Free Big Fat Disaster by Beth Fehlbaum

Oregon now. Who’s this?”
    “This is Leah. Who is
this
?”
    My stomach clenches when she says her name. “It’s Colby.” I move to the dining room table and sit on the edge of a chair.
    “Oh, hey, Colby, I’m returning your mom’s phone call. She left a message for me late last night, but I didn’t get it until this morning.” Leah waits like she’s expecting me to say something else, but I don’t. “…Anyway, tell your mom that the answer is not just yes, but
absolutely
yes. You guys are more than welcome to it.”
    “Uh, we’re welcome to what?”
    “The trailer behind my house. You didn’t know? When Dale stopped by last week and told me about your dad and mom having…problems, I sent a letter with him for your mom, offering use of the trailer behind my house for as long as you need it. Your mom left a message last night saying she’d take it, if the offer still stands.”
    “You mean, like, a trailer to move our stuff?”
    Leah laughs. “No! To live in, silly! It’s a single-wide mobile home.”
    “Where do you live?”
    “That’s right; you’ve never visited me. I live in Piney Creek, in East Texas. It’s small and real country. But that’s a good thing, because I can have a trailer behind my house and nobody cares.”
    “Oh…Okay. Well, thanks. I’ve…got to go.”
    “Please have your mom call me when she gets back. We’ll figure out the next step.”

    Ever since she and my Uncle Mark split up seven years ago, Aunt Leah’s been pretty standoffish as far as family gatherings. Before the divorce, she, Uncle Mark, and Ryan came over to our house a lot, although she and Dad always got into arguments easily. So, we were surprised when Leah and Ryan agreed to come to the Fourth of July picnic at a state park near Uncle Dale’s house in Louisiana. Even after she stopped coming around, Aunt Leah still sent us birthday cards, usually with a ten-dollar bill tucked inside. Mom and Dad cautioned us to watch out for her because she’s “unstable” and prone to blowing things out of proportion just to get attention.
    “Whatever you do,” Mom told Rachel and me before the Fourth of July picnic, “don’t bring up Uncle Mark, politics, or religion, because that’ll start a fight.”
    I thought that those were weird things to warn us about. Did she think I was going to say, “Hi, Aunt Leah! Tell me: What was it like to have Uncle Mark arrested for beating the shit out of you?…Election Day’s coming up! You’re registered to vote, right?…So, been to church lately?”…I mean,
really
.

    On the Fourth of July, Dad was grilling burgers when Aunt Leah parked her yellow VW bug next to my grandparents’ motor coach. Ryan got out first. He wore a neon orange cast on his wrist, and his face showed fading bruises and fresh scars that looked like he’d had stitches.
    Grandma immediately raised a fuss about it: “Oh, my
goodness
, darling! Were you in a car crash?”
    He looked down and shook his head.
    “What on earth happened to you, boy?” Uncle Dale asked a little gruffly. “Did you take second place in an ass-kicking contest?”
    Ryan kind of snorted, then moved to the trunk and popped it open. He pulled out their small ice chest, then slammed the lid closed.
    Leah emerged from her car and everybody looked her up and down, too. I remembered her as not being very tall, but she was a lot heavier since the last time I saw her. She was wearing a snug tank top that showed off a tattooed wreath of flowers stretching from her back, across her shoulders, and down into the gap between her breasts. Elaborate vines wrapped her upper arms and wound all the way down to her fingers.
    Dad glanced at Leah, and his mouth stretched into a smirk. He shook his head disapprovingly and spat, “Nice ink, Hoss.”
    I guess Aunt Leah didn’t hear him, but she couldn’t help but hear Grandpa when he unfolded his mountain-sized self from the camping chair by the picnic table and bellowed, “My God