Ten Mountain Men’s Baby by Nicole Casey
Holly
Sunday brunch with Ellen and Chris was a long-standing tradition—as was calling my mom and dad, Ellen and Chris… on their insistence. Not because they were my adopted parents, but they said that “mom” and “dad” made them sound old. They were anti-establishment hippies six days a week, then family-value conservatives on Sunday, just one of many apparent contradictions I had grown up with—thankfully! Contradictions, even hypocrisies, are some of the most undervalued character traits I appreciate. I can’t imagine anyone less interesting than someone free of contradictions, except maybe someone without an ounce of hypocrisy in them—boring! And Ellen and Chris are many things, but uninteresting or boring, they are definitely not that.
“Hello, Ellen.”
“Holly!” She greeted me with a big hug, while Chris waved to me from his post at the grill.
“A new hairdo,” I said. “It looks fantastic.”
“You hear that Chris?” she shouted over her shoulder at my dad. “Holly noticed my new hairdo.”
He shook his head and went back to flipping peppers and eggplant on the grill.
Ellen turned back to me and said, “I gave him two whole days to notice and say something to me about it.”
“But he didn’t notice,” I guessed.
She frowned and shook her head. “I could shave my head, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash.”
Brunch was excellent, as usual: grilled veggie burgers and grilled peppers and eggplant. They kept trying to pry news out of me, but, as usual, I didn’t really have any information to share. Work was not often something I talked about with my parents, but Ellen was a big fan of Felicity Freedman, so I had to mention seeing her.
“Guess who came in the other day?” I said.
Without hesitation, Ellen answered, “Felicity Freedman.”
I huffed. “You’re supposed to guess wrong. That way, it makes it more of a surprise.”
Ellen shrugged. “Sorry, dear. I don’t do being wrong very well.”
Chris nearly choked on his poorly suppressed laugh.
“What is the queen of San Diego up to these days?” asked Ellen.
“Well, would you believe she was planning on doing the thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail?”
Ellen furrowed her brow and twisted her mouth to show her disbelief. “Felicity Freedman in Appalachia? What’s the charity, Prada for the shoeless?”
“Mom!” I was in the habit of calling my mom Ellen except when she embarrassed or upset me, which wasn’t often, but not unheard of.
“What?” She looked at me, surprised, then at Chris. “What did I say?”
In a matter-of-fact tone of voice, not unlike the one he probably used for his university lectures, he said, “You catered to a disparaging stereotype, dismissing an entire segment of people, ignoring their real identity and their real needs while denigrating them to a caricature.”
“Thank you, professor,” said Ellen sarcastically.
Chris shrugged and went back to his veggie burger.
“I’ll have you know,” I said, “that she was going in support of a very noble cause and going on what I’m sure would be a fascinating adventure.”
“Was going?” asked Chris.
“She’s had to cancel.” I pointed to my mouth. “Dental emergency.”
“Lucky her,” said Ellen. “To think, she came close to being stuck out there. I can’t imagine what was going through her mind.”
“What do you mean by stuck out there?” I asked though I was fairly sure I didn’t want to hear the answer.
Ellen leaned across the table and whispered. “It’s a scary place.”
“Have you been?”
She pulled back, glanced at Chris, who was focused on his meal and nothing else, then she said to me, “No, but I’ve seen it… you know, on TV and in the movies.”
I laughed. She might very well have been joking. Sometimes it was hard to tell with her, but, generally, when she was ridiculous on purpose, she would laugh along. This time, however, she looked dead serious.
“I’m not joking,” she said. “Those people, well, they live outside civilization, you know. They have their own way.”
“They’re Americans, Mom.”
She straightened her blouse as if the conversation were so untoward that it had wrinkled or dirtied her clothes. “Still.”
I turned to my dad for some support. “Chris, can you believe what you’re hearing?”
He finished chewing while considering what I was sure would be a thoughtful, measured response. Finally, he half-shrugged and said, “It is odd for a woman like Felicity Freedman to go to a place like that.”
“Well, she’s not going,” I said, more flippantly than I’d intended. “I told you she has a dental emergency.”
“She dodged a bullet,” said Chris.
Ellen looked at him and added, “Or a clan of cannibals.”
I wiped my hands, wiped my lips, and pushed my half-eaten plate of grilled veggies to the side. I cleared my throat and said, “And do you know what? She suggested I take her place on the hike.”
They both looked at me, speechless.
I hadn’t given much thought to Mrs. Freedman’s proposal, aside from a few passing fanciful daydreams. I wasn’t even sure the suggestion was a serious one. But at that moment, I felt my parents were ganging up on me. They were callous and disrespectful—not at all the way I’d been raised. And I was upset and wanted to challenge them.
“She followed the blog of my hike through Nunavut. She thinks a fundraising campaign, a thru-hike of Appalachia would be perfect for me.”
I could see my parents getting more and more visibly uncomfortable, and that only served to fuel me on. “And I think she may have a point.”
Ellen put her hands down flat on the table. “But, honey, your practice?”
I smirked. “Let’s not forget: Felicity Freedman made my practice.”
“And she’s blackmailing you?” asked Chris.
“No!” I lowered my voice. “No, Chris, she’s not blackmailing me. I just mean that if she wants me to go on the hike, and if I agree, she can make sure my practice doesn’t suffer for it. That’s what I’m saying.”
My mother was outraged. “You mean you’re considering it?”
After a good bit of back and forth and getting no support from either of them—for a decision I hadn’t even made yet—I had to excuse myself from the table, go wash up, and cool down.
I needed to get home, have a drink with my roommate, see if I was out of my mind or if my parents were unreasonable as I suspected. I splashed cold water onto my face, looked in the mirror, breathed in and breathed out. Go back there. Change the subject. All’s well that ends well.
I never left my parents’ place in a bad mood, and I wasn’t going to start now. I was determined to end the brunch on a positive note.
When I returned to the backyard table, they were picking up, so I jumped in to give them a hand. Ellen and I took the plates into the kitchen while Chris cleaned up the grill. I stood next to my mom at the kitchen sink, she did the washing, and I did the drying.
It was impossible to stay mad at someone while doing the dishes together. After a few plates, I turned to her and said, “How are your teeth?”
She leaned her head back and opened her mouth wide.
I took a quick glance. “Looks good.”
“And how are your teeth,” she asked.
I leaned my head back and opened my mouth wide.
“Looks pretty good, as far as I can tell.” She handed me a dish to dry. “Any other life-changing decision I should know about?”
I pretended to give her question serious thought. “None I can think of, but I’ll be seeing Gwen later, so you never know.”
She smiled and shook her head. “You remind me of me when I was your age.”
I nudged her with my elbow. “And look at you. You did pretty well for yourself.”
“You think?”
I glanced around the kitchen. “I don’t know. Beautiful home, loving husband, loving daughter.” I pointed at her head. “And a stylish new coif.”
She handed me a dish. “You dry slowly.” But then she smiled, and I could tell that our argument was over.
* * *
On my way home, I stopped off at the store, intending to get a bottle of rum. I ended up buying two bottles and a few limes.
“How was brunch?” asked Gwen.
“It was…” I pulled out the bottles and set them onto the counter that separated our open kitchen from the living area. “It was trying.”
Gwen is the hardest working person I know. She had saved up enough money to buy a café near the beach and had managed to turn it into quite a popular establishment. Consequently, even though we shared an apartment together, I hardly ever saw her. Starting a week ago, we’d decided we’d make a tradition of spending Sunday nights together at home, watching cheesy movies, and catching up. After that uncomfortable exchange with my parents, I was very happy we’d made that pact. I was also very happy to be drinking my third ti'-punch of the evening.
“Gwen.”
“That’s what they call me.”
“What’s the first thing you think of when you hear Appalachian Trail?”
Gwen burst out laughing.
“What? What is it?”
She nearly choked on her laughter and had to pound her chest to regain her composure.
“What’s so funny?”
She shook her head. “It’s such a randomly specific question.”
“I know.”
“And I have a randomly specific answer,” she said, blushing.
“And?”
“Well, when I hear mention of the Appalachian Trail, immediately I think of that politician. I can’t remember his name. I think he was from South Carolina or North Carolina.” She waved a hand in the air as if to swat away any objections. “I don’t know. One of the Carolinas, I think. Remember, he was having an affair with a woman in Argentina.”
I knew where she was going with this. “Oh, yeah. I don’t remember what state it was. But I think you’re right. I think he was a senator, or possibly the governor of South Carolina.”
She nodded. “And when he went off to see his mistress, he told people he was”—she put up air quotes— “hiking the Appalachian Trail.” She started laughing again, and it was contagious. “Anyway,” she continued, “when I hear mention of the Appalachian Trail, I immediately think about sex.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“But not just sex,” she said wide-eyed, “but secret, hot mistress sex; it’s passionate, but it’s forbidden.”
“Hmm, I like it.”
“Why do you ask?”
I snapped my finger, suddenly struck with an idea. “Is your friend—what’s her name? Jessie?”
Gwen furrowed her brow and nodded.
“Is she still looking for a place to stay?”
Gwen turned her head to the side and looked at me, cautiously out of the corners of her eyes. “Yes, she is.”
“Well,”—I poured us each another ti'-punch. I raised my glass, soliciting a toast. “Maybe she could stay here for a few months.”
“Huh?”
“It just so happens that I might be”—I, too, used air quotes, but I also fluttered my eyebrows— “hiking the Appalachian Trail.”
