the ear flaps on his furry hat. “Do we need to hug it out?”
“Your daughter is mooning over that Gates ruffian,” Lilly Ann announced, neatly tossing Eden under the bus even as she accepted a pink parka from Mrs. Nordemann with a sweet smile.
Eden winced at her father’s shrill, “Over my deceased corpse!”
“I’ve been watching them all afternoon,” Lilly Ann said. “Eden, sweetie, dating that boy is literally the only thing in the world you could do to hurt your family.”
Mrs. Nordemann looked as though she were taking notes.
“Lilly Ann,” Atlantis, Eden’s older sister, cautioned. Atlantis was a cool adult who had called their parents by their first names since preschool. She wore her baby in a paisley sling tied around her chest. “Telling Eden not to do something is basically like begging her to do it under penalty of death.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Lilly Ann demanded, dropping dramatically into the folding metal chair behind the coat collection table, her overstuffed down coat letting out a whoosh of air. “You want me to sit back and just ignore the fact that my own daughter is willing to accept decades of abuse, years of terror?”
Abuse was a bit of a strong word. Sure, the Gates family stole parking spaces right out from under the Moodys, didn’t hold doors for them, and had once even flipped Eden’s parents the middle finger at a junior high band concert. But, to be fair, that was after Lilly Ann had slapped the video camera out of Tilly Nuswing-Gates’s hand during Davis’s bongo solo. Eden’s parents were not innocent victims. They’d done their share of bad things to the Gates family. Eden’s father had stolen the Sunday newspaper off of the Gateses’ front porch for an entire year before he was caught in his pajama pants in their front yard at 4 a.m.
Sheriff Hazel Cardona had been nice enough to give him a warning and a ride home.
While her mother and sister argued their points, Eden’s gaze slid back to the book donation stand. Davis was hefting two reusable totes full of paperbacks, and she wished he wasn’t wearing the heavy gray winter coat so she could admire his biceps as they strained under the load.
“Look at her! She’s practically salivating,” Lilly Ann shrieked.
Her father grabbed her mother’s hands. “We’ll send her away to live with Aunt Martha on the commune,” he suggested. “They’ll labor the Gates out of her there.”
Eden rolled her eyes. Her mother’s sister lived on a commune in Michigan that raised goats and sheep. If she were sent there, there was no hope that she’d turn out remotely normal.
Movement at the book stand caught her attention. Ferguson and Tilly Gates had arrived. Tilly had dirty blonde hair cut in a stylish pixie look. She had tattoos on both wrists and ankles and a degree in environmental conservation. Her husband Ferguson was a handsome man with monogrammed sweaters and a trust fund from a winery family in California. They’d met when Tilly was hitchhiking cross country the summer after she graduated. Together, they’d started the Blue Moon Winery, the first organic winery in upstate New York.
Eden felt the Gateses’ success only added fuel to the feud. Especially after her mother’s garage-based custom incense business failed. While the Gateses wore organic cashmere coats, the Moody family bundled into hand-me-down puffy coats and hand-knit caps.
Eden tried to catch Davis’s eye, wanting to share a secret wink over the ridiculousness of their parents, but he was talking to his father.
Tilly on the other hand was staring her down like she was a wild animal charging down the woman’s family. Her expression was clear:Stay. Away.
Eden raised a hand and waved awkwardly. “What are you doing?” Lilly Ann hissed. She shoved Eden’s hand down and positioned herself between her daughter and her mortal enemy’s scowl.
“Why don’t you mind your own business, Tilly?” Lilly Ann called across the wide sidewalk.
“Why don’t you keep your daughter from staring at my son like he’s a piece of tofu casserole,” Tilly suggested with a frosty tone.
“As if our Eden would be even remotely interested in your offspring.” Eden’s mother said “offspring” like it was a dirty, four-letter word. “Do you see what she did? She admitted to ruining my casserole!” Lily Ann hissed to her daughters.
“If your daughter knows what’s good for her, she’ll keep her eyes to herself,” Tilly shrilled back.
Mr. Oakleigh, the town busybody and sweater vest connoisseur, bustled up with his wife Amethyst on his heels. They were each lugging bags. “Amethyst, my pearl, why don’t you drop the coats off here with the Moodys while I hand over the Bobbsey Twins collection?” Mr. Oakleigh announced loudly to cover up the yelled insults flying between Eden’s mother and Davis’s.
“Helloooooo,” Amethyst shouted as she dumped her two garbage bags on the table in front of Eden. “It’s so lovely to see you all again!”
Lily Ann bobbed left and right trying to peer around Amethyst’s slim shoulders, but the woman blocked her view. “Isn’t it a wonderful day for HeHa?” Amethyst yelled.
It was twenty-seven degrees, and the freezing rain had just started again.
“Just wonderful,” Atlantis agreed.
