staying here. ” I cut to the chase, “ What is she talking
about? ”
“ Come
inside, let me show you around, ” my mom trills, seeming not to have heard
me. I swallow down my annoyance with her habit of not listening when other
people speak. After 24 years, I ’ m pretty accustomed to
her talking right over everyone else. Like little ducklings, my sisters and I
fall in behind our mother as she glides into the impressive house.
A
huge great room opens up before us, its far wall an enormous window that looks
out onto the deck and lake beyond. I ’ m
struck dumb by the gorgeousness of the view, and the fine craftsmanship that ’ s
gone into every detail of the home ’ s
decor. Midcentury modern furniture and fixtures populate the high-ceilinged
space, which includes a fully stocked kitchen, breakfast nook, and fireplace.
The combination of rustic and sleek touches is truly striking. There must be at
least half a dozen bedrooms upstairs, judging by the size of this place. But
then, who ’ s occupying them besides us?
“ Don ’ t
you just love it? ” Mom asks rapturously, doing a little spin
around the great room. Her long bohemian skirts fans out around her, the
bangles around her wrists jangling. “ Every
single detail was handpicked. John really does have incredible taste. And not
just in design, either. You should see the wine cellar —”
“ John? ” I cut her off sharply, “ Who ’ s
John? ”
“ Oh! ” she exclaims, her hand
flying to her chest, “ You haven ’ t
met John yet! He was here just a second ago …”
“ OK,
but who is he? ” I
ask again, trailing my mom as she peers around the ground floor.
“ He
owns the house, ” Mom replies distractedly. “ He
built it, actually. Incredible, right? ”
“ Yeah.
Sure. So, what is this — like a house share or
something? ” I
ask, exasperated, “ Is he running a B&B,
or — ? ”
“ Here
he is! ” Mom cries out, clapping
her hands together as the door to the porch swings open into the kitchen.
The
man who steps inside has to stoop to keep from smacking his head on the door
frame. He ’ s absolutely huge — at
least 6 ’ 5 ” ,
and built like an ox. His arms and legs are bulky with muscle, his stance
combative. His face is halfway hidden beneath a thick brown beard, flecked with
white. His defined brow is deeply creased, and his resting expression is a
standoffish scowl. But the second he sees the four Porter woman standing around
the kitchen, his eyes crinkle into a benevolent, if reserved, smile.
“ The
whole brood is finally here, ” says the enormous man, shucking off his
green baseball cap now that he ’ s inside.
“ Yep! ” my Mom chirps happily, “ Maddie,
this is John. John, Maddie. ”
“ Nice
to meet you, Maddie, ” he says, extending his free hand to me.
“ And
you, ” I offer, as John ’ s
plowshare of a hand swallows mine whole. “ It ’ s
a pleasure I wasn ’ t expecting. I actually
didn ’ t
realize there would be anyone but us Porter ladies here. ”
John
lets my hand drop, glancing back at my mother. “ Didn ’ t
you tell them? ” he
asks.
“ I
could have sworn I mentioned it …” Mom drawls, her freckled forehead
furrowing slightly. “ At least, I meant to. ”
“ It ’ s
totally cool, ” I
go on, “ I
just didn ’ t realize, is all. Mom ’ s
never been a huge stickler for details. ”
“ That ’ s
our Robin for you, ” John says with a short laugh, looking
warmly at my mom. She gives him a little bump with her hip, clucking her tongue
at him. I glance at my sisters with raised eyebrows, but they don ’ t
look as surprised as I feel. Why do I get the sense that I ’ m
still lacking some information here?
“ So.
How did this house sharing arrangement come about? ” I ask, as my mom goes to
the fridge and produces a pitcher of lemonade.
“ Well, ” John says, sitting down
at the long kitchen table and kicking off his boots, “ Your
mom and I go way back. We both
about? ”
“ Come
inside, let me show you around, ” my mom trills, seeming not to have heard
me. I swallow down my annoyance with her habit of not listening when other
people speak. After 24 years, I ’ m pretty accustomed to
her talking right over everyone else. Like little ducklings, my sisters and I
fall in behind our mother as she glides into the impressive house.
A
huge great room opens up before us, its far wall an enormous window that looks
out onto the deck and lake beyond. I ’ m
struck dumb by the gorgeousness of the view, and the fine craftsmanship that ’ s
gone into every detail of the home ’ s
decor. Midcentury modern furniture and fixtures populate the high-ceilinged
space, which includes a fully stocked kitchen, breakfast nook, and fireplace.
The combination of rustic and sleek touches is truly striking. There must be at
least half a dozen bedrooms upstairs, judging by the size of this place. But
then, who ’ s occupying them besides us?
“ Don ’ t
you just love it? ” Mom asks rapturously, doing a little spin
around the great room. Her long bohemian skirts fans out around her, the
bangles around her wrists jangling. “ Every
single detail was handpicked. John really does have incredible taste. And not
just in design, either. You should see the wine cellar —”
“ John? ” I cut her off sharply, “ Who ’ s
John? ”
“ Oh! ” she exclaims, her hand
flying to her chest, “ You haven ’ t
met John yet! He was here just a second ago …”
“ OK,
but who is he? ” I
ask again, trailing my mom as she peers around the ground floor.
“ He
owns the house, ” Mom replies distractedly. “ He
built it, actually. Incredible, right? ”
“ Yeah.
Sure. So, what is this — like a house share or
something? ” I
ask, exasperated, “ Is he running a B&B,
or — ? ”
“ Here
he is! ” Mom cries out, clapping
her hands together as the door to the porch swings open into the kitchen.
The
man who steps inside has to stoop to keep from smacking his head on the door
frame. He ’ s absolutely huge — at
least 6 ’ 5 ” ,
and built like an ox. His arms and legs are bulky with muscle, his stance
combative. His face is halfway hidden beneath a thick brown beard, flecked with
white. His defined brow is deeply creased, and his resting expression is a
standoffish scowl. But the second he sees the four Porter woman standing around
the kitchen, his eyes crinkle into a benevolent, if reserved, smile.
“ The
whole brood is finally here, ” says the enormous man, shucking off his
green baseball cap now that he ’ s inside.
“ Yep! ” my Mom chirps happily, “ Maddie,
this is John. John, Maddie. ”
“ Nice
to meet you, Maddie, ” he says, extending his free hand to me.
“ And
you, ” I offer, as John ’ s
plowshare of a hand swallows mine whole. “ It ’ s
a pleasure I wasn ’ t expecting. I actually
didn ’ t
realize there would be anyone but us Porter ladies here. ”
John
lets my hand drop, glancing back at my mother. “ Didn ’ t
you tell them? ” he
asks.
“ I
could have sworn I mentioned it …” Mom drawls, her freckled forehead
furrowing slightly. “ At least, I meant to. ”
“ It ’ s
totally cool, ” I
go on, “ I
just didn ’ t realize, is all. Mom ’ s
never been a huge stickler for details. ”
“ That ’ s
our Robin for you, ” John says with a short laugh, looking
warmly at my mom. She gives him a little bump with her hip, clucking her tongue
at him. I glance at my sisters with raised eyebrows, but they don ’ t
look as surprised as I feel. Why do I get the sense that I ’ m
still lacking some information here?
“ So.
How did this house sharing arrangement come about? ” I ask, as my mom goes to
the fridge and produces a pitcher of lemonade.
“ Well, ” John says, sitting down
at the long kitchen table and kicking off his boots, “ Your
mom and I go way back. We both
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