Ten Mountain Men's Baby (Love by Numbers 9)

He told me not to worry about Mom. “She just wants what’s best for you,” he said.

“I know, Dad.”

“Don’t worry about her, Son. I’ll talk to her. She’ll come around.”

“Thanks.”

“As long as you keep in touch regularly while you’re in Appalachia.”

“I will, Dad. I will definitely keep you updated.”3HollySunday brunch with Ellen and Chris was a long-standing tradition—as was calling my mom and dad, Ellen and Chris… on their insistence. Not because they were my adopted parents, but they said that “mom” and “dad” made them sound old. They were anti-establishment hippies six days a week, then family-value conservatives on Sunday, just one of many apparent contradictions I had grown up with—thankfully! Contradictions, even hypocrisies, are some of the most undervalued character traits I appreciate. I can’t imagine anyone less interesting than someone free of contradictions, except maybe someone without an ounce of hypocrisy in them—boring! And Ellen and Chris are many things, but uninteresting or boring, they are definitely not that.

“Hello, Ellen.”

“Holly!” She greeted me with a big hug, while Chris waved to me from his post at the grill.

“A new hairdo,” I said. “It looks fantastic.”

“You hear that Chris?” she shouted over her shoulder at my dad. “Holly noticed my new hairdo.”

He shook his head and went back to flipping peppers and eggplant on the grill.

Ellen turned back to me and said, “I gave him two whole days to notice and say something to me about it.”

“But he didn’t notice,” I guessed.

She frowned and shook her head. “I could shave my head, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash.”

Brunch was excellent, as usual: grilled veggie burgers and grilled peppers and eggplant. They kept trying to pry news out of me, but, as usual, I didn’t really have any information to share. Work was not often something I talked about with my parents, but Ellen was a big fan of Felicity Freedman, so I had to mention seeing her.

“Guess who came in the other day?” I said.

Without hesitation, Ellen answered, “Felicity Freedman.”

I huffed. “You’re supposed to guess wrong. That way, it makes it more of a surprise.”

Ellen shrugged. “Sorry, dear. I don’t do being wrong very well.”

Chris nearly choked on his poorly suppressed laugh.

“What is the queen of San Diego up to these days?” asked Ellen.

“Well, would you believe she was planning on doing the thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail?”

Ellen furrowed her brow and twisted her mouth to show her disbelief. “Felicity Freedman in Appalachia? What’s the charity, Prada for the shoeless?”

“Mom!” I was in the habit of calling my mom Ellen except when she embarrassed or upset me, which wasn’t often, but not unheard of.

“What?” She looked at me, surprised, then at Chris. “What did I say?”

In a matter-of-fact tone of voice, not unlike the one he probably used for his university lectures, he said, “You catered to a disparaging stereotype, dismissing an entire segment of people, ignoring their real identity and their real needs while denigrating them to a caricature.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Ellen sarcastically.

Chris shrugged and went back to his veggie burger.

“I’ll have you know,” I said, “that she was going in support of a very noble cause and going on what I’m sure would be a fascinating adventure.”

“Was going?” asked Chris.

“She’s had to cancel.” I pointed to my mouth. “Dental emergency.”

“Lucky her,” said Ellen. “To think, she came close to being stuck out there. I can’t imagine what was going through her mind.”

“What do you mean by stuck out there?” I asked though I was fairly sure I didn’t want to hear the answer.

Ellen leaned across the table and whispered. “It’s a scary place.”

“Have you been?”

She pulled back, glanced at Chris, who was focused on his meal and nothing else, then she said to me, “No, but I’ve seen it… you know, on TV and in the movies.”

I laughed. She might very well have been joking. Sometimes it was hard to tell with her, but, generally, when she was ridiculous on purpose, she would laugh along. This time, however, she looked dead serious.

“I’m not joking,” she said. “Those people, well, they live outside civilization, you know. They have their own way.”

“They’re Americans, Mom.”

She straightened her blouse as if the conversation were so untoward that it had wrinkled or dirtied her clothes. “Still.”

I turned to my dad for some support. “Chris, can you believe what you’re hearing?”

He finished chewing while considering what I was sure would be a thoughtful, measured response. Finally, he half-shrugged and said, “It is odd for a woman like Felicity Freedman to go to a place like that.”

“Well, she’s not going,” I said, more flippantly than I’d intended. “I told you she has a dental emergency.”

“She dodged a bullet,” said Chris.

Ellen looked at him and added, “Or a clan of cannibals.”

I wiped my hands, wiped my lips, and pushed my half-eaten plate of grilled veggies to the side. I cleared my throat and said, “And do you know what? She suggested I take her place on the hike.”