Hiss and Make Up by Leigh Landry

Author:Leigh Landry
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-04-26T04:00:00+00:00

13

Sierra parked along the street and waved at three boys riding rusted bikes with a skinny yellow dog following behind them. With one hand clutching a paper grocery bag, she wound through the lettuces and herbs in small beds and planters. She passed the big crepe myrtle and entered the backyard of the freshly painted, bright orange house on pillars.

When her dad had shown her the paint sample he wanted to use, she’d cringed. But now that it was on the house, she kind of liked it. It was warm, cheerful, and inviting. All the other neighbors were now painting their own houses bright colors too.

As soon as the Freetown neighborhood—once a safe haven for freed slaves—got its historical registry designation a couple of years ago, the residents began accessing tax credits for improvements. Her dad had been living here for years, back before it began attracting artists and free spirits who enjoyed the proximity to campus, festivals, and downtown nightlife.

While Sierra hated how neighborhoods like this were pricing out poor minority communities, living here made her dad happy. So they both volunteered and attended community meetings, and they always voted in the best interest of the longstanding residents.

“There she is,” her dad said. He dusted the soil from his hands behind a table filled with seed trays. His hands and bare arms were still tanned and leathery from the summer and years of being outside.

He met her with a hug and said, “Hey, Pumpkin.” His thin frame in her arms reminded her of his age despite his healthy appearance.

They walked toward the house together. The yard was overrun with plants, seedling shelves, rabbit hutches, and compost bins. He sold veggie plants and rabbit-poop-infused fertilizer out of his back yard and at the weekly farmers market. Somehow, the whole operation still smelled better than the yoga place he used to run.

“Brought actual food this week?” he asked.

“Well, it’s made from fancy grapes, so I say it counts as food.”

He took the paper bag and pulled out the bottle of champagne. “Good thing I traded Cameron a bag of fertilizer for a dozen eggs yesterday morning.” He turned toward the house. “Come on, I’m sure I have some orange juice leftover from last week.”

“Brunch mimosas. What the good Lord intended fathers and daughters to bond over on Sunday mornings.”

“Indeed she did.”

Sierra followed him up the steps and through the back door into the tiny kitchen. He shook his head while she plopped two ice cubes into two mismatched coffee mugs and poured a shot of OJ into each.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You’re the one without proper glassware.”

Her dad topped off each mug with cheap champagne, then began cracking eggs into the bowl Sierra had pulled out for him. “Go outside and cut some green onions and basil leaves. Should still be plenty of both. I’ve got a banana pepper around here somewhere and some goat cheese from St. Martinville. I think we can whip up a couple omelets.

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