"So," he says, his eyes so like my mother's. Sometimes, when I take notice of his fitted shirt and his pressed pants and his shiny shoes, it's hard to imagine that he grew up on hand-me-downs and yard sales, just like my mother and just like me. All three of us were raised on the same plot of land, but I have a difficult time picturing him in a T-shirt with dirt under his fingernails.
He considers me for a moment, and then he goes to the fridge for a can of whipped cream. "I remember when you and Dani were little girls," he says with his head in the fridge. "You both wanted to grow up and marry that mermaid's boyfriend . . . the Disney one."
"Eric," I offer, and my uncle stands up from behind the fridge door.
"That's the one," he says, spraying dollops of cream on both our pumpkin pie slices. "One time, you two argued over him so bad that Dani started crying, and you hugged her and told her that you'd marry Simba instead."
He smiles warmly at the memory, and I struggle in the wake of the emotions stirring inside me. Part of me misses being that close with Danica-misses the innocence of arguing over Disney princes-but was it always that way? Was I always so willing to give up my happily-ever-after for her?
I'm expecting my uncle to lecture me about fighting over a boy, to tell me how trivial it all is and how someday it won't matter. But instead, he holds my gaze and says, "You've always been like a daughter to me, Hailey. I know we don't see each other much anymore, but your happiness is very important to me and Tilly."
A lump forms in my throat, and I couldn't speak if I wanted to.
"I know that you and Danica have grown apart, but that doesn't make you any less a part of our family. I see a lot of myself in you."
"You do?" I ask in a quiet voice, and he stares down at our pie, finally realizing that we don't have forks to eat with. He busies himself with getting them, but once again, neither of us moves to eat.
"The farm was always your mother's dream, not mine," he finally says. "She loved it. She loved rising with the sun. She loved helping with the livestock. She even loved driving the tractor into town and flipping off everyone who beeped at her along the way."
"She still does that," I say with a chuckle, and my uncle laughs.
"I didn't mind all of it," he tells me after a while. "But I didn't love it like your mom did. She and your dad loved that town, but I loved the idea of finding new towns, bigger towns. My heart was never on that farm, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think yours is either."
I shake my head, and he nods his understanding.
"It was really hard for me when I went to college. My parents didn't understand why I'd bother, and even though I had a scholarship, I couldn't afford new clothes or anything like that. I used to eat canned vegetables in between classes because that was all I could afford to bring for lunch."
I imagine a lanky kid, taller than my brother but with the same big eyes, trying to navigate a college campus with no clue what he was doing. I imagine him trying to thrive in a world he'd never been a part of, and I feel like we'd be friends.
"It was a long time ago, but sometimes it feels like just yesterday," my uncle continues, and he takes a deep breath. "Your mom told me that you know about me bailing out the farm, and I'm sure you've wondered why I didn't give your parents the deed."
I don't argue, and he nods in silent reply.
"It's because it's my childhood home too, Hailey. I love your father like my own brother, but he's terrible with finances and always has been. He's a farmer, not a businessman, and it's important to me that the farm stays in our family, so I'm making sure it does."
I take a moment to consider all he's telling me, and then I assure him, "I understand."
"Do you?"
I nod, and he sighs in tired relief.
"I wanted to offer to pay for you to go to school a long time ago, but it wasn't really my place. A man wants to be able to provide for his own family, but . . ." He stops himself and taps his fingers against the counter. "I'm rambling. Look, the point is that you don't need to worry about me suddenly deciding to stop paying your tuition. And don't tell me you weren't worried, because I could see that you were."
I frown, and my uncle frowns back.
"I can't say that I approve of you dating my daughter's ex-boyfriend, but . . ." He becomes conscious of his volume, lowering his voice. "I always liked him, and I can tell you really care about him."
I nod, and my uncle nods too.
"You're going to have to move out of the apartment you have with Danica. I doubt she'll stick around there long anyway, now that Mike is out of the picture. But I don't want you living with him-you need to focus on school, and I want you keeping your grades up."
When I say nothing, he notices.
"Was that your plan?"
"It was a temporary plan," I stammer, and my uncle considers me.
"Temporary is fine. Next semester, you'll be in the dorms. Agreed?"
"Agreed," I say, closing the distance between us and hugging him so he can't see the relieved tears springing to my eyes.
My uncle's shirt is crisp against my cheek as he pats my back. "I'm proud of you, Hailey. You're going to accomplish great things."
"Thank you," I tell him, hoping he knows I'm thanking him for more than the compliment. I'm thanking him for being the first in our family to brave a new life, for being the first to go to college, for paving the way for me. I'm thanking him for loving me, for caring about me, for not forgetting about his family or his roots. I realize why he sees himself in me, because I can now see a bit of myself in him-I can see myself in twenty years, still caring deeply about the farm and the family that shaped me into who I am.
"You're welcome," he says, hugging me until I let him go.
In the sitting room, I hug my mom, and she assures me that she's going to find a way to fly me home for Christmas. I hug my dad, and he assures me that he won't make Teacup into bacon even if she eats his very last shoe. I hug my uncle, and he assures me that he'll get me into the dorms next semester. I hug my aunt, and she assures me that she'll talk to Danica.
I hug my little brother, and he insists he's coming along.
Luke begs and whines and negotiates with my parents, while I stare at the stairwell waiting for Danica to fly down it on her broomstick. I haven't seen or heard from her since she told me she hated me at dinner, but seeing as how I'm still breathing, I know this isn't over.
Desperate to leave while my lungs are still working, I tell my parents I'll drive Luke the hour and a half back to my uncle's house before it's time for them to fly home on Saturday, and they finally agree to let him leave with me. He bounds up the stairs to the guest room to grab some clothes, and I stand by the front door, chewing on my lip and tapping my fingers against my leg and curling my toes in my tennis shoes.
There's no way it can be this easy. Danica would sooner burn this whole house down than let me leave it unscathed. It's not in her to lose. She doesn't know how.
When I hear footsteps thundering down the upstairs hallway, my whole body tenses, but then Luke appears at the top of the stairs and jogs down them, flinging open the door to freedom. He steps onto the front porch, and I follow. The door closes behind me, and we take the stairs quickly. Leti isn't here yet, but we don't stop walking.
"Where are we going?" my brother asks, but I really have no idea. Away from here. Away from the front door.
"That way," I say, pointing down the street. I pull out my phone and text Leti to meet us at the end of Danica's road, and I'm sliding the phone back into my pants pocket when it finally happens-
"Leaving without saying goodbye?"
Danica's voice cuts through me, and I turn around to see her walking down the sidewalk to where my brother and I have frozen in our tracks. My fight-or-flight kicks in, demanding that I flee, that I run as fast as I can. But Luke is standing beside me, and I've run for long enough.
"Goodbye," I say, and Danica gives me an icy smile. It's chilling, how cold she looks as she steps in front of me. The pretense isn't there anymore-the façade is gone, and so are her thousand pretty masks. There is no compassion or vulnerability or kindness in her eyes-only cold hatred, and I realize that even if I did run right now, she'd chase me down. This ends here, on a quiet sidewalk in front of her neighbor's house.