Page 18 of Every Beautiful Mile

“Because you never stopped hitting the curb! For the sake of everyone, I hope Finn drives the whole time.”

He rubs a hand over the stubble on his jaw, but his expression stays playful.

“That’s not—”

My mom appears in the kitchen and destroys the rest of my words.

She’s holding a large canvas of a man—a very nude man—that looks exactly like my dad.

I spit tequila.

“Yikes, Poppy!” Marin screeches, using the first name my mom insists on, and shoves her palms into her eyeballs.

“Christ on a crutch, Mom! Is that Dad?” I shriek, turning away as Gabe and Jenny groan and do the same.

“Don’t be such a prude, Penelope. It’s art!” She points to the penis—my dad’s penis—that is highlighted with shades of turquoise and yellow. “It’s very difficult to get the male anatomy just perfect with these colors. It took me hours. Hours! And you won’t even look. Imagine how that makes me feel to know I raised you to be so unappreciative of the efforts of others. The human body should be celebrated!”

I don’t know why, but I glance back at the painting again, this time with a gag.

Then groan.

“I’m going outside, Mom. I love you, but never show me this again. I’m sure you painted dad’s… pieces… great, I just never ever want to see them.”

I hold my glass up to Gabe, signaling the need for a refill.

He obliges.

Poppy is a woman who lives and speaks the taboo, but even as her daughter, the shock of that never fades.

Outside on the deck, the coastal breeze licks at my skin as the shock of my mother fades. I watch as Finn throws a football to his cousins in the grassy yard below. My heart squeezes. I catch a glimpse of my sweet little boy playing and laughing in his almost man body.

I had always been so excited to have a teenage son. I imagined we would have this funny banter and deep connection. But I screwed up, or life screwed up, and that’s not the relationship we ended up with. Another dream lost.

Gabe leans on the railing next to me. “Kids,” he says.

“Kids,” I echo.

I turn to him and sip my drink. “How’s work?”

“Fish are biting.” He grins. “I had a good season with the snowbirds, and the spring breakers survived in all their drunken glory. Can’t complain about much.”

Gabe owns a local fishing charter business, and it's as though it's what he was made for. Like there’s no place else he’d rather be.

He’s a year older than me, but we could pass as twins with our brown hair and amber eyes. Where my skin is pale from my year of self-inflicted isolation, his is tan from a million hours on a boat.

“Thanks for all of your help, Gabe. I mean it.” I turn my attention back to the kids running below us. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for you. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have survived the last year without you. Or the funeral…” my voice trails off with my unspoken when I tried to swim away.

“We’re all glad to see you doing this. Something fun.” He taps his finger on the railing, smile pulling at his lips when he adds, “Randy Miller is hoping you’re going to be ready to date when you get back.”

He takes a sip of his beer with a cocked eyebrow.

I slap him on the arm and groan.

“Okay, first, how many times has Randy been married? Like four?” I ask, offended at the mere thought of Randy Miller. “That man cannot keep his thing in his pants. And second, I can’t imagine ever dating anyone again, but if I ever do, please know, it won’t be one of your disgusting friends from high school.”

Gabe laughs as I down the rest of my tequila with a shudder.

“Also, are we going to talk about Mom’s new art, or are we just pretending that isn’t happening?” I ask.

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