American Honey

“Aren’t you going to work today, honey?” Mom asks as she peeks her head into my bedroom.

A low groan from under my pillow is the only response she’s getting, but I should know it would take more than that to keep her from prodding. The bed dips, barely, under the weight of her sitting next to me. My calves are sticking out from under the sheet; I never could sleep with them covered up. She pats them, forcing me to roll over and at least face her. “You didn’t go in yesterday either. Anything you want to talk about?”

The words “not with you” hang on my tongue, but I think better of speaking them, knowing that she’ll just smack me upside the head for my rude remark. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“By chance, does this two-day-I’m-not-getting-out-of-bed funk have anything to do with that pretty girl waiting for you downstairs?”

What pretty girl? The only one I can think of is Elle, but why would she be here?

Mom’s eyebrow lifts with accusation and playfulness. “Uh huh. That’s what I thought.” Her laughter fills the room. “Now get your ass outta this bed and get down there.”

“All right, all right.” I sit up in bed; thoughts of facing Elle force my drowsiness away quickly.

Grabbing a T-shirt from the desk chair in my room, I walk into the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and running a hand through my hair, I walk down the stairs and find Elle sitting at my dining room table, quietly chatting with my mom. They share a small smile before realizing I’m in the room. Mom squeezes Elle’s hand before rising from her seat. She shoots me a you-better-be-nice look, her eyes stern and her lips set in a firm line.

What the hell did I do wrong?

“Can we go outside?” Elle asks, looking over at me. My gut churns in anger when my eyes land on the pink welt on her cheek. She holds out her small hand, extending it to the back door.

Nodding, I stride over to it and hold it open for her. There’s a small creek running through the backyard. Lazily, we stroll down to its bank and sit on a log bench. We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes before I finally speak. “Why did you need to look me up?”

She shoots me an odd look. “Owen, it’s 2014. Everyone googles everyone. You’re not the first person who’s been found online. Besides, it’s not like I uncovered some undercover drug smuggling operation or anything.” Her eyebrows rise in jest.

“Nah, I keep that shit very well-hidden,” I deadpan, loving the fact that she can’t tell if I’m joking or not right away.

“Ha, ha, ha,” she mocks with sarcasm. “But really,” she twists in her seat, angling her body toward me. “Why didn’t you tell me about all of that?”

Shrugging, I toss a rock into the water, watching the waves spread out around it. “You saw me for what you wanted to see me as; besides, it’s not too far from the truth.”

“You have an MBA from Boston College,” she exclaims. “That’s a far cry from a simple farmer.” I nod and we sit in silence for a moment before she continues speaking. “So when you were talking about all those documents, you weren’t just making stuff up, were you?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

I nod in response, tossing another rock into the water. “Look, Elle. I don’t know what to tell you. I got into BC on a full academic scholarship, promised myself and my mother that I’d learn how to make enough money that we’d never have to live like this again.” Angling my head back to the house, she knows what I mean. “The man you praise as being your mentor, left before I was even born, didn’t even want me around.” My intent is not to hurt her by cutting my father down, but rather to tell her the truth about him for once. “He never even bothered to know me.”

Her long fingers fall to my forearm. “Owen, I think you’re wrong.” After pulling a few sheets of paper out of her back pocket, she hands them over to me.

Unfolding and reading through them opens me up to a world I ever knew existed. “What is this?” I ask, my tone quiet and unsure.

“He did care,” Elle’s words and her eyes exude care and concern.

“But this can’t be– no, I don’t– he didn’t…” Pausing, I find myself fumbling over my own words, completely incapable of dealing with this revelation.

“Well, he cared enough to set you up with a college fund to pay for all four years. It’s possible that he loved you, but just didn’t know how to show it in the right way. Maybe you should talk to your mom about it. She might be able to tell you more, but that’s what we were talking about before you came downstairs. She knew you’d be mad. Are you?”

Another blip of silence falls around us as I take stock of my emotions. Am I mad? The reality is I’ve spent my entire teenage and young adult existence being pissed off at a man I never knew. It’s not all over and done with. I don’t think I can ever fully forgive him, but knowing that he at least felt like he owed me and Mom something helps to make up for it a little.

“No, I don’t think I am. I’ll have to get to the bottom of the whole thing, but that’s between me and my mom.” As I finish my words, I realize her hand is still on my arm, which brings me around to my line of questioning.

“So what was going on with you and Robertson?” Just saying his name makes my blood boil. My fist clenches at my side, relaxing only when Elle places her small hand on top of it.

“Well– uh…” she stammers, chewing on her tongue rather than spitting out an explanation.

“Let me guess. You only have a thing for clean-cut, prim and proper businessmen. And now that you know who I really am, you’re here to make nice, right?” Cynicism and sarcasm drip from my words.

“What?” she gasps a high-pitched defense. “No! Not at all.” Her eyes beg me to believe her, and even though I might not want to, I have to. There’s an unparalleled honesty brewing in those mocha irises that I can’t deny.

“Then please explain it to me, because when I saw him pick you up, you two looked chummy. Then we were out dancing and we looked pretty chummy. The next thing I know, he’s slapping you around. I don’t get it, Elle.”

“I was trying to pull one over on you,” she confesses, surprising the shit out of me. When the look on my face morphs into the I-don’t-quite-understand one, she continues, “Vincent had plans for the estate. He wanted to turn it into a wedding venue. I knew that there was bad blood between the two of you, so I went ahead and pitched the idea to Mr. Robertson and his partners in the hopes they’d invest. I wanted to do it all without you. There’s this part of me that needs to prove I’m good at what I do.” She pauses, letting out a puff of a laugh. “So much for that I guess. He was only interested in taking advantage of me.” Hanging her head in her hands, she won’t even look at me.