As soon as I say hello, a familiar aging voice demands, "Celia Weaver, are you avoiding your aunt?"
"No, Auntie, of course not," I say, internally groaning as I plop down on the couch. "Hello, how are you?"
My black tuxedo cat, Trouble, curls up on my lap as my aunt tortures me on the other line.
After a brief minute exchanging pleasantries, my aunt dives right in.
"Have you met a man yet, Celia?"
My shoulders tense at the question, and I decide to just go for it.
"Why, yes, Aunt Griselda, I have. That's why I've been AWOL. I'm in love, and we're engaged to be married."
Hearing my aunt's pleasure on the other end doesn't stop my neck from burning with guilt over the lie.
"That's wonderful. I knew you would find someone if you just put yourself out there. What is this young man's name?"
My stomach tightens with fear. I hadn't thought that part through.
Looking around desperately, I spot a small glass vase on the side table next to me and impulsively slam it to the floor, sending shards everywhere.
"Oh, Aunt Griselda, I have to run! Trouble just broke a vase. I'll call you back," I say and hang up before she responds.
My cat peers up at me with a look of judgment.
"What?"
Trouble just flicks his tail and settles deeper into the couch cushions, clearly unimpressed with my performance. I stare down at the broken glass scattered across my hardwood floor and realize I've just created a bigger problem for myself. Now I actually have to come up with a fiancé's name for when she calls back.
And knowing Aunt Griselda, she will definitely call back.
2
Soren
Sitting on my friend Beck's back deck, I sip a beer while watching throngs of children at his daughter's fifth birthday party swarm around the backyard. The October air is chilly, but it's still a perfect autumn day, and the smell of barbecue makes my stomach growl. I will never understand why Beck left the mountain to live down in Branwen Beach with his wife, Dulce, but he has definitely built himself a nice family life.
The sound of children's laughter echoes across the yard, and I can't help but smile watching Beck chase around a group of five-year-olds who shriek with delight. He's completely in his element here, and I have to admit there's something appealing about this domestic bliss he's created. Still, the thought of leaving my mountain sanctuary for beach town life makes my chest tighten with anxiety.
Our high school friend Tyson catches my attention, arriving with his wife, Clementine. They're a little late, but that makes sense since they came all the way from Corvid Valley. Aftersaying hello to the host, Tyson notices me and walks up onto the deck with two beers.
"Thought you might be ready for a refill, mate," he says, sitting down next to me.
"Thanks, man. How have things been?"
"Great. Things have been going really well. Why are you hiding on the deck?" He teases me.
"I'm not hiding."
"No one else was up here with you," he says pointedly.
"Well, you know me. It's not like I'm the best at peopling."
Tyson chuckles, taking a long swig of his beer. "You know, Soren, you're going to have to come out of that mountain hermit shell of yours, eventually. Beck found his person. I found mine. Your time's coming."
I grunt in response, not really wanting to get into this conversation again. Tyson means well, but he doesn't understand that I'm perfectly content with my solitary life on the mountain. The peace, the quiet, the connection to nature. That's all I need.
After a lunch of burgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob, and potato salad, Georgia opens her pile of presents. When she finds a plush pink teddy bear in my gift bag, she runs to me, jumps into my arms and squeezes my neck with a hug.
