Dawn was just kissing the sky when I stepped out of my tiny house, big cup o’ joe in hand and my favorite monster claw fluffy slippers on my feet. It was beautiful up here in the mountains of North Carolina. The sky was striped with color. Blues, grays, reds, oranges, purples. The early summer air was cool and dry but wouldn’t stay that way for long. Still, it was a good day for working the job. I looked up at the high mountains newly covered in green, here and there dotted with white and pink dogwood flowers. I could get used to this!

I breathed deeply of the clean-scented air and took a sip of coffee, wincing a little when the cup rim bumped the torn spot on my lip. Dammit, I hoped Patrick and Angus were in a little pain this morning! Hungover would be better. Fergus MacAteer was not only a tough father, he was a tough boss, tougher still on his family crew. No excuses for missing work, ever. I’d endured many torturous hours of teasing and pranking over being sick, dealing with cramps, or whatever else my brothers could come up with. A little payback was nice once in a while.

I went back into my tiny house. I designed it, earned the money for it, built it, and then bought the truck that pulled it from job site to job site. Working with my family was tough but it paid really well. My brothers and father lived in the big RV, sleeping on single bunk beds that were attached to the walls. They were stacked three on each side with curtains that were supposed to provide a little privacy. I was there with them for a number of years as a child, but for obvious reasons that got awkward as I grew up. Da managed to get long-term jobs during the fall and winter so we could go to school, but we transferred often, sometimes in the middle of the year. I went to seventeen different schools but somehow managed to graduate with a diploma. Patrick and Angus also managed diplomas, but Connor, Owen, and Garrett got GEDs on the road. College was not an option, as we were a working family, or at least that’s what Da said. I always wished I could’ve gone, but it just wasn’t in the cards for me.

When I was fifteen, Da got two long-term jobs back-to-back at Myrtle Beach that lasted for just over fourteen months. First and only time we ever stayed in one place that long. I loved it! I made some friends and I got to know my teachers for a change. One in particular taught wood shop, Mr. Fuller. He helped me with my house. I told him about living with my brothers, one bathroom, no privacy, and that being a girl, it was getting to be a problem. He introduced me to tiny houses that could be mobile. I spent my school shop time building it with his help. Some of the other guys in the class helped as well once they got over me being the only girl there. My other favorite was Mrs. Castillo, the home ec teacher, who introduced me to the other passion in my life.

Da wasn’t happy and wouldn’t let me move into it, saying it was safer in the main RV, but I managed to convince him and my brothers it would be in their best interest to let me move what amounted to next door. I began leaving my bras and panties hanging in the small bathroom and over my bunk area to dry. I started putting girly scented shower gels and poufs in the shower closet. I made all of them leave the RV when I was showering or dressing, and if they wouldn’t I’d lose my modesty and go full monty in front of them. Talk about awkward! This didn’t make me happy either, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I think what finally did it was the feminine stuff. I left the boxes of pads and tampons sitting out, even when I wasn’t on my period, and when I was, I complained and groaned loudly at night about cramps regardless of whether I had them or not. It didn’t take more than three months into the next job before my brothers were begging Da to let me move out. Da finally agreed.

I loved my tiny house. At first it wasn’t much more than a giant box with windows, a space heater, and air mattress. I’d started with scraps from the construction site and other leftover bits. Through the years, I’d work on it when I could with what reclaim items I could find in what time I had. Now my house was really a home. Everything in it was my design with the exception of a beautiful dark cherry wood table that my brother Connor built for me. He inlaid a lighter wood to make a checkerboard pattern on the top, so I had a combination dining-desk-coffee-and-game table. I loved my oldest brother!

I had a bazillion coffee mugs, as every time we went someplace new I bought a cheap tourist mug with the name of the place on it. They hung from secure clip hooks on the low kitchen ceiling. So far, I had yet to move my house and smash any on the hardwood floor (from leftover scrap from a jobsite in Oklahoma).

I was proud of my whole house, having spent so much time putting it together just for me. It wasn’t big, but it was enough and it was totally mine. Sometimes it was difficult, like when I had to clear the incinerator toilet or when I ran out of hot solar-heated water, but those challenges didn’t stop me from claiming my own space. This was not a want, this was a need.

I spotted Connor emerging from the RV, stretching and buttoning his green work shirt. Even though he was ten years older than me, he was the brother I was closest to. He was the one who got me through my haphazard school life and managed somehow to make sure I had the credits to graduate with a real diploma. He was also the one my da’s the roughest on, which was a shame as he’s also the one my da depends on the most to keep the business going. At six feet, he was dark haired, broad chested and shouldered, and heavily muscled. Both of us had our mother’s green eyes, but I and the younger set of twins were the only ones who got her light ginger hair and freckles.

Connor waved and walked over to me barefoot. The parking lot wasn’t completely paved and we were staying on the gravel side. We usually stayed at the jobsite both for convenience and for security. Betsey had offered us accommodations at the club’s campground, but Da thought it was too far away from the site. Our tool truck was expensive and full of top-grade equipment; therefore, we stayed with it.

Connor smiled at my goofy slippers. “Got an extra one of those, beag deirfiúr?” He gestured at my coffee mug.

I smiled back at his endearment. “Always for you, deartháir mór,” I replied. I shuffled in my monster feet back into my house and allowed him entry. I only let Conner into my personal space. Maybe Garrett or Owen if the ever asked, but Patrick and Angus? Never! Living in the RV had been a constant barrage of short-sheeted bunks, shoelaces tied in impossible knots, and mixed-up hair products all through my teenage years. No way would I ever let them do that to me here. I keep one of the closet drawers locked with a good padlock just in case they did get in my house. My most prized and private possessions were in that drawer.

“No rain yet. Should be a good day. Need to get the frames done and up soon. You have the design for the bar?” he asked as I pulled down a mug and poured in the last bit of coffee from the pot I’d made earlier.

“I have a layout on the computer. Betsey approved it already, but I made a few changes and put in some extras that will make better use of the space. More storage, less waste. She’s coming by later to see it.”

Connor chuckled and sipped his coffee. “I know you’re the expert on wasted space. Tiny houses seem to be a thing these days, both mobile and fixed. Yours would be easy to set on a foundation. Maybe get to stay in one place for a change. Be nice to put down a few roots before we turn gray.”

I nodded and sipped at my cup as well, leaving the last bit in the bottom. I never cared for the gritty last mouthful that always seemed to come from a French press. I liked my coffee without extra grounds. I probably should’ve invested in one of those new coffee machines that had the little pod thingies, but I hadn’t gotten around to doing that yet. “It would be nice to be in a fixed place. Someday, I hope Da gets tired of the travel and decides to stay put.”

Connor looked at the dregs in his own mug. “Yeah, someday,” he intoned almost listlessly. He knew as well as I did that someday was very far off.

I wondered why Connor was still here, running Pub Builders when his heart was elsewhere. We were all grown-ass adults and had skills that could land us work anywhere we chose to be. Connor could make kick-ass custom furniture like nobody’s business, but still he was slogging around constructions sites, taking shit from Da, and running his ass off to keep us going. I knew part of it was being the eldest and feeling a responsibility to all of us younger siblings. Now I thought it was more habit, not to mention “family business” was drummed into our heads from the cradle.

Why was I still around? In a nutshell, fear. As brash and bold as I was, I still had a fear of being on my own. I’d spent my entire life around my brothers and being without them was unthinkable, even Patrick and Angus.

“Where is everyone? The sun is up. We’re burning daylight. Get your arses out here! We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

I rolled my eyes at the familiar bellow of my da. His short, stocky figure appeared, striding quickly across the lot toward the job site.

“Looks like someday isna happenin’ today, lass!” Connor quipped in a fake brogue. “Let’s get out there and keep the old man happy.”