Page 1 of Five Mountain Daddies

1

London

London?” the bald idiot says, grinning at me. “You don’t lookBritish.”

I sigh. As if only British people can have my name. But I’m used to comments like that at this point, especially from the small-minded jerks in my small town of Leadwood,Maine.

My parents thought they were doing me a favor when they named me London. They wanted me to sound cosmopolitan, sophisticated, different from all the Marys and the Johns I grew up with. Of course, being different isn’t always a good thing when you’re young, especially not in a town likethis.

I don’t know the guy standing in front of me. He’s overweight, sweating, smiling like a moron, and I swear he just keeps peeking at my boobs, not even being freaking subtle about it. I’m pretty sure he works with my dad, or maybe he did at somepoint.

“I’m not,” I say to him, face deadpan. “Excuse me a second,okay?”

I quickly turn and walk away. I ignore the annoyed look on his face, not really caring if I insult some jerk I’ll never seeagain.

I’m only home for the summer. I graduated with a degree in Art History from the University of Michigan, and I have an internship at the Museum of Modern Art in New York starting in September. It’ll last a year, but it comes with a stipend which will be enough to cover my living expenses. I’m home to work as much as possible to save up, since there’s nowhere cheaper than living with yourparents.

Of course, that comes with itsdrawbacks.

“How are you doing, sweetie?” my mom asksme.

“Fine,” Isay.

My mom smiles at me. She’s a good Midwestern woman, or at least she used to be. A little shorter than me, with mousey short brown hair and a big, white, straight smile. She works part-time as a cashier at the local grocery store, and she spends the rest of her time doing Bob Ross-style paintings of the glorious Mainewilderness.

Leadwood is situated right at the base of the Longfellow Mountains, which is the biggest range in Maine. We’re right up near the Canadian border, so it’s pretty darn rural out here. I think my high school graduated like a hundred kids in my class at most, so when I say this is a small town, I really meanit.

I couldn’t wait to get away from here. I got into Michigan and I never looked back. I had four years of freedom, living in off-campus housing with friends during the summer to avoid coming home, but I had no choice this summer. I couldn’t afford to be out there and still work and save money for my move to New York. My parents are incredibly supportive, and I feel bad that I keep staying away from them, but I can’t helpit.

“How’s she doing?” my dad asks, coming out ofnowhere.

“Fine,” my mom says, giving him a look. “Likealways.”

Dad grins at me. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with thick brown-and-gray hair. He’s the only dentist in town, so he knows pretty much everyone aroundhere.

“Sorry,” I say, taking a breath. “I just don’t know any of thesepeople.”

“Sure you do,” Dad says. “You grew up withthem.”

“I was a kid back then.” I shrug a littlebit.

“Well, we’re happy you’re home, at least for a few months,” my mom says, putting her hand on myshoulder.

I smile at her, and I feel bad that I was short with her. My parents really are great people, supportive and kind. I just hate the town they live in, and I can’t wait to move out to the bigcity.

I grab a soda from the cooler and wander away from them. This is their annual start-of-summer party, and I had to admit, it reeks of nostalgia for me. Everything’s the same as it used to be: the coolers, the grill, the pool (not opened), the outside furniture, and the people. Even if I don’t really recognize most of the guests, they still feelfamiliar.

I walk away from the main mass of people, down toward a bench up against a tree at the edge of our yard. I used to sit down here and read a lot when I was a little girl, back when I didn’t have many friends because I didn’t like to hunt or fish and I had a weirdname.

I sit down, my back to the tree, and crack open my soda. I take a sip and sigh again. I feel guilty all over that I hate this town so much, but I can’t help it. I’m trying to make a life for myself, to figure out the kind of person I want to be, and coming back home only shoves me back into my old ways ofbeing.

I need to make an effort, though. I’ll sit here for a minute, get myself together, then rejoin the party. I’ll smile and laugh at stupid comments and I’ll make my parents happy, because they deserve it. They’re letting me stay here, feeding me, loving me, so the least I can do is be pleasant for them. This is just what happens when you come home, you revert to the way you used to be, and I used to hate Leadwood with a burningpassion.

“Pretty boring party,huh?”

I nearly start at the voice. I look up and there’s a man standing nearby, his phone in his hand like he just finished making a call or answering a text. He smiles at me, and I’m totally taken aback at how handsome heis.

This guy is everything Leadwood isn’t. Attractive in a rugged sort of way with stubble cheeks, deep blue eyes, and thick dark hair. His clothes look like the sort of thing a guy from around here would wear, comfortable flannel and jeans, but these actually fit his muscular body really well. He’s older than me, probably in his early forties, but everything about him screams youth and…sex.

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