Black Velvet (32) (Patreon)

 My mom is a tornado of gossip, whipping around with her synthetic spiderweb and clear fishing line. She's going on about Ms. Hargrove and something about the price of apples, Shannon Ward's marriage troubles, and of course, Mr. Oak's unrealistic toupee. Sometimes, quite impressively, the three situations overlap.

I spare Nic a withering glance as the subject somehow nosedives into synthetic hair versus human hair. He shares whatever sentiment my gaze carries, sighing just loudly enough to make a point — and then makes his way back across the porch. The screen door swings shut behind him.

"And that's why toupees are better when not brought to indoor pools. Hm,"  Mom doesn't notice my brother's absence but pauses mid-tirade, turning to me, "I think ours are much better than Aubrey Shallo's silly little decorations." She smiles triumphantly.

I stare heavenwards for a few moments, asking God if he could please just let me have one-off day, one, blissful day of rest during the holiday season where I didn't have to entertain my mom's strange competitive streak with Aubrey Shallo.

"Earth to Oliver.  I'm speaking to you — do you think this will look better in the yard or over the screen door?"

I'm busy placing glittery green-furred spiders on the porch, the wind making a frenzy of my already ridiculous hair, eyes still trained on the clouds above.  When I turn back, albeit cautiously, my Mom's holding up the strange straw man she made when Nic and I were in elementary school, the same straw man that fueled most of our pre-puberty nightmares.  I groan.

"What do you think?"

His button-face smiles at me, and I outwardly cringe.  I squint at her, then back at the house,

"Uh,"  I try to untangle two spiders conjoined at their midsection, another strong gust pushing my squat into an ungraceful sit,  "Switzerland."

"You can't declare Switzerland every single time I ask you a question."  She throws her hands up in the air, spiderwebs like a kite behind her.  Holiday decorations somehow anger and satisfy her all at once, and as the youngest, I take the brunt of it,  "You're terrible at this.  Where's your brother?"

"He went inside,"  it's my turn to sigh, growing frustrated by the strength of the two plastic spider's union.  I yank at them again,  "Why?  He sucks at this too."

"I need one of you to run to the store."  She's spluttering over her hair that's blowing into her mouth,  "No, actually, I need you to run to the store — I need muscles for the boxes in the shed.  Why is it so damned windy?"

It's an unusual burst of fall for us, but the day is still too warm for the late month, enough to make the weather an irritant.

"I don't want to go to the store. It's my day off."  I mutter petulantly.  I silently wish I was closer to the door and to a reliable escape route.  I pull forth a tangle of pumpkin-shaped lights from the cardboard box that has a haphazard scribble of 'spooky satanic exterior design' in my brother's terrible handwriting. "Make Nic.  He's been hiding all day."

"Nicolai can help with the boxes, but I need double-sided tape."  She's grunting as she maneuvers her next decoration, and it's enough commotion to bring my attention back to her,  "Oh, he's still perfect."  Mom squeals, placing the demonic straw man directly in my bedroom window's view.

What the heck.

"I think the kids will just love it, don't you think —? Oh my goodness, Oliver, why are you making that face? Do you smell something?"

"Don't put him there!"  For a brief moment, she looks the slightest bit chastised,  "I mean not there — there're too many decorations in one spot."  I quickly glance to where Nic's window is positioned, a few feet down from mine, "I think he'd look better a little to the left."

I don't want to encounter that thing every time I look out the window — the entire month of October.

"Oh, right,"  she lifts him, staking him into place further down the yard.  Take that, Nic.  "Much better.  What do you think, Toby?"

His name nearly topples me over from where I've pulled back into a crouch, but somehow I hold onto the last shred of dignity I own and remain upright.

This is karma.

I don't mean to look at him; I don't.  I just can't help it.  The wind is ruffling his dark hair, the looser parts of his shirt around his waist. His skin looks like it's made for summer heat, but the fall takes just as kindly to it.

Oh no.

He has his keys curled around one finger.

Oh no, the store —

"Very," Tobias pauses like he's admiring my mother and I's work, "Unique, Mrs. Abernathy." He smiles, slow, and assessing. My mom gobbles the assumed positive attention up like a turkey.

Unique isn't even...

Was that even a compliment?

"Thanks, hun. Are you heading to the store?" My mom asks — and simultaneously turns to me, mid-scramble across the front lawn.  I know my mom, "Oliver Abernathy — you come back here right now."

I freeze, the conjoined spiders cradled to my midsection.  Tobias glances over her shoulder at my smaller figure, smirk crawling along his face.  His eyes are still half-mast, carrying that same dark look from the night before.  I wonder how I've never noticed it before—my cheeks heat.

"I'm heading over before the festival crowd for my mom," He slips a hand in his back pocket, nonchalantly,  "Want me to grab you something while I'm there?"

My mom's stern facial expression immediately extinguishes into a gushing smile, shaking her head, and her hands animatedly. Despite her gossip, Tobias will always be blameless to my mother.

"No thanks, honey.  I'll send one of my boys with you. Oliver, you hear that? He's going to the store.  Free ride — make sure to buckle up."

"I have a car."  I frown from the side of her, toeing the staircase in a near escape. "I'll grab my keys." 

My mom laughs when she approaches — and bunches her hand in the back of my t-shirt.

"— and I have a list.  I'm not moving my car so you can get yours out; it'll ruin my mojo.  Go with him," She sends me a dangerous smile, "and get me the tape. I want to put up the spooky eyes above the garage."

I nod, timidly — just before Nic bursts out of the squeaky front door. He sends Tobias an antsy sort of look — then my mother, and then proceeds to snatch her outstretched debit card —

"Oliver has to rest," he snips, chin proudly in the air. "I'll take his place."

"And why's that?"  Mom is not too impressed, arms crossed, but shirt spun with the remnants of fake spiderweb. "Where did you suddenly materialize from?"

"Kitchen," he shrugs,  "Toby and I are getting smashed tomorrow night in the name of the coming Hallow's Eve,"  he wiggles his eyebrows at our mom's eye roll,  "Oli is our trusted and might I say revered,"

"The answer is no, Nic."

"— designated driver!" He bellows, hands out like I'm the opening act at his bizarre magic show.

"I don't want to be your designated driver.  Charlie-Anne wants to go to the fall festival."

"Nicolai.  You're not spending my money on alcohol."  My mom cuts in, hindering my attempt at backing out, "Now get your butt over here with my card.  I told your brother to go so you could help me bring out more boxes. Stop doing that thing with your hips — the neighbors will see you."

"But Ma!"   Nic's eyes shift from her and back to Tobias with discomfort. Tobias merely raises one eyebrow to him, his jaw setting with an unknown message,  "I'll be back in like two seconds — it's no biggie."

"Nicolai Abernathy,"  Mom's voice is in full swing, hands assuming a threatening position against her hips,  "are you listening to me? I don't trust you with my money. Bring me my debit card right this minute."  She turns to me, nodding her head towards Tobias' open passenger door,  "goodbye, Oliver."

She waves for good measure.

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