“I’ll just go check with Val – see if dinner’s almost ready.” Darlene takes a step towards where Tim imagines the kitchen must be.
“No.” Gene smirks as he lowers himself back into his throne. “Not just yet. Take a seat.” He motions towards a pristine beige sofa. “You too, Tom.”
Darlene swallows but she does as she’s told. Tim sits next to her. “His name is Tim, Gene. I’ve told you—”
“Sure, of course” Gene nods. “So, John. Darlene tells me you live in some sort of hippie commune?”
Darlene had warned him they wouldn’t understand his living arrangements. Whatever. Tim takes pride in bucking convention. “We prefer the term intentional community.”
Gene lifts an eyebrow, so Tim continues. “Back in eighty-one, some friends and I bought six hectares of farm land.”
“You’re a farmer?”
Tim bobs his head. “It’s not really a farm and it’s not entirely mine. But it’s home.”
Gene casts his eyes from side to side then shrugs. “What’s that mean?”
“We grow food but not on a commercial scale. What produce we don’t use ourselves, we give away to our neighbours. If no one needs it, we donate to the local food bank. We have a few chickens, so we also have a source of eggs. There’s been some talk of getting a goat or—”
“Ridiculous.” Gene crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you have your own bedroom at least?”
Tim breathes in slowly. So many people misunderstand how he lives. It feels wilful – they don’t want to understand. “I do.”
The first time Darlene had visited, Tim had been convinced she’d hate it. He assumed she’d never feel at home there. But before long, she’d surprised him. She rarely stays more than a few hours. But she regularly comes back with him after work for a bit.
“Oh, I wonder who that could be.” Gene’s face says something awful’s about to happen. He pulls himself from his chair and heads out of the room. “I’d best go get the door.”
Then the doorbell rings.
“What?” Darlene’s head snaps around, the colour draining from her face as she looks out the window. Her breath catches as she mutters, “Oh no, no, no. Tell me you f*cking didn’t, Gene.” Darlene swears so rarely that it grabs his attention.
Swallowing, she touches Tim on the knee. “I am so sorry. You didn’t sign up for this.” Her face is even whiter than normal.
Gruff, jocular masculine laughter drifts in from the hall.
He lets his fingers brush hers – just for a second. “It’s okay, Dar. Whatever it is, I promise it’ll be okay.”
Gene returns to the room, bringing another man. The new man has dark curly hair littered with grey. He’s almost as tall as Tim but heavier. Not fat; just big. And he’s holding a bouquet of roses.
Sh*t. I should have brought flowers. Why the f*ck didn’t I think to bring flowers?
Darlene squeaks, “Roger? Why…”
Roger? Insides clenching, Tim almost speaks the name aloud. Why the f*ck was Darlene’s piece-of-sh*t abusive ex-husband here?
Her tone switches to barely constrained fury as she rounds on her brother. “What the absolute—”
“Dinner’s ready.” Unlike her sister-in-law, Val’s voice is bright, cheerful. There’s a smile plastered on her face. She looks like the cat who got the cream or swallowed the canary or some other godawful cliché.
