Lovelight Farms

LOVELIGHTFARMS
AHOLIDAYROMANCE
B.K.BORISON
Copyright?2021byB.K.Borison.
Allrightsreserved.
CoverDesign:B.K.BorisonEditing:AnnieMeagleProofing:IanBorisonNopartofthisbookmaybereproducedinanyformorbyanyelectronicormechanicalmeans,includinginformationstorageandretrievalsystems,withoutwrittenpermissionfromtheauthor,exceptfortheuseofbriefquotationsinabookreview.
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentsareeitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,eventsorlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
CreatedwithVellum
ForE,myfavoritelovestory.AndforRo,thebesthappilyeverafter.
CONTENTS
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
EpilogueArrivingIn2022
thankyouAbout
theAuthor
“ChristmasEvewillfindmeWherethelove-lightgleams.
I’llbehomeforChristmas
Ifonlyinmydreams.”
ONE
“LUKA,LISTEN,”Ileanbackwardinmychairandfumbleforthestackofpapersonthefilecabinetbehindme,cursingundermybreathwhenmyfingertipsbarelyglancethecorneredgeanditgoescascadingtothefloorinaflurryofwhite.“Listen,Ineedyoutostoptalkingaboutpizzaforasecond.”
There’sapauseontheotherendoftheline.“Iwasjustgettingtothegoodpart.”
Whathemeansishewasjustgettingtothepartwherehetalksatlengthabouthomemadecheese,andIdon’tthinkIcanhandlehimtalkingaboutmozzarellawiththatlevelofdetailrightnow.Asadataanalyst,Lukaisridiculouslythoroughinallthings.Especiallycheese.Irubattheachebetweenmyeyebrows.“Iknowyouwere,I’msorry,butI’vegotsomethingelsetotalktoyouabout.”
“Everythingokay?”There’sahonkinthebackground,Luka’smuffledcurse,andthesteadyclickofhisturnlightashemergesintoanotherlane.
“Everythingis…fine.”Ipeekdownatthebudgetspreadsheetslitteringmyfloorandwince.“It’sgood.Okay,Imean.Ijust–“ThefleetingconfidenceIenteredthisconversationwithleavesmeandIslouchdowninmychair.EverytimeI’vecalledLukathisweekorLukahascalledme,I’vechickenedout.Idon’tthinkthistimeisgoingtobeanydifferent.
“Iactuallyhavetogo.Oneofmyvendorsiscalling.”Ifrownatmyselfinthereflectionofmycomputerscreen.Ihavebagsundermyeyes,myfullbottomlipisbrightredfromnervouschewing,andmymassofdarkhairistwistedupintoabunthatlooksbettersuitedtoahauntedVictoriandoll.
Ilookeverybitasroughasourbudgetsheets.
“Oneofyourvendorsisnotcallingyou,butI’llplayfornow.”Lukasoundsamused.“Callmewhenyou’redoneworking,okay?Wecantalkaboutwhateveryou’vebeenrunningcirclesaroundallweek.”
Reflectionmefrownsdeeper.“Maybe.”
Helaughs.“Talksoon.”
Ihangupmyphoneandresisttheurgetotossitclearacrosstheroom.
Lukahasaknackforcrackingmerightopen,andIdon’twantthatrightnow.Idon’twantitever,tobehonest,afraidofwhathe’llfindwhenhestartsconnectingallthedatapoints.
MyphonebuzzesinmypalmwithanincomingtextandIflipitfacedownontopofastackofinvoices.ItbuzzesagainandIpinchthebridgeofmynose.
Withourfinancesthewaytheyare,I’mquicklyrunningoutofoptions.
Ihadthought–IguessIthoughtowningaChristmastreefarmwouldberomantic.
Ihadbigdreamsofaholidayseasonfilledwithmagic.Kidsweavingtheirwaythroughthetrees.Parentsstealingkissesoverhotchocolate.ThestuffChristmassongsarewrittenabout.Youngcouplesgettingcaughtbeneaththemistletoe.Lowhanginglightsandoversizedstockings.Woodrailingspaintedredandwhite.Gingerbreadcookies.Peppermintsticks.
Andatfirst,itwasgreat.Ouropeningseasonwasasmagicalasitgets.
Butsincethen,it’sbeenonethingafteranother.
I’meyeballsdeepindebtwithafertilizersupplierwhoconvenientlyforgetsmyshipmenteveryothermonth.IhaveanentirepastureoftreesthatlooklikesomethingoutofaTimBurtonmovie,andthereisafamilyofraccoonsorchestratingahostiletakeoverofmySantabarn.Itis,inshort,notamagicalwinterfairyland.
Itisafrigidhellscapefromwhichnoonecanescape,toppedwithaprettyredbow.
Ifeelliedto.NotonlybyeveryHallmarkmovieI’veeverseenbutalsobythepreviousownerofthisland.Hankfailedtomentionhestoppedpayinghisbillsmonthsago,andasthenewowner,I’dinherithisdebt.Atthetime,IthoughtIhadgottenasteal.Thelandwasatagoodprice,andIhadexcitingideasforexpansionandmarketing.With
IwasblindedbytheDouglasfir.
ButIdohaveasolution.I’mjustnotsuretheemailsittingatthetopofmyinboxissomethingI’mwillingtoexplore.
Honestlyatthispoint,harvestingmyownorganssoundslessscary.
“Estelle.”
IjumpwhenBeckettelbowshiswayintomyoffice,myarmknockingovermycoffee,ahalfway-deadfern,andastackofpinetree-scentedairfresheners.Italltumblestothegroundontopofmydestroyedfilingsystem.Ifrownatmyleadfarmeroverthemess.
“Beckett,”Isigh,andtheheadachepressingbehindmyeyesspreads,curlsatthebaseofmyskull.Themanisphysicallyincapableofenteringaroominanormal,understatedway.Hiskneesarecakedinmudandmyfrowndeepens.Hemusthavebeeninthesouthpasture.“Whatisitnow?”
Hestepsoverthepileofplantandcardboardandcoffeeandfoldshislargeframeintothechairoppositemydesk–ahorrible,too-smallleatherthingIfoundonthesideoftheroad.Ihadwantedtoreupholsteritarich,velvetevergreen–butthentheraccoonshappened.Andthenthefencingbytheroadrandomlycollapsedtwice.
Andsothereitsits.Horriblecrackingbrownleatherwithbitsofstuffingspillingoutontothefloor.Itfeelslikeametaphor.
Beckettpeersatthefadedtreesdecoratingthecarpet,thecardboardcurlingupattheedges.Oneeyebrowshootsstraightuphisforehead.
“Caretoexplainwhyyouhave75gasstationairfreshenersinyouroffice?”
LeaveittoBecketttoforgetanapologyandstartdiggingintosomethingpersonalinstead.Myphonebuzzesagain.Threestaccatoburstsinrapid-fire.It’seitherLuka’sdissertationonpizzacrustconsistencyoranothervendorlookingfortheirlatepayment.
Beckett’seyebrowcreepshigher.“Orperhapsdoornumbertwo.Caretoexplainwhyyou’reignoringLuka?”
IhatewhenBeckettisfeelingclever.Italmostalwaysendspoorlyforme.He’stooastuteforhisowngood,despitethedumbfarmeractheplaysamajorityofthetime.Ibenddownandpickupanairfreshener,tossingitinthebottomdrawerofmydeskwithalloftherest.Abigol’
messoftangledstrings,stalepine,andunrequitedfeelings.AsinglepinetreeforeverytimeLukahasbeenhome,startingbackwhenweweretwenty-oneandstupid.Itypicallyfindthemaweekortwoafterhe’sleft–
tuckedawayinsomehiddenspot.Beneathmysnowglobe,undermykeyboard.
Wedgedinmycoffeefilter.
“I’mnotandIdon’t,”Imumble.Hardpassonboththoseoptions,thankyou.“Caretoexplainwhatyoufoundouttherethismorning?”
Beckettslipsoffhishatandrunshisfingersthroughhisdarkblondehair,workingasmudgeortwoofdirtinthere.Hisskinistannedbythesunandfromspendinghisdaysinthefields,theflannelrolleduptohiselbowsdisplayingacacophonyofcolorandinkonhisforearms.Allthewomenintownarecrazyabouthim–whichisprobablywhyhedoesn’tgointotown.
AlsoprobablywhyhefrownedatmewhenIsuggestedaHotFarmercalendartoboostprofits.
Iswear,I’dhavenofinancialconcernsifheletmetakethatonetomarket.
“Idon’tunderstand,”hemutters,thumbrubbingathisjaw.IfCindyCroswellwerehererightnow,she’ddropdeadonthespot.Sheworksatthepharmacyandsometimespretendsshe’shardofhearingwhenBeckcomesin,justsohehastoleanintoherspaceandyellstraightintoherear.IevensawthatoldbatpretendtostumbleintoashelfsoBeckettwouldhelpherbackup.Hopeless.
“ThesetreesareprobablythelowestmaintenancecropI’veeverhadtosupport.”There’sajokeintheresomewhere,butIfranklydon’thavetheenergy.Mylipstiltdownuntilmyfrownmirrorshis.Twosadclowns.“Ican’tthinkofasinglereasonwhythetreesinthesouthpasturelooklikelike-”
Ithinkofthewaythetreesgrowingatthebaseofthehillscurveandbend,thebrittletextureofthebark.Thelimp,sadneedles.“LikeadarkerversionoftheCharlieBrownChristmastree?”
“That’sit,yeah.”
Strangelyenough,there’samarketforlonely-lookingChristmastrees.
Butthesedon’tfallintothatcategory.Theseareunsalvageable.IwentouttheotherdayandIswearoneofthemcrumbledwhenIlookedatit.Ican’timagineoneofthesethingssittinginanyone’shome–ironicallyornot.Ipluckatmybottomlipwithmythumbanddosomequickcalculationsinmyhead.Therearedozensoftreesinthatlot.
“Willwebealrightwithoutthem?”Beckettlooksworriedandhehaseveryreasontobe.It’sanotherhitwecan’taffordtotake.Asheadoffarmingoperations,IknowIowehimthetruth.Thatwe’rehangingonbytheskinofourteeth.ButIcan’tmakethewordscomeout.Hetookaleapoffaithwhenhelefthisjobattheproducefarmtoworkherewithme.I
knowhe’scountingonthisbeingasuccess.ForallofthepromisesImadehimtoholdtrue.
Andsofartheyhave,thankstomysavings.I’vehadtoscrimpandsaveandeatramenmorenightsthannot,butnoonewhoworksherehasseenadipintheirpay.I’mnotwillingtosacrificethat.
Butthatwon’tlastforever.Somethinghastogivesoon.
Iglancebackatmycomputerscreen,theemailatthetopofmyinbox.
“Well,”Ichewonmybottomlip.Inforapenny,inforapound,andallthat.IfBeckettwantsustomakeitthroughthisnextseasonwiththefarminonepiece,thereissomethinghecando.Ibreathedeepandsummonthescrapsofcouragethatdidn’tabandonmeduringmycallwithLuka.
“Wanttobemyboyfriend?”
I’dlaughatthelookonhisfaceifIwasn’tsoserious.HelookslikeIaskedhimtogooutintotheorchardsandburyadeadbody.
“Isthat–“Heshiftsinhischair,theleathersqueakingunderhislegs.
“Stella,I’mnot–Idon’treallyseeyou–you’relikemy-”
WhenwasthelasttimeIheardthismanstutter?Ihonestlycan’tthinkofit.MaybewhenBetseyJohnsontriedtocopafeelinfrontofagroupofschoolkidsduringhisArborDaypresentationatthemiddleschool.
“Relax,”Ipressthetoeofmybootintoanotherairfresheneranddragittowardsme.“Idon’tmeanarealboyfriend.”
I’mstrugglingwithdraggingthepieceofcardboardtowardsme,soIdon’tseethewayBeckett’sbodygoesramrodstraightinthechair.AllIseeishisleg,jumpingupanddownamileaminute.Isnort.WhenIlookup,hiseyesarewideandhelookslikeI’veputaguntohishead.It’sthesamethinly-veiledapprehensionandmortificationhewearsonhisfaceeverytimehestepsfootintown.
“Stella,”heswallows.“Isthis–areyoupropositioningme?”
“What?Ohmygod,Beck-”Ican’thelpthefull-bodyshudder.IloveBeckett,but–god.“No!Jesus,isthatwhatyouthinkofme?!”
“WhatdoIthink?!Whatdoyouthink?”HisvoicehashitaregisterIhaveneverheardfromhimbefore.Hegestureswildlywithhishand,clearlynotknowingwhattodowithhimself.“Thisisallalittleoutofleftfield,Stella!”
“Imeantlikeafakeboyfriendthing!”Ishriek,likethatwasobvious.
Likethisisanormalthingpeoplerequestfromtheirveryplatonicfriends.
Likemyoveractiveimaginationandhalfabottleofsauvignonblancdidn’tgetmeintothismesstobeginwith.Iclicktoopentheemailandstareatitmournfully,ignoringtheanimatedconfettithatexplodesacrossmyscreen.
IwatchitthreetimesinarowandpretendBeckett’seyesarenotcurrentlydrillingaholeintothesideofmyhead.
“Ididathing,”Isupply,andleaveitatthat.
“Athing,”heparrots.
Ihuminresponse.
“Doyouwanttosharewhatthatthingis?”
No.
“I–“
Asifsummonedbysheerforceofwill,Laylatiptoesherwayintomyoffice,atrayofsomethingprecedingheraroundtheedgeofmydoor.Ismellcinnamon,driedcranberries,andahintofvanilla.
Zucchinibread.
Likeanangeldescendingfromtheheavens,shebroughtzucchinibread.Theonethingthatalways,alwaysdistractsBeckett.
BeckettmakesanoisethatisborderlineobsceneandIvaguelyconsiderrecordingitandputtingitonOnlyFans.Thatmightbringinsomedollars:HotFarmerEatsZucchini.Ichuckletomyself.HereachesforthetraywithgrabbyhandsbutLaylasmackshisknuckleswithawoodenspoonshepullsoutofher–backpocket,Ithink?Shebalancesthetrayneatlyontheedgeofmydesk.Ipeerintoitandalmostweep.Sheaddedchocolatechips.
“Madeyousomething,bosslady.”
Shenudgesitforwardwiththeedgeofherspoonandrestsherchinprettilyinonehand.
WhileBeckettembodiesruggedreclusewithallthecharmofapaperbag,LaylaDupreebrightensanyroomshewalksintowithhersweetsouthernhospitalityandno-nonsensewit.Sheisstrikingwithhercrystalclearhazeleyesandcroppeddarkhair.She’skindtoafaultandmakesthebesthotchocolateinthetri-statearea.IsnatchedheruptomanagethediningoptionsatmylittletreefarmassoonasItastedoneofherchocolatechipcookiesatthefirehousebakesale.She’sthethirdmemberofourhumblelittletrio,andifshe’sbringingmesweets,shewantssomething
SomethingIprobablycan’tafford.
Ishoveasliceofbreadintomymouthbeforeshecanask,boundanddeterminedtoenjoyatleastonethingbeforeIhavetotellherno.
Myphonetakesadvantagetoo,buzzingmerrilyacrossmydesk.Laylablinksatit,exchangesaglancewithBeckett,andthenlooksatme.
“WhyareyouignoringLuka?”
“I’mnot-”Asprayofgolden,flaky,deliciouscrumbsaccompanymydenial.“I’mnotignoringLuka.”
Itsoundsmorelikem’snotsnoreukeah.
Laylahumsandpivots.“So,Iwasthinking,”shestarts.Bingo.“IfIaddanotherstoveinthebackcornerofthekitchen,wecouldalmostdoubleouroutput.Maybeevenstartsomeprepackagedthingsifpeoplewanttotakealittlebasketoutintothefieldswiththem.”
BeckettcrosseshisarmsasIcontinuechewingmymassivebite.IignoreLaylafornowandstarehimdeadintheeye.
“It’sstillwarm,”Itellhim.
Hegroans.
Laylarelentsandrollshereyes,pluckingasliceoffthetopandofferingittohim.
“Ifpeoplestartleavingtrashinthepastures,I’mgoingtohaveaproblemwiththat,”Beckettgrouches.Heshovesthewholesliceofbreadintohismouthandthencollapsesagainstthebackofthechairinrapture,theleatheronceagainreleasinganominoussqueakofdefeat.JustlikeI’maboutto.
“Ilovetheidea,butwemightneedtoputaholdonanybigpurchasesrightnow.”Ithinkaboutthesadlittlenumberinmysavingsaccount.HowIwasbarelyabletocoveroperationalexpensesthispastquarter.
Layla’sfacefalls,herhandreachingouttomine.Shetouchesmyknucklesonce.It’sakindnessIdon’tdeserve,giventhatIhaven’tbeencompletelyhonestabouthowbadthingsarerightnow.“Arewedoingokay?”
“We’redoing–“Isearchforawordtocategorizehangingonbymyfingernails.“–alright.”
Beckettfinallyswallowshisridiculousbiteoffoodandkicksoutaleg.
“Wewerejusttalkingaboutthat,actually.Stellapropositionedme.”
“Oh?That’sinteresting.Don’tunderstandhowitplaysintoouroperationalstatus,though.”
“Yeah,metoo.Butthat’swhatIgotwhenIaskedherthesamequestion.”
“DoIgettobepropositionedtoo?”
Irollmyeyesandchoosenottodignifythatwitharesponse.Instead,Iturnmycomputerscreenaroundsotheybothcanseetheanimatedconfettiinallitsglory.Beckettdoesn’tsomuchasblink,butLaylathrowsbotharmsupintheairwithahigh-pitchedscreechthathasmewincing.
“Isthatforreal?”Shegrabsthesidesofmydesktopandleanscloser,nosepracticallypressedupagainstthescreen.“You’reafinalistforthatEvelynSt.Jamesthing?”
Becketteyeballsthezucchinibreadasitbalancesprecariouslyontheedgeofmydesk,eyesglazedlikehe’sbeendrugged.“AspirinSaintwhat?”
Laylaslapshishandagainwithoutevenlookingathim.“She’saninfluencer.”
Beckettmakesaface.“Isthatlikeapoliticalthing?”
“Howdoyouexistinthiscentury?She’sabigdealonsocialmedia.Shedoesdestinationfeatures.Sortoflikeaminitravelchannelthing.”
Ifeelasmallburstofpride.Sheistheinfluencerfordestinationhospitality.Snaggingafeatureonheraccountisequivalenttothousandsinadspend–thousandswehaveneverhadthebudgetfor.Itwouldturnourfarmintoaplacepeoplewanttovisit,notjustastoppingpointforlocals.
Andthe$100,000cashprizeforthewinnerofhersmallbusinesssweepstakeswouldkeepusafloatforanotheryear,ifnotmore.
ToobadIliedonmyapplication.
“Wheredoesthepropositioningcomein?”
“Ididn’t–Ididn’tpropositionBeckett.”Iswingmycomputerscreenbackaroundandminimizetheemail.Idrummyfingersagainstmylipsandrememberthenightthatgotmeintothismess.IhadbeenonthephonewithLuka,alittlebitdizzyoffwhitewineandthewayhiseyescrinkledatthecorners.Hehadbeenmakingsomestupidjokeabouthamsandwichesandcouldn’tstoplaughinglongenoughtogetthefullthingout.Istilldon’tknowthepunchline.
“IsaidintheapplicationthatIownthefarmwithmyboyfriend,”Imumble.Colorheatsmycheeks.IbetIlookasredasoneofmybarn
doors.“Ithoughtitwouldbemoreromanticthansad,lonelywomanwhohasn’tbeenonadatein17months.”
“Ihopetogodyou’rehavingmeaninglesssexwithsomeone.”
“Whydoyouneedaboyfriendtobesuccessful?”
LaylaandBeckettspeakovereachother,thoughtobefair,Laylamakesamuchmoreaggressiveeffortasshepropelsherselfforwardinthechairandyellsherstatementaboutmysexlife.Shecollapsesback,jawhingedopen,hand-presseddramaticallyagainstherchest.
“Holycannoli,nowonderyouare-”shegesturesatmewithherspoonwieldinghandandIfightnottoblushadeepershadeofred.We’reprobablyhittingcrimsonterritorybynow.“–thewayyouare.”
Ifidgetinmychairandpresson.Idon’thavetotellLaylathatdatinginasmalltownhasitscomplications,letalonestartingano-strings-attachedsituation.“She’scomingforfivedaysforanin-personinterviewandshe’llfeatureusonhersocialaccounts.Theboyfriendthing,Idon’tknow.IguessIthoughthavingaboyfriendwouldmakethisplaceseemmoreromantic.Shelovesromancestuff.”
Beckettsneaksanotherpieceofzucchinibread.He’stakingadvantageofLayla’scontinuedshockandaweatmycelibacy.“Well,that’sfuckingstupid.”
Igivehimalook.“Thankyou,Beckett.Yourinputishelpful.”
“Seriouslythough,”hebreakshiszucchinibreadsliceintwo.“You’vemadethisplaceamazing.You.Onyourown.Youshouldbeproudofthat.
Addingaboyfrienddoesn’tmakeyourstoryanymoreorlessimportant.”
Iblinkathim.“SometimesIforgetyouhavethreesisters.”
Heshrugs.“Justmytwocents.”
“Yousureyoudon’twanttopretendyoufindmeirresistibleforaweek?”
Laylashakesherhead,finallyemergingfromhertrance-likestate.“Badidea.Haveyouseenhimtrytolietoanyone?It’shorrible.Heturnsintoamonosyllabicfooleverytimehehastogointotownforgroceries.”
It’strue.I’vehadtopickuphisorderfromthebutchermorethanonce.
I’mconvincedhebecameaproducefarmerpurelysohe’dhavetomakefewerstopsattheSaveMore.Beckettdoesn’tenjoypeople,andheespeciallydoesn’tenjoytheovertflirtationsofhalfthetownwheneverhestopsin.SometimesIfeellikeLaylaandIaretheonlyonesimmunetohis
considerablelackofcharm,butIsupposethat’swhathappenswhenyou’veseenamanmutteringobscenitiestotreeshalftheday,everyday.
Andwhenyourhearthasbeenhopelesslypiningoverthesamepersonforclosetotenyears.
Igrabanothersliceofzucchinibreadandbegintonibble,consideringmyoptions.Mynon-Luka-shapedoptions.IcouldaskJesse,theownerofourtown’sonlybar.Buthe’dlikelythinkit’smorethanitisandIdon’thavethetimeorenergyforafakebreak-upformyfakerelationship.Icouldlookintoescortservices,maybe.That’sathing,right?Like,that’swhyescortservicesexist?Forpeopleto–Idon’tknow,escortothers?
Ipressmyfingersundermyeyes,forgettingthatonehandisstillclutchingapieceofzucchinibread.There’sanobviousanswerhere.Itjustitscaresmetodeath.
“Thereitis,”Beckettmutters,andittakeseveryfiberofmybeingnottohurlthisbreadathisface.“Itjusthither.”
“Idon’tknowwhyyou’refreakingout.It’sasimplesolution.He’ddoitinaheartbeat.”
IpeekthroughmyfingersatLayla.She’ssmilingasmuglittlegrin.Shelookslikesheshouldbewearingamonocleandstrokingahairlesscat,Bondstyle.WhyIeverthoughtshewasallsweetnessisbeyondme.She’saspicylittlething.
“Ask
Luka.”
TWO
THERE’SthisbarinthecitythatLukaandIliketogoto.Thebeerischeap,thefloorsaresticky,andwhenIkickthejukeboxinthebottomrightcorner,it’llplayEllaFitzgeraldthirteentimesinarowexactly.It’sperfect.
ButsometimesonaSaturdaynightwhenthebargetscrowdedandbodiespressclose,Ihavetroubleholdingmyspace.Emboldenedbywhiskey,it’salwaysinevitablethatahandlandsonmyassorsomepretty,dumbthingwhothinkshe’sagiftandadelightleersdownmyshirt.Andalways,Lukaslipshishandovermyshoulder,undermyhair,andpressesittothenapeofmyneck.Hepullsmecloseandtuckshischinontopofmyhead.Ifitperfectlythere,foldedinclosetohisbody.Ifindmyspace.
I’vethoughtaboutthatatimeortwointhestillnessofnight.Howhishandfeelsagainstmyskin,hispalmgentlycuppingthebackofmyhead,themovebothpossessiveandreverent.I’vethoughtaboutwhatitmightfeellikeforhisfingerstotighten,tosiftupintomyhair,topullandanglemeuntilhismouthfindsmine.
I’vethoughtaboutalotofthingswhenitcomestoLuka.Thingsyoushouldn’tthinkaboutyourbestfriend.
WemetwhenIwastwenty-oneyearsold.IransmackintohimasIwasleavingthehardwarestore,lostinashadowofgriefIcouldn’tshake.Itclungtomelikeanuncomfortableblanket,relentlesssincethepassingofmymomjustthreemonthsearlier.Irememberstandinginoneoftheaisles,holdingamismatchedsetofnutsandbolts,determinedtodosomethingwithallmylistlessenergy.Buildabirdhouse.Anewshelfforthehallway.IstumbledintoLukaonthefrontstepswhenIwasleavingandhecuppedhishandsaroundmyelbowstoholdmesteady.Irememberstaringathiscaramelbrownhair,juststartingtocurlfrombeneathhisbaseballhat,thewayhissmilepulledatonesideofhismouthbeforetheother.ItfeltlikethefirsttimeinalongtimeInoticedanything.Lukahad
clearedhisthroat,steadiedmyarms,andaskedifIwantedgrilledcheese.
Nohello.Nohowareyou.Just,wannagogetagrilledcheese?
Idon’tknowwhatmademesayyes.I’dbarelybeentalkingtopeopleIhadknownforyearsatthatpoint.Iwasexisting,atbest.Floundering,atworst.ButIwentwithLukaandategrilledcheeseatthelittlecafeintown.
ItturnedouthismomhadjustmovedtoInglewildandhewashelpinghergetsettled.IofferedhimthesetofhardwareIpickedupandhehadstutteredasurprisedlaugh.IcanstillremembertheraspofhisfingersagainstmypalmashetookthestupidwingknobIhadaimlesslypurchased.
Lukacalleditkismet.Hehadbeenonthewaytothestoreforthatexactpieceofhardware.
Fromthere,wefellintoaroutine.Wheneverhewasintown,hemanagedtofindmeandwegotgrilledcheese.Grilledcheeseturnedintoafternoonwalksthroughtheparkandearlymorningfarmer’smarkets.
Afternoonhappyhoursandtrivianights.HistripstoInglewildbecamemorefrequentandheinvitedmetostopbyifIeverfoundmyselfinNewYork.Igotbraveandtried,bookingabusticketonawhim.
Lukafilledtheemptyplacesinmylifeslowly,carefully,withhiseasysmileandstupidjokes.Hebroughtmebacktomyself.
Andit’sbeenthatwayeversince.
Frustratingly,perfectlyplatonic.
Thiswouldn’tbeanydifferent,Itrytotellmyself.AskingLukatopretendforfivedayswouldjustbe–afriendhelpingafriend.I’ddothesameforhimorBeckettorLayla.Itdoesn’thaveto–itdoesn’thavetomeanwhatevermymindseemsfixatedonhavingitmean.
Layla’ssuggestionisn’tthefirstI’vethoughtofit.Ofcourse,I’vethoughtofit.I’vebeentryingtoaskhimallweek.He’sthereasonIwroteitdowninthefirstplace.Callitwishfulthinkingorlivingafantasy,butIknowwhenItypedthosewordswhoIwasthinkingof.
Butitdoesfeelalittlelikecrossingalinewe’vebothbeencarefultohold.AlineIhavebeenabsolutelymeticulousinmydesiretohold.Lukaistheveryfirstpersoninmylifewhohasn’tdisappeared.He’smorethanmybestfriend–he’straditionandfamiliarity.HeishomemadepoptartsonthefirstSaturdayofthemonth.Heislate-nightviewingsofDieHardinthestickysummerheat,bothofourphonesproppeduponourrespective
coffeetables.Heispizzawithextramushroomsandlightsauce,acrustthathastobeperfect.
TherelationshipIhavewithhimistheclosestthingIhavetofamily.Ican’t–Iwouldn’t–riskthatforachancetoseewhatwecouldbe.
EvenifIwonder.EvenifthereasonIhaven’tbeenwithanyoneinseventeenmonthsisbecauseIalwaysinevitablycompareeverymanagainstLuka,andI’malwaysleftdisappointed.
Butmaybethisidea–thispretendingtobetogether–maybethisisthesolution.AfteraweekofpretendingIcangetitoutofmysystem.Gethimoutofmysystem.Icanstopwiththewonderingandthecomparingandjustmoveon.
Afterall,ifsomethingweresupposedtohavehappenedwithLuka,wouldn’tithavehappenedalready?
Thethoughtacheslikeanoldbruise,oneIpressmythumbinfromtimetotimejusttofeelthedullhurtofit.Becausethetruthis,therehavebeentimeswhenIthoughthemightwantsomethingdifferenttoo.
Sometimesafteranightofdrinking,I’llcatchhisgazelingering.Onthecurveofmyshoulderortheswellofmybottomlip.Histouchesbecomefreer.Ahandonmyhipasheswingsmearoundthetinydancefloor.Hisforeheadpressedagainstmine.Momentsfrozenintimethroughouttheyears,alwaysjustforasecondortwo.ButithasalwaysbeenenoughtomakemefeellikemaybehemightwantmethesamewayI’vealwayswantedhim.Morethanafriend.
Morethananything.
ButthenIpressthatbruiseandtellmyselfit’sbetterthisway.
BecausethisisthewayIgettokeephim.
“I’mnotsurehe’sintownthatweek,”IrespondtoLaylaafteralengthyretreatdownmemorylane,veryawareit’sathinexcuseatbest.
Shegivesmeanunimpressedlook.“Helivesthreehoursaway.Plus,haven’tIseenhimliketwicethismonthalready?”
Beckettdecidesthisisafinetimetochimein.“Anddidn’tyouaskhimtocomehomeforthestrawberryjamcook-offinApril?”
Isinkfurtherinmychair.“Helovesstrawberryjam.”
Beckettheaveshimselfoutofthetinyleatherchairandwipeshispalmsonhisthighs.Hehasofficiallyremovedhimselffromthisconversation.
Mentally,he’ssomewhereamongstthebalsams,hummingamerrylittletune,afreshloafofzucchinibreadcradledgentlyinhishands.
“I’mleaving,”heannouncesandturnsonhisheel.Laylahopsuptojoinhimandcurlsherhandaroundhiselbowbeforehecangettoofar.Shepointsathreateningfingerinmydirection.
“AskLuka,orI’llaskforyou.”
Idon’tevenwanttoknowwhatthatwouldinvolve.APowerPointdeck,probably.Mytotalandutterhumiliation,likely.
Asifoncue,myphoneskittersacrossmydesk.Itgivesonelong,violentbuzzandthencomestoastandstill.Iturnitovercarefullyandstareatmynotifications,aperfectstormofanxietypullinginmygutandcreepingovermyshoulders.
7messages
LukaPeters
3messages
Charlie
1message
Charlie,BrianMilford,ElleMilford
Ah,crap.Notmanypeoplehavetheirdadintheiraddressbookwithfullfirstandlastname,butthataboutsumsupmyrelationshipwithmyfather.Idecidetotacklethatonefirst.
4:32pm
BrianMilford:We’llbehavingourThanksgivingdinnerthefirstweekendinNovember.Estelle,youmaybringapumpkinpie.
Imaybringapumpkinpie.Awesome.IbetifIwasthetypeofpersontosavetextmessages,I’dhavethisexactsamemessageonthisexactdayatthisexacttimefromlastyear.Infact,I’mnotsuremyfatherhaseversentmeatextmessagebeyondthislittlenugget.ThatexplainsthethreetextmessagesfromCharlie,then.Ideletethegroupchatwithmydad,hiswife,andmyhalf-brotherandmovestraighttothenext.4:37pm
Charlie:Hesurehasawaywithwords,doesn’the?
4:47pm
Charlie:Don’tlethimgettoyou.
Charlie:Dareyoutobringpecan.
Ihuffalaughandsendastupidgif–somethingwithadogandflamesthatsumsupmyoverallfeelingsatbeingsummonedlikeapetulantchild.
MydadandhisfamilydonotcelebrateThanksgivingonthefirstweekendofNovember,butitistheoneIaminvitedtosomydadcancheckoffhisyearlyholidaybox.Maybeitassuageshisguiltforthewayheleftmeandmymomhighanddry,ormaybeEllemakeshimdoit.Whateverthereason,itisalwaysapainfullyawkwarddinnerbrokenuponlybyCharlie’swell-meaningattemptsatmakingconversationandmydad’ssullenmumblingunderhisbreath.
I’mdefinitelybringingpecanpie.
IpullupLuka’smessagesnext,thestressofthedaycatchinguptome.
Ithinktonightwillbeaboxedwine,SleeplessinSeattle,pizzainbedkindofnight.
4:15pm
Luka:Howwasyourvendorcall?
Luka:You’recutewhenyou’relyingtome,bytheway.
Luka:Also,whyaretherethreeepisodesofNakedandAfraiddownloadedonmytv?DoIevenknowyouanymore?
Isometimesforgetwesharestreamingservices.ThankgodIwatchedthosepornyNetflixmoviesatLayla’splace.4:59pm
Luka:Charlieistextingmeaboutpecanpie.
Luka:Deargod.
Luka:IsLaylamakingpienow?
Ishouldn’tfeelastabofjealousyoverpecanpie,butthereitis,allthesame.ThisiswhatLukareducesmeto.5:02pm
Luka:SleeplessinSeattleisonHBOagain.
Iclosemyeyesandpressmyphoneagainstmyforehead.Itapittheretwiceandmakeadecision.I’mgoingtodoit.I’mgoingtoaskhim.I’mgoingtoaskhimandit’sgoingtobefine.5:31pm
Stella:CanweFaceTimetonight?Ineedafavor
Myphoneringsalmostimmediately,apictureofLukafromfiveyearsagostretchedacrossthescreen.It’sfromwhenImadehimtrysevendifferentpizzaplacesinonedaybecauseIcouldn’tfindasauceIliked.Inthepicture,he’swearingastupidhatthatlookslikeagiantsliceofpizza.
Helooksridiculous.
Iloveit.
Iletitringafewmoretimesandtrytochannelamoreresilientversionofmyself.Aversionofmyselfthatmaybedoesn’thavemaplesyrupfromthismorning’sstresswafflesstillonhershirt.
Icandothis.IcanaskLukaforthissimplethingandnothinghastochange.
“Hey!”
It’soverlyperkyandforced,andI’mimmediatelymetwitharingingsilence.There’smuffledshuffling,adoorclosing,andthenahuff.
“Canyoupleasejusttellmewhat’sgoingon?”
IfiddlewithoneofthepineconeairfreshenersIdidn’tthrowinmybottomdrawer,twistingthestringforwardandbackovermythumb.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
I’mofficiallyapathologicalliar.
“You’vebeenweirdallweek.”
“Ihave…not.”
“You’rebeingweirdrightnow,”hesays.HesighsagainandIhearafloplikehe’sjustthrownhisbodydownonhisbed.Iimaginethewayhislonglegsstarfishout,ankleshookedovertheedge.“Comeon,LaLa.
What’sgoingonwithyou?Ican’trememberthelasttimeyouaskedmeforafavor.”
Ifrownandturninmychair,peeringoutthelargebaywindowthatlooksoutoverthetrees.We’reprettyisolatedallthewayouthere.Butifyoutraveldownthenarrowdirtroadthatleadstoourfarm,you’llfindthetinytownofInglewild.Abouttwentyyearsago,someonetriedtobrandInglewildasLittleFlorence,likeningustothestunninglybeautifulcityinItaly.Itwasaneffort,Ithink,topullinmoretouristspassingthroughtoD.C.orBaltimore.Unfortunatelyforthatmarketingcampaign,thereareexactlynosimilaritiesbetweenInglewildandFlorence.Itdidn’tstick.
“Aboutamonthandahalfago,”Itellhim.“Imadeyoubringmebackthreegallonsofchocolateicecreamfromthatshoponthecornerbyyourapartment.Youhadtobuyaspecialcoolerandeverything.”
Hislaughrumblesoverthelineandittucksitselfrightbetweenmyribs.
“Okay,that’strue.Butyou’rebeingweird.What’sup?”
MystomachgrumblesandIshootaglanceattheclock.There’sramenwaitingformeinmypantry.AndIdon’tespeciallywanttogetintothis
herewhereanyonecouldwalkin.I’dmuchratherhaveaglassofwineinhand
“CouldIcallyoubackwhenIgethome?”Istallfortime,tossingtheairfreshenerdownonmydesk.Ihaveabrightredmarkacrossmythumbfromthestring.Apparently,Iwanttodrawthisanxietyoutsomemore.
“I’mabouttoheadout.”
“Well,funnystory,”hedraws.“I’mactuallyintownvisitingmymom.Icanbeatyourplaceintwenty?”Crap.
“Yeah,sure,”Isayfaintly,panicking.LeaveittoLuka.Iremindmyselfthatheismybestfriend,andIhavedonefarmoreembarrassingthingsinourlongrelationshipthanaskhimtobemyfakeboyfriend.LikethetimeIthrewuponhiswelcomematafterbettingsomeoneIcouldconsumeanentirejugofmysterywine.OrthetimeIcutmybangsandIworeabuckethateverywherewewenttogetherforeighteenweeks.Iswallowthenerves.
“That
sounds
good.”
THREE
EVENTHOUGHMYcottageiswithinwalkingdistanceofmyoffice,itstilltakesmeforty-fiveminutestoextricatemyselffromemails,gathermythings,andbeginmywalkhome.ImakeanotetofollowupwithHankandseeifhenoticedanytroubleswiththetreesinthesouthpasture.Orifhenoticedthefamilyofraccoonstearingthebarnapart.Orifhehadtroublewiththefertilizerdistributor.
Andifhedid,whydidn’thesayanythingtome?
BecauseheknewthisplacewasamoneypitandhewantedtomovetoCostaRicawithhiswife.MymindhelpfullyrecallsthepostersIhadtopeelofftheofficewalls.Brightgreenjunglesandlushwaterfalls,practicallybleachedwhitefromhowlongtheyhadbeenhanging.
Iwasn’texactlylevel-headedwhenIboughtthisplace.Blindedbypositivity,probably.Toofocusedonthecutelittlecottagethathugsthecorneroftheproperty,visionsofcurlingupinfrontofthestonefireplacewithamugofteadancingthroughmyhead.Imaginingthefirstsnowoftheyear,walkingthroughrowsandrowsoftrees.Aplaceofmyown.Aplacetobelong–finally.
Growingup,mymomandIwerealwaysmoving,chasingthenextopportunity.Ihadtroublefindingmyfootingwhenwepoppedupinanewtownforawaitressingjobortemporaryseasonalhelp.Itwasn’tforlackoftryingfrommymom.Shealwaysdidherbesttomakethingsspecial,connected.Shekeptusinonespotforaslongasshecould,painstakinglypackingupourmeageramountofpossessionsasweshuffledfromplacetoplace.Hangingthecrossstitchwelcomesigninthesameplaceeverytime,thesamedishtowelsdottedwithembroideredlemonsandlimes.ButIwasalwaysafraidtoplantroots,wonderingifitwouldbefornothing.IfthenextmonthI’dhavetouprootandstartalloveragain.
Agustofwindwhispersthroughthetreesandliftsmyhair,brushingatmycheeksasmybootscrunchthroughtheleavesofthemightymaples
thatlinetheedgeoftheproperty.There’safootpaththatwindsitswaythroughasmallmeadowandtheouteredgeofthepumpkinpatchthatlinksthehousetotheoffice.It’safive-minutewalkwhentheweatherisgood,butIfindmyselfmovingslowertonight,watchingthewaythesundanceslowerinthesky,thelightglancingofftheleaves.Reds,oranges,andyellowsdanceinakaleidoscopeofcoloraroundme.
It’sprobablynotacoincidencethatIboughttheplaceinOctober.
There’saspecialkindofmagiconnightslikethis,acertainsortofnostalgiawhenthepastintermingleswiththepresentandflirtswiththefuture.IcansmellthewoodsmokefromthefireBecketthasgoinginhisplaceatthebaseofthefoothills,seetheplumeofsmokeasitliftsfromhischimney.Thebranchesrustleabovemeandafewowlscallout,asolemnsoundasthesundipslower.Forasingle,perfectmoment,IfeellikeI’minthatpicturemymomusedtotapeonthewallofwhateverapartmentwecalledhome.
Afarm.Asingleredtractor.AlittlegirlwithdirtonherkneesandaperfectcollectionofChristmastreesbehindher.
It’sbeenadreamsincebeforeIevenhadthecouragetomakedreams.
Alightinthedistancecatchesmyeye,awarmglowcastoutoverthestoneofmydriveway.AsImovearoundthelasttreethatmarkstheedgeofmypersonalproperty,myfrontdoorswingsopenandLukastepsout,restinghisshoulderagainstthebanister.Helooksalmostcomicallylargeonmytinyfrontporchinfrontofmytinyhousewithmytinykitchentowelheldbetweenhishands.Heswingsitoverhisshoulderandcrosseshissockedfeetattheankles.IsmilewhenInoticehe’swearingthesocksIgotforhimlastChristmas,theoneswiththetinysrirachabottles.Hismouthhitchesupinasmallgrin,theonethatpullshisbottomlipjustabitlowerontheleft,theOctoberwindtouslinghisendlesslymessyhair.Hiswarmbrowneyesreflectthesettingsun,makingthemlookalmostamberinthefadinglight.
“Breakingandenteringnow?”Ipickupmypace,gettingawhiffoftomatoandbasil.Ifhe’smadehisgrandma’smeatballs,Imightneverlethimleave.
“It’snotbreakingandenteringifyouhaveakey,”hecallsback.Ilaughandhissmiletipsupintosomethingbeautiful.It’samomentIwanttostampintomysoulforthenightswhenIfeelalittlebitlonelyandalotbitsad.Itakeinadeepbreathandholdontothemoment.Thepinksand
purplesthatcasthisfacehalfinshadow,thepullofhissweatshirtacrosshischest,hissockedfeetcreakingtheagedwoodofmyfrontporch.Themagicisinthedetails,mymomalwaysusedtosay.Andthesedetailsareperfect.
Myfeetfindthebottomstep,andhemeetsmehalfway,twostrongarmswrappingaroundmyshouldersinabearhug.HesmellslikemarinaraandthevanillahandsoapIkeepnexttomykitchensink,andIsuddenly,inexplicably,wanttocry.
“Hey,LaLa,”herestshischinontopofmyhead,armssqueezingtight.
“Longtimenosee.”
Icurlmyarmsaroundhisbackandpressmyhandsintohisshoulderblades.Ibreatheoutslowlythroughmynoseandrockusbackandforth.
“Yousawmetwoweeksago,”Imuttersomewhereintohischest.“WesatonthecouchandwatchedIndependenceDaytwotimesinarowbecauseyouhaveaJeffGoldblumfixation.”
“Somethingaboutthatflightsuit,amIright?”Hepullsback,butkeepshishandsovermyshoulders.Hisbrowneyessearchmyface.Thisclose,Icanseethefrecklesthatbridgeoverhisnoseandspreadlikeconstellationsunderhiseyes.Ibitebackasigh,andhefrowns.
“What’sgoingon,Stella?”
Thepanicisstillthere.AndsoIdelay.Ipathissidesandpressuponmytiptoes,tryingtoseeoverhisshoulder.“Feedmefirst?”
Hefrownsbutnods,slippinghishandsdownmyarmsinaseriesofsqueezes.He’sdonethissincethatfirstdaywhenIsteamrolledrightintohim,aone-two-threeofhishandsmovingdownmybiceps,elbows,hands.
Oncewe’reinside,heretreatsbacktothekitchenandIkickoffmyshoesbythedoor,notinghisbootsalreadyneatlytuckedbeneaththeentrywaytable.ItossmykeysontopofhisintheblueceramicdishImadeasanartclassprojectinhighschool,andloopmyscarfonthehooknexttohisblackdenimjacket.
Andisn’titsilly,tolovethewaysomeone’sthingslooklikenexttoyours?Littlebitsandpiecesofalifelivedinparallel.
Istareathisjacketforaminutetoolongbeforeheshoutsfromthekitchen,askingafterabottleofredIkeepinthehallcloset.I’dbeimpressedathismemoryifhewasn’ttheonetobringthisredandhideitbeneathmysweatersafewmonthsago.
Ishuffleintothekitchenwiththewinebottleinhand,anothertuckedundermyarm.ThisconversationwillprobablygobetterifIhaveabitofliquidcourage.HeglancesoverhisshoulderwhenIplacethembothdown,alockofhishairdroppinginfrontofhiseye,thatdamndishtowelwiththegardengnomestuckedinhisbackpocket.Helooksabsolutelyridiculousanddeliciouslyperfect,wornjeansandfadedsweatshirt,sleevesrolledtohiselbows.
“Oneofthosenights?”
“Oneofthoseyears,”Imutterinresponse,diggingthroughmydrawerforthebottleopener.Lukawatchesmestruggleforapproximatelytwentysixsecondsbeforeheabandonswhateverhe’sstirringatthestoveandcrowdsmyspace,hischestpressingintomysideashereachesoverourheads.Itssudden,hisbodyagainstmine,andItipmyheadbacktowatchhisface.Likethis,IcouldbitehisbicepifIwantedto,thecurveofitjustaninchfrommynose.
Hiseyessearchmyface,agrincurvinghislipsupward.“Whatintheworldareyouthinkingabout?”
“Deviousthings.”AblushclimbsmycheeksandIpinchhisside.Hewincesbutkeepspattingaroundontopofthecabinets.“Whatareyoudoingupthere?”
Heholdsupawineopenerinresponse,andIcranemynecktolookabovemycabinetswithafrown.“Whatelseareyouhidingupthere?”
“WhateverIdon’twantyourlittlehandson.”
Imentallyremindmyselftogetthestepstooloutlaterandinvestigate.
Hetakesthewinebottleoutofmyhand,andwithaseriesofsmoothmovementsthathonestlyshouldn’tlookasattractiveastheydo,uncorksit.Hereachesovermyshoulderandpoursusbothaglass,stillwithmeplasteredagainsthisfront.ThetopofmyheadbarelyreacheshisshouldersandIcanseethejutofhiscollarbonespeekingoutfromhissweatshirt.Istareatthemwithlaserfocus.
“Dinnerwillbereadyinafewminutes,”hemutters,hiswordsawarmpuffagainstmyskin.
Iblinkandreachformywine,clingingtoitlikealifeline.I’venoticedthesethingsbefore,ofcourse,butnowitfeelslikeeverythingaboutLukaisunderamagnifyingglass.Lifeintechnicolor,Iguess.
“Thankyou,”IlookaroundatmykitchenlikeI’veneverseenitbefore,dazedandconfused.“Doyouneedhelpwithanything?”
MyvoicesoundsoddlyformallikeIshouldaddagoodsirtotheendofit.Lukagivesmeanothernarrow-eyedlookandjustpointstothetableinresponse.Ifollowhisdirectionwithoutcommentandsettleinthewobblymid-centurydiningchairthatabsolutelydoesnotmatchmyfarmhousetable.Istareandstareatthetabletopanddomybesttonotfreakout,butit’shardnottowhenthethingI’mabouttoaskmybestfriendmightmakehimlaughinmyface,boltoutthedoor,orboth.
BythetimeLukaslidesaheapingplateofspaghettiandmeatballsinfrontofme,I’vedrainedmywineglassandworkedmyselfintoanemotionalbottlerocket,readytoexplode.
“Becksaysthetreesarelookinggood,”Lukaslidesacrossfromme,cozyinghimselfinthechair.“Well,besidesthepasturebythesouthgate.”
Idon’tneedthereminder.Myeyeswanderfrommyfullplateofspaghettitothecuffofhissweatshirtstretchedtightaroundhisforearm.Iquicklyredirectmygazetothebottleofwineonthekitchencounterandtheparmesancheesesittingnexttoit.Ihopethatdidn’tcomefrommyfridge.
Ipointatitwithmyfork,legdancingunderthetable.“Whereisthatfrom?”
LukastaresatmelikeI’minsane.“Thegrocerystore.”
“Cool.Coolcool.”
“Stella,”Lukaplaceshisforkontheedgeofhisplateandleansforward,reachinghalfwayouttomelikehewantstoscoopmyhandsinhis.I’mnotsurethatwouldhelp,honestly.Hepullsback,sighs,andrubshisknucklesagainsthisjaw.Hepicksuphisfork.“Whatisgoingonwithyou?”
“Whydoyouask?”
Hearchesaneyebrow.“Ithinkyou’vemovedthistablehalfwayacrossthekitchen,forone.”
“Ijust–Ineedtoaskyousomething.”
“Doyouneedakidney?”
“What?No.”Thoughanorgantransplantsoundspreferablerightnow.
“You’reactinglikeyouneedakidney.”
“Ineedyoutodateme,”Iblurtout.Mypalmsaresweating,myheartissomewhereinmythroat,andmystomachhascompletelyremoveditself
fromtheconversation.Luka,forhispart,doesn’tsomuchasflinch.Hejustcalmlytwirlshisforkaroundandaround,collectingtheworld’slongestspaghettinoodle.
“Okay.”Hepopshisforkintohismouth.
“It’sfake,”Ipracticallyyellathim.Idon’tknowwhyI’mtalkingsoloud.
Imakeaconsciousefforttoturnitdown.“Itwouldn’t–Imeanttoaskifyouwouldpretendtodateme.Thepretendpartisimportant.”
Heshrugs.“Sure.”
Sure.Sure.I’monthevergeofatotalmentalbreak,butLukasayssure.
Iwatchanotherelegantlycutmeatballdisappearbehindhislips.Iaggressivelystaboneofmineanditflieshalfwaydownthetable.Iignoreit,spearanother,andshovethewholethinginmymouth.
“Cheeses’orgrandschmas?”
Lukacalmlytakesasipofhiswine,ignoringmydeteriorationintolunacy.“Pardon?”
Iswallowandgentlypatthecornersofmymouthwiththenapkinrestinginmylap.Iamalady.“Isthisyourgrandma’srecipe?”
“Itis.”
“Doyouthinkshe’dadoptme?”
“She’dkickmeoutandadoptyouinasecond.”Lukahuffsalaugh.“Webothknowit.Thanksbytheway,forbringingherdinnerlastweek.Shecalledmeseventy-fivetimestobragaboutitandaskwhatyouuseinyoursnickerdoodles.”
Ididnotmakethosesnickerdoodles.ButovermydeadbodyamItellingthattoLuka’sgrandmotherwhomakesherpastafromscratch.Sheoncecameover,sawahalf-usedjarofstore-boughtmarinarainmyfridge,andlookedmedeadintheeyeasshethrewitinthetrash.
Iwishhewouldn’tthankmeforspendingtimewithhisfamily.It’snotahardship.GoingtovisithisgrandmaandhismomandsometimeshisAuntGiannawholivestwotownsoverisanicedistractionfromthefactthatmyonlyfamilydecidestocelebrateThanksgivinganentirethreeweeksearlyjustsotheydon’thavetoexplainmyexistence.
Also,hisgrandmaisabadass,so.
“TheywereLayla’ssnickerdoodles,soyou’dhavetoaskher.”
“I’mmoreinterestedinwhyyouneedtofakedateme,actually,”hepauseswithanotherdramaticsipofwine.Istaremournfullyatmyemptyglass.“Aren’tyoudatingWyatt?”
Istareathim.Stareandstareandstare.Howisitpossibleforsomeonetobesointricatelywovenintomylife,andyetnotrealizeIhaven’tbroughtWyattaroundinashorteternity?
“Luka,”Iblinkathim.“Webrokeupoverayearago.”
Lukaisacaricatureofthecomicallyshocked.Furrowedbrows,forkfrozenhalfwaytohismouth.Itwouldbefunnyifitwasn’tsoshocking.
“What?
“Yeah,afterlastyear’sharvestfestival.Hetextedme.”
“He–wait,hebrokeupwithyouovertext?”
Wyatthadbeenkindandsweet,ifnotalittleimmature.Inalotofways,itfeltlikerevertingbacktomyteenageselfanddatingthecutecaptainofthesoccerteam.Alotofheavypetting,auselesslabel,andzeroemotionalattachment.Hetextedmeafterlastyear’sfestivalwithasimpleYou’resupercool,butIthinkwewantdifferentthings.Friends???Supercool.
Thesmileyfacesealedthedealforme.Anyonethatcontinuestousepunctuationtoconveyemotionsisprobablysomewhereontheserialkillerspectrumanyway.Ihadagreedandthatwas–well,that.
“Itoldyouthis.”
Hestaresatme.“Youdidnottellmethis.”
Iputmyforkdownandleantotheleft,reachingforthebottleofwine.
“Luka,howonearthwouldIhaveallthistimetospendwithyouifIweredatingsomeone?”
Heblinks,hisgazefarawaylikehe’smentallyrelivingthelastyearofhislife.Hismouthmovessoundlessly,andthenhepicksuphiswineglass,drainingitinonego.
“Okay,sonotWyatt.”
“NotWyatt.No.”
“AmIyouronlyoption,then?”
Idon’tknowwhyhesoundssoupsetaboutthat.“Ifitmakesyoufeelbetter,IaskedBeckettfirst.Hesaidno.”Hisfrowndeepens,thattinylittledivotbetweenhiseyebrowsappearing.“IwasgoingtoaskJesse,but–“
“YouweregoingtoaskJessebeforeme?Christ,Stella.”Nowit’shisturntostabameatballlikeit’spersonallyoffendedhim.“Youshouldhaveaskedmefirst.NowIfeellikeI’myourlastresort.”
Idon’ttellhimthatheis,infact,mylastresort.Well,besidestheescortservice.
“I’msorry,Luka.”Iclaspmyhandsinfrontofmeonthetable,pleasedwhenIsoundonlyslightlysarcastic.“Didyouwantmetoputmoreofaneffortintoaskingyoutobemyfakeboyfriend?”
“Itwouldn’thavekilledyouto,”hemumbles.Herunsbothhandsthroughhishair,backandforthandbackagain,atuftontheleftsidestickingstraightout.It’ssuchafamiliargesturethatitsendsapangofwistfulnessstraightthroughmychest.
“Luka,listen,”Iswallowtwice,hesitant.Thisfeelsimportant,hisreaction.Ifhe’sagonizingalready,Idon’twantIdon’twanttoruinwhatLukaandIhave.
Icurlmyhandsaroundmycutlery.“Thiswasastupididea.Ifyoudon’twanttodothis-”
“No,that’snotit.Sorry,I’mjust–“Hecutshimselfoffbybitingdownonhiswords,browneyesfixedonhisplate.Hepickshisforkbackuptwirls,twirls,twirlssomepasta.“Ikeepgettingofftrack.Whydoyouneedafakeboyfriend?”
It’saredirect,butIallowitinthesamewayheallowedmyprocrastinationearlier.Iexplainthesocialmediacontesttohim,carefultoleaveoutthepartsabouthowmuchourfarmdesperatelyneedsthecashprize.Ifocusinsteadonthenationalexposure,theinfluxofnewcustomers,andhopefullyanonlinepresencewecancapitalizeon.Bytheendofit,IsoundlikeI’mgivingapresentationtotheboard,andgivenLuka’sglazedeyelook,heprobablyagrees.
He’sadataguy.Iprobablyshouldhavejustshownhimabunchofnumbers.
HeshakeshisheadslightlywhenIfinish.“Ithinkthat’sthefirsttimeI’veeverheardthewordsingressandegresscomeoutofyourmouth.”
“Yeah,probably.”Ithinkforasecond.“ThoughIfeellikeIprobablymentioneditwhenIwascomplainingaboutthestatefair.
Helaughsatthat.Heisveryfamiliarwithmythoughtsonthestatefair.
We’requietforamoment,thesoundoftreebranchesscratchingatmywindowsfillingthespacebetweenus.Windwhistlesthroughthecracksaroundthedoor,andIthinkaboutstartingafire.Wineinfrontofthefireplacesoundsexcellent.
Lukaleansbackinhischairandconsidersme.I’mcontenttoleavehimwithhisthoughtsasIworktountanglemyown.
“Youthinkthiswillhelp?Thepretending?”
“Yes,”Irespondwithouthesitation,theanswerrisingfromdeepinsideofme.Idon’tknowhowIknowthatLukaisthekeytoallofthis,butIdo.
Thisfakerelationship,stupidandsillyandclicheasitmaybe,it’sthesparkweneed.It’sthesparkIneed.Iclearmythroat.“Ireallydo.”
Heknowsmewellenoughtounderstandthatthere’ssomethingI’mnottellinghim,buthealsoknowsmewellenoughnottopress.Itfeelslikewe’verunback-to-backverbalmarathonssinceIwalkedinthedoor,andIthinkwe’rebothokaywithleavingtheconversationwhereitisforthenight.
Lukanods,adecisionmade.“Thenthat’swhatwe’lldo.”
Imirrorhispositionandkickbackinmychair,graspingforsomethingthatwillgroundme.SomethingthatwillmakemefeellikeI’mnotsteppingintoagiantmistake.
Except
nothing
comes
to
mind.
FOUR
IWAKEupthenextmorningwithaheadachebehindmyeyesandapullinmygutthat’stheresultofonetoomanygummyworms,andprobablyahastydecisiontoforcemybestfriendintoafakerelationship.Canyouhaveahangoverfrombaddecisions?
Itseemslikely.
Inthelightofday,thedecisionfeelslikeanunnecessarymistake.Aboyfriendwon’tmakeorbreakmychancesatthiscashprize.Idon’tevenknowifEvelynSt.Jamesreadmyfullapplication,letalonetheoneplaceinthepersonalstatementthatIsaidIownedandoperatedthefarmwithmyboyfriend.
Unlessshedidreadit,andyou’reautomaticallydisqualifiedforlying.
I’vedonemyresearch.AssoonasIheardaboutthecontest,IscouredEvelyn’sfeed.Ilookedfortrendsinhercontent,thetypeofbusinessesshelikedtorecommend.Shealwayshasastorytotellandshelovesromance.
Herlastthreefeatureswerealllovestoriesintheirownway.ThecoupleinMainewiththeirbedandbreakfast.ThelifelongbestfriendsthatoperatehistoricalboatcruisesfromtheirlittlejettyinSouthCarolina.Thenewlywedsthatmetonablinddateanddecidedtoopentheirownwinery.Maybethistime,foronce,Iwantmystorytobesomethingdifferentthanasadone.Idigmypalmsintomyeyesandkickmylegsoutfrommytangledblankets.I’mtiredofbeingthesadone.
IthinkaboutBeckettandLayla.Thestackofbillsthataregettingharderandhardertopay.Ithinkofthewroughtirongatethatwelcomesyoutothefarm,thetwogiantredbowsIputonitlastyear.Iremembertheday
Iwasgiventhekeys,howthesoundoftherustedchainsslippingoffthebarsalmostmademecry.Ithinkaboutclosingthatgateandloopingthosechainsbackaroundthebarsandalmostwanttocryforanentirelydifferentreason.
Ihavetotry.Thisismybestshot.Evenif–evenifitsoundssilly,it’sthestoryIwanttotellforthisplace
IwantEvelynSt.JamestoseeallthethingsthatmademefallinlovewiththisfarmthatfirstwinterIvisitedwithmymom.WhenIwassixteenyearsoldandprogrammedtohatemostthingsbutfellinlovewiththewide-openspacethatsmelledlikebalsamandorangeslicesandjustahintofcinnamon.Iwanthertowalkthroughtherowsandrowsoftrees,justasthesunissetting,whereit’squietenoughtohearthewayyourbootscrunchalongthefrozenground.Wherepineneedlestangleinyourhairandyoufeellikeyou’retheonlypersonintheworld.IwanthertogetahotchocolatefromLayla’sbakehouse,goiceskatingintherinkBeckettorganizedlastwinter,andwatchthekidschaseeachotherbythebarn.
Iwanthertoseethemagic.
“Iwaskindofhopingyouweren’talone.”
It’satestamenttohowdeepinmythoughtsIamthatIdon’tevenflinchwhenLaylaappearsinthedoorwayofmybedroom,anavybluebeaniepulleddownlowoverherhead.Also,anindicationthatIshouldreassesswhohasakeytomyplace.
Ifrownather,myheadhalfwayundermypillow,legshopelesslytangledinthesheets.ItlookslikeIwenttenroundsinthisbed.“Whowouldbeinherewithme?”
Sherollshereyesandkicksoffhershoes,climbingupwithzerohesitation.There’sarearrangementoflimbs,anelbowinmysolarplexus,andthenLaylaiscurlednexttome,herkneespressedintomyhip.Ilovethatsherequirestouchformostconversations,thatsheneverhesitatestoreaffirmwithaquickcuddle.Shepullsmyfluffyduvettorightbelowherchinandgivesmealook.
“Youknowwho.”
Iblinkather.Ihavenoidea.“Who?”
“Ithinkit’sobviousIamreferringtoLuka,”shewalksherfingertipsupmyarmandbackdownagain.“Ipassedhismom’shouseonthewayhereandsawhiscarinthedriveway.”
“Yousawhiscarathismom’splace,butassumedhewasherewithme?”
“Ifiguredhedoubledback,”sheshrugs,burrowingdownfurtheruntilIcanonlyseehereyes.They’regreentoday,reflectingthecolorofthetrees
outsidemybedroomwindow.Hervoiceemergesmuffledfrombeneathmy
blankets.“Idon’tknow,hecouldhavesnuckout.”
“He’sagrownman.Whywouldhehavetosneakout?”
Shesighs.“Idon’tknow,Stella,letmesinkintothisfantasy.I’vebeenrootingforyouguysforaslongasI’veknownyou.”
Thatcertainlyexplainsalltheslightlyvulgarhandgesturesshe’sbeenmakingbehindLuka’sbackeverytimehejoinsusatthefarm.
Ifrown.Laylanoticesandpressesherpointerfingerdirectlyinthedivotatthecornerofmymouth.Shepulls,attemptingtoforceasmileonherown,andsnortswhenImakeagrotesqueface.Herlingeringfrustrationmelts,andasoftnessinhergazeinstead.
“Didyouaskhim?”
Inodandpickataloosethreadonmyduvet.
“And?”
“Hesaidhe’ddoit,”Imumbleintocotton,havingslowlypulledthepillowfullyovermyface.LastnightwhenIaskedLuka,IwassofixatedonhimsayingnothatIdidn’tconsidertheimplicationsofhimsayingyes.
Pretenddating.We’llhavetopretendotherthings,too.Pretendromance.
Pretendaffection.
DoesLukarealize?Wedidn’treallytalkmuchlastnightafterourdinnerconversation.Iwasprettyaggressivelyagainstdiscussinganydetails,mortifiedwithmyselfforevenasking.Iwastooafraidtotalkaboutitmore.Havehimchangehismind.Orworse,havetoexplainthesituationindetail.
WeturnedonSleeplessinSeattleandtangledourselvesonthecouch.Ifellasleepwithmyfeettuckedunderhisthighandmyheadonthearmrest.
Laylatugsonapieceofmyhair.“Thenwhyareyousosad,honey?”
Embarrassment,probably.Alittlebitofloneliness.Fearofchange,absoluteterrorattheideaofmessingallofthisup.Lukafindingoutthetruthaboutmyfeelingsforhim.
Takeyourpick,Layla.Itcouldbeanything.
Instead,Ibreatheoutlongandslowintothepillowandletthatanswerforme.Laylagentlyliftsthepillowfrommyfaceandtucksitunderhercheek.
“Ithinkit’stimewehaveatalkaboutthis.”
“No,thankyou.”
“Stella.”
Ishakemyhead.“Idon’twantto.HowaboutwetalkaboutyouandJacobinstead?”
Hereyesnarrowintoslits.Layla’strackrecordwithromanceisinteresting,tosaytheleast.Shehasatendencytopicktheworstsortofguy.
“We’renottalkingaboutmerightnow.We’retalkingaboutyou.”
“Wecouldbetalkingaboutyou.”
“Youhavefeelingsforhim,Stella.”
Iknowthat.Ofcourse,Iknowthat.I’mjustunwillingtoactonthosefeelings.
“I’m-”
“YouhavebigfeelingsforLuka,andhehasbigfeelingsforyou,andIdon’tunderstandwhyneitherofyouhaseverdoneanythingaboutit.”
It’seasyforLayla.She’salwaysbeenutterlyconfidentinwhosheisandwhatshefeels.Despiteeverythingshe’sgonethrough,she’salwaysmanagedtodustherselfoffandrollrightalongwithsunnyoptimism.Sheisgracefulinherdisappointments.Iamnot.
AndthingswithLukaaregreat–amazing,even–justastheyare.
“Honey,”hereyestripbackandforthbetweenmyown,asadsmilepullingatthecornerofherlips.“Justbecauseyouletyourselflovesomeone,doesn’tmeanthey’regoingtoleave.”
Butitsureashelldoesn’tmeanthey’llstay.
“Ithink-”IswallowaroundthetightnessinmythroatandtrytochanneljustalittlebitofLayla’sconfidence.Icurluponmysideandmirrorherposition,handsclaspedundermychin.Itfeelslikewe’reinacloud,undermycomforterlikeweare.Weightless.Here,likethis,Iconfessmymostsecretthoughts.“IthinkifsomethingweresupposedtohappenbetweenLukaandme,itwouldhavealreadyhappened.”
Layladoesn’tlikethatanswer.Icanseeitinthetwistofherlips.
“Maybehe’swaitingforyoutosaysomething.”
Ishakemyheadsadly.IoncewatchedLukawalkuptoagirlinabar,prophishandonthebackofherchair,andtellhersomethingthathadherchintippingbackwithalaugh.Hewasconfident,charming.Theyleft
togethernotahalf-hourlater.Lukahasneverbeenhesitantwithvocalizingwhathewants.Ifitwasmehewanted,IthinkIwouldknowbynow.
“Ithinkthisiswhatwe’resupposedtobe,”Inuzzledownfurtherintomyblankets,blinkingagainstthepricklingsensationinthecornersofmyeyes.“We’resupposedtobefriends.Justfriends.”
“Thenwhydidyoulieonyourapplication?”It’sagentleaccusation,butIfeelthestingofitnonetheless.“Beckettwasright.Youdidn’tneedtodothat.”
“Ididn’tplanallofthisifthat’swhatyoumean.Iwouldn’ttrickhimintopretendingtobemyboyfriend.I’mnot–“Iscrubbothhandsacrossmyface.“I’mnotthatdesperate.”
I’mnot.Thelieintheapplication–Ijustwantedthisplacetoseemromantic.Homey.WhenIturnedinthepersonalstatementportion,Ididn’teventhinkwehadachance.Itseemedlikeasmall,harmlessdetail.Ijustwanted–Iwantedustohavethebestpossiblechance.
Coolfingersthreadbetweenmyown,thepressofherringsagainstmyskinleavingtinyindentations.
“Honey,no.That’snotwhatImeant.”
“Thenwhatdidyoumean?”
Hereyesarekindasshetucksmyhairbehindmyear.“I’mjustsayingIthinkthismightbethesomethingyou’vebothbeenwaitingfor.”
LAYLA’SWORDSpingpongaroundmyheadasItrudgemywayovertotheoffice.IflastnightwasallthereasonsIboughtthisplace,thismorningisallthereasonsIprobablyshouldn’thave.Walkinginthisdirection,Icanseethescragglyoutlineofdeadanddyingtrees.ThereisdecidedlynotasupplytruckinthedrivewayofthebarnlikeIhadscheduled,andoneofthepumpkinsthatlinedthestairwaytotheofficeisnowsmashedtobitsontheground.
It’sthelastthing,though,thathasmecursingundermybreath.IfoneoftheMcAllistertwinsthoughtitwouldbefunnytotrashthefieldsagain,I’mprettysureBeckettmightcommitmurder
Lastfall,thehighschoolpopulationofInglewilddecidedourfarmwastheplacetobeforillicitactivities.Isawmorepastywhiteskinbelongingto
sixteenyear-old-boysthananyoneeveroughtto.BeckettandLukahadhandleditinthewaythatanygrownmanwould.
Theydressedupincamo,hidinthecornfield,andscaredtheever-livingshitoutofallthekidssuckingfaceintheircars.
It’sbeenquietsincethen,andI’velaughedtomyselfmorethanoncewalkingthroughtown,listeningtothekidstalkaboutthedementedcreaturesthatliveinthefieldsatMs.Stella’sfarm.IthinkaboutLukaandBeckettusingmytinybathroomtoputontheircamopaint.TheabsolutelyridiculousamountofgreenIhadonallofmycutebathroomtowels.
I’vealwayswantedtobeanurbanlegend.
I’mpickingupthepiecesofthepumpkinwhenacardoorslams,twoheavybootsappearinginmyfieldofvision.Lukasquatsdownandpicksupthebiggestpieceofpumpkincarcass,anextra-largetakeoutcupcradledinhisotherhand
IcatchahintofhazelnutandimmediatelydropallofthepumpkingoopI’mholding.Ireachoutforitwithbothhands,agreedylittlewhimpercaughtinthebackofmythroat.Hedoesn’tevenfightmewhenIcurlonehandaroundhiswristandtheotheraroundthecup.Hejustletsithappen.
Warm,creamyhazelnutwelcomesmetonirvanaasItakeadeeppull.Imakeaslightlyinhumansoundandthendrinkagain.Andagain.
“Whatdidyousaytoher?”
Ms.Beatricemakesthebesthazelnutlatteinprobablytheentireuniverse,butonlywhenshewantsto,andonlywhenyougivehertheoddlyspecificcomplimentshe’swaitingon.It’sneverthesamecomplimenttwice,there’sneveraclue,andgodforbidyoudeliveritwithouttheexactinflectionofsincerityrequired.
Shestillonlyservesmedecaf.
Lukahuffsalaughthroughhisnose,alittlepuffofwhiteinthecoldOctobermorning.Hehandsthecupoverwithalittlenodofhishead.“Itoldherthatpurplehairsuitedhermightyfine,”hegrins,bashful.“IthinkImadeupasouthernaccent?I’mnotsure.Ismelledhazelnutandit’sallablurfromthere.”
Ipeekupathim,curlingmyhandsaroundthecupandholdingitclosetomychestlesthegetsanyideasabouttakingitback.Godhelpme,he’swearingablackbeaniewithaforestgreenpuffballontop.I’dbettheslimfundsinmysavingsaccountthathismommadeitforhim.Ms.Beatrice
probablytookonelookathimandblushedallthewaydowntohercompressionsocks.
Itakeanotherdrinkoflatte.“Thethingswedoforgoodcoffee.”
“Yeah,sure,we,”helaughs.Hearchesaneyebrowandextendshishand,glovedfingersnotsopolitelyrequestinghisdrinkback.“Igotyouacoffee,too,”forthefirsttime,Inoticeanextratakeoutcuprestingontopofhiscar.“ButI’mprettysureit’sstilldecaf.”Icurse.“Comeon,let’sgoinsideandI’llsplitandmix.”
Togetherwetrudgeintomyoffice,thepumpkinpiecesleftscatteredacrossthesteps.I’llgrababroomlater,ormaybeI’llleaveitfortheraccoons.Apeaceofferingofsorts.Lukacollapsesintothefadedleatherarmchair,legssprawledandelbowshaphazardonthearmrests.Healwayshastroublemakinghisbodyfit,alllonglegsandtonedarms.MaybeI’llmakehimandBeckettdothatcalendartogether.
Heshiftsbackandforth,avaliantattempttogetcomfortable.Istillhaven’treleasedhislatte,andwarmbrowneyesjumpfromthecuptominetothecupagain.Hisgazebeginstogetalittleforlorn.Somewhereinthatbeautifulbrainofhis,he’srealizinghe’smadeaterriblemistake.
“Ihopeyouhadsomeofthisinthecar.”Itakeapointedsip.
Heshifts,thechairsqueaks,andhefrowns.“Itwastoohottodrinkinthecar,”hemumbles.“Areyougoingtogiveitback?”
“Probablynot.”
Hegruntsandshiftsinthechairagain.“LaLa,listen.”
“I’mlistening.”
“I’vebeenagoodfriendtoyou.Haven’tI?”
Isitdownprimlyinmychair.Myperfectlysized,appropriatelyupholsteredchair.“Youhave.”
Heleansforward,handscuppedlooselybetweenhislegs.“Doyourememberthesummerof2012?IgaveyoumywaffleattheFirstFridayblockparty.”
IhavenorecollectionofLukaeveroncegivingmeawaffle.Islurploudly.
“Stella.C’mon.ItookyoutotheLordoftheRingsmidnightshowingwhenIdidn’tevenknowwhatahobbitwas.Igotyouacape.”
That’strue.Hediddothat.AndthenproceededtoaskforsevenconsecutiveweeksifheshouldgrowhishairoutlikeAragorn.LiketheuniverseneedsLukatobemoreattractive.
Hecontinues.“Ididn’ttellmygrandmayoursnickerdoodleswerefromLayla.”
Iraisemyeyebrowsandtakeanothersip.I’mnotafraidofher.
Notreally.
Maybealittle.
Heleanscloser,tonguepressingattheinsideofhischeek.Hisbrowneyesflashashadedarkerandhisvoicedrops.“Iagreedtobeyourfakeboyfriendforaweek.”
Suddenlyitsoundslikehe’snotteasingmeatall.Allmybravadoandgoodhumorslipsawaywiththatlittlecomment,arushofheatpressingatmycheeks.It’satightcurlinmystomachthatIhateandIavertmygazetothetopofmydesk.Isthiswhatit’sgoingtobelikenow?Lukaholdingontothisasabarteringchipfortherestofourrelationship?Afunnylittleanecdoteatcookoutsandparties?Oh,rememberthattimeyouweresodesperateyouaskedmetopretendtodateyou?
Igetit.I’mtheonethataskedforthisasafavor.But,still,thatfelt.
weird.Notgood.
AfteranindeterminateamountoftimestaringattheknickinmydeskfromthattimeIgottooaggressivewithmystapler,Iclearmythroatandlookbackupathim,fixingmygazesomewhereoverhisleftshoulder.Ihandoverthecoffeeandcongratulatemyselfwhenmyhanddoesn’tshake.
“Hereyougo.”
Hisfingersoverlapmine,buthedoesn’tletmereleasethecup.Hehasdeceptivelystronggripstrength,andthatsendsmythoughtstumblingdownaseparate,albeitmorevulgar,path.
“Stella.”
Hemanagestoinfusealotinthosetwostaccatobeatsofmyname.It’sagift.Iblinkmygazeawayfromthecalendaronthewallandbacktohim,sighingwhenIseethewayhislipsaresettledinathinline.ConcernedLuka.Damnit.
“Whyareyouupsetrightnow?”
Itrytopullmyhandaway,buthejusttightenshisgrip.I’mworriedforthepapercup.Thehazelnutlattedoesn’tdeservetogothisway.“I’mnotupset.”
Hemakesasoundinthebackofhisthroat.“Ihaveknownyouforalmostadecade.Whyareyouupset?”
“Idon’twant–“Hisfingersflexonmine.Idon’twanthimtodothisbecauseIforcedhimintoit.Idon’twanthimtohateeverysecondofit.Idon’twanttobeabother,anuisance,anobligation.“Idon’twantthistoruinanything.”
“Itwon’t.Stella,lookatmeplease.”WhenImanagetomeethisgaze,thosebrowneyesofhisareasseriousasthey’veeverbeen.Withthesunfilteringthroughthewindowandthatstupidhatonhishead,Icanseetheflecksofgoldinthem.Thelightbrownringofcolorjustattheedgeofhisiristhatremindsmeofcoffeewithtoomuchmilk.Hazelnutlattes.“Thisisn’tgoingtoruinanything,okay?It’smeandyou.”
Inod,andhishandsqueezesmineagainonthecup.Myarmisstartingtotinglefromkeepingitoutstretched.Heopenshismouthtosaysomethingelse,hishandpulling,thefronthalfofmybodybeginningtoleantowardshim,butthedoortomyofficeswingsopen,averygrumpyBeckettstandingtherewithhishandsfullofsmashedpumpkin.
“Wehaveaproblem.”
Twentyminuteslater,I’mstandinginthepumpkinfield,staringatthecarcassesofhundredsofsmashedpumpkins.Itlookslikeabattlefield,butwithmore–orange.Somuchformyraccoonpeaceofferingofasinglepumpkinbackattheoffice.Theycanhaveanall-you-can-eatbuffetouthere.
Imakeamentalnotetogoogleifraccoonscaneatpumpkin.
“Well,”Istretchmyneckbackandforth.Thisisfine.Thisis–it’sabsolutelyfine.Nexttome,Lukahandsoverhishazelnutlattewithoutaword.“Halloweenisintwodays.WeweregoingtoharvesttheseanywayforLayla.Maybewecould–Idon’tknow.Turnthisintoahauntedfield?”
Beckettmakessomesortofgrumblingnoiseunderhisbreath.He’sprobablynervousI’llmakehimwearazombiecostume.“I’mgoingtokillthoseMcAllistershits.”
Hesoundslikean80-year-oldmanstandingonhisfrontlawn.ItfeelsabitlikeImanifestedthis.
Ilookaroundatthesheerrangeofdamage.Everysinglepumpkinleftonthevinehasbeencavedin.Itseemsexcessivefortwoteenageboys.It’stooorganized,toomethodical.“Wedon’tknowitwasthem.”IguessI’llhavetoinstallcameras.
LukaandBeckettgivemematchinglooksofdisbelief,thoughBeckmanagestoinfusealayerofhostilefrustrationintohis.It’sdifficulttotakeLukaseriouslywhenhe’swearingthatpoofballhat.
“Alright,well–“Ichannelmyinneroptimist.“It’stimeweswitchovertoChristmasanyway.We’llleavethebigdecorationsfornextweek,butwecanstartputtingHalloweenaway.I’llaskLaylatomakeextragoodiesforthebakehouse,andifanyoneshowsupforpumpkins,wecansellwhatwe’vealreadypulledoffthevineatadiscount.”
“Whatarewegoingtodoaboutwhoeverdidthis?”Beckettsoundslikehehasafewideas.
Ishrug.“Ireallydon’tknow.Whatcanwedo?”IbrieflyconsiderusingwhatI’velearnedinmarathonviewingsofLaw&OrderSVU,lookingforshoeimprintsinthedirtandclothingfibersontreelimbs.WhatIwouldn’tdoforDetectiveStablerrightaboutnow.“I’llhavesomecamerasinstalledatthemajorspots,butwecan’tcoverthewholefarm.”Ican’taffordtocoverthewholefarm.
Thethreeofuslapseintosilence.It’sagoodthingthishappenedatthetailendofthefallseason.Ican’tshakethefeelingthatthis,thefertilizer,thetrees–it’sallconnected.Nooneisthisunlucky,right?
“Youthinkthishasanythingtodowithyoursupplyissues?”
IfrownatLukaandpressmyfingersintothebackofmyneck.He’sheardmecomplainaboutmissingshipmentsandrandomincidentssinceIboughtthisplace.Myshoulderstensefromyetanotherthinglandingontopofthem.“Idon’tknow.Probably,”Idropmyhandsbymysidesandlookaround.“Maybe.”
Whateverishappening,weneedtofigureitout.Preferablybeforethefarmisfeaturedbeforemillionsofpeople.FIVE
BECKETTTRAILSusonourwaybacktotheoffice,thehazelnutcoffeesomehowendingupinhishands.Idon’tknowwhy.It’snotlikeheeverhasanyissuesorderingfromMs.Beatrice.
“Whatareyoudoingdownhere?”heasksLuka.It’ssomethingI’vewonderedabouttoo,butIhaven’thadachancetoaskhimyet.Luka’ssuddenappearanceisunusual.Iusuallyknowtheweekendshe’scomingtohangoutwithhismom.NewYorkisonlyafewhoursfromus,andhe’sbeenknowntomakespur-of-the-momentvisits,butIusuallygetatextwhenhe’sdecidedtocomehomefortheweekend.“Ithoughtyouweren’tsupposedtobehomeuntilThanksgiving.”
“Decidedtocomedownearly,”LukashootsmealookIhavenoideahowtointerpret.“HangoutwithStella.”
Ifrownathim,confused.Oh,doeshewantto…practice?Workonourstory?It’sprobablyagoodidea.Iclearmythroat.
“Yes,wearedatingnow,”myvoiceisoverloudinthequietofthefarm,anearbytreeofbirdstakingflight.Ibringitdownalevel.“Weare–ah,peoplewhodate.Hecametospendtimewithme,his–um,hisgirlfriend.”
Beckettstopswalkingandlooksatme,botheyebrowshighonhisforehead.Ifidgetunderhisgaze,belatedlyreachingforLuka’shand.Lukalaughsbuttriestocoveritwithacough.Isqueezehisfingershardenoughtobreak.
“Yeah,”Beckettturnsonhisheelandheadsovertothebarn,thehazelnutlattegoingwithhim.“That’sgoingtoneedsomeworkshopping.”
IdropLuka’shand.
“Wearepeoplewhodate,”Luka’sgazeisfixedonthetreeline,asmallsmilemakinghiseyescrinkleatthecorners.Heturnsandpeersdownatme.“Youknow,Ithinkthat’showweshouldintroduceourselveswhenMs.Instagramgetshere.”
Inarrowmyeyesanddecidenottoreply.Iturnandcontinuewalkingtomyoffice.Heletsoutaloudlaughandjogstocatchup,runningabit
aheadofmejustsohecanwalkbackwardandneedlemesomemore.Hiscoatopensinthebreeze,astupidsweatshirtwiththeInglewildHighmascot.Heprobablygotitatthelastfundraiser,eagertosupporthismomwhoisateacherandheadofthePTA.
Ineverknewamancouldlooksogoodwithabadgerplasteredacrosshischest
“Itdoesbringupagoodpoint,though.”
“What’sthat?”
“Ifwearenowpeoplewhodate,doesthatassumewewereoncepeoplewhodidnot?”
Iignorehim,andpointedlydon’tremindhimabouttheancientmapletreehe’sabouttosmackinto.Butbecausetheuniversehatesme,Lukasmoothlysidestepsitwithoutmissingabeat.Ituckmyhandsdeeperinmypocketsandburrowmyfaceintomyscarf.
“Idon’tknow.Iwasbeingstupid.Obviously.”
“Butitissomethingweshouldtalkabout.Stella,holdonasecond.”
Stronghandscupmyshoulders,bringingmetoastop.Hisfaceisstilllinedinamusement,butthere’saseriousnesstheretoo.LikethetimehesaidhewantedtolearnallthewordstoQueen’sANightattheOperaandhewaskindofjokingbutalsomostlyserious.
“Shethinkswe’redating,right?Thisinfluencer?”
Inod.
“Andshethinksweboughtthisplacetogether?”
Inodagain.
“Okay,well,”heshakesmeslightly.“She’salsopresumablystayinghere,inInglewild.Andthat’sgoingtobenewstoatownfullofbusybodies.”
Mystomachplummetssomewheredowntomytoes.Ihadn’tthoughtaboutthat.Inatownassmallasours,LukaandIsuddenlyproclaimingthatwe’redatingandhavebeenforyearsisborderlinefront-pagenews.TheonetimeBecketttookoffhisshirtwhileplowingthebackfieldsinthedrysummerheatwhileBeckyGardenerwasdrivingbyinherminivan,hehadrightcolumnrealestateintheInglewildGazetteforthreeweeksrunning.
“Ididn’tthinkaboutthat,”Imanage.Iswallowawkwardly,atiny,almostcomicalgulpbetweenus.“She’sstayingatthebedandbreakfast.”
Lukasqueezesdownmyarms.Thefamiliarone-two-three.“I’vegotaplan.”
ANHOURLATER,I’mstandingatthestonefountainthatmarkstheentranceofourdowntowndistrict.I’mnotsureyoucanconsiderasmallcollectionofbuildingsconsistingofabakery,apizzashop,andabookstoreadistrict,butthat’swhatit’sbeenreferredtoaslongasI’velivedhere.
Lukalikestolaughaboutitwhenwe’retogetherinNewYork–talkabouthowhemissesthebrightlightsofdowntownInglewildaswestrollalongthebustlingstreetscrowdedwithmenandtheirbriefcases,travelingfoodcarts,andlaughingcouplesspillingoutofbars.
It’sworthnotingthatthelasttimeLukaPeterstoldmehehadaplan,Iendedupblindinglydrunkofftequila,wearingahulaskirt,andsinging90’spopkaraokeina24-hourdiner.LukagrinsatthememorywhenIremindhimofthis,hishandfindingmineandcurlingourfingerstogether.
“Butyouhadfun,right?”
Sure.Ialsohadahangoverforclosetofivedaysafter.Ihadtolaydowninacornfieldthenextday,justtokeepthehorizonfromtilting.
“Thinkofthisasapracticerun,”heswingsourhandsbackandforth,ourfootstepsinsyncasweheadtowardsMainStreet.“We’llpopintoacoupleofstores.Sayhello,andgofromthere.”
Ifighttheurgetowrestlemyhandoutofhisgripandgorunningbacktothefarm.Thisfeelssudden.Andstupid.
“Shouldn’twehavepreparedforthisorsomething?”
HemutterssomethingIcan’tunderstandunderhisbreathandreleasesmyhandtothrowhisarmovermyshoulderinstead.Igrumblebutnestleeasilyintohisside.We’vealwaysbeenaffectionatewithoneanother.Thisphysicalintimacybetweenusisnothingnew.Theresult,Ithink,oftwopeoplewhorelyheavilyontouchasamethodofcomfortandcommunication.
Butwiththestorywe’retryingtosell,itfeelsdifferent.Azipofawarenesslightsupmyspineandsettleswherehisarmrestsheavilyacrossmyback.Tingleswherehisfingersplayidlywiththehairpeekingoutofmyhat.
“Whatwouldyouhavedone?”
Ihum,distracted.I’mbusyreturningthesteadystareofMr.Hewett,thetownlibrarian.He’sstoppedhalfwaydownthestepsofthelibrary,broominhandashesweepsuptheleavesthatcrowdthestonewalkway.
Buthe’sstaringatuslikewe’redoingsomethingindecent.Iwaveandwekeepwalking.
“Forpreparation,”Lukacontinues,notnoticingthestrangeinteraction.
“Howwouldyouhavepreparedforthis?”
“Idon’tknow.Probablygetourstorystraight,forone.”Iglanceovermyshoulder,mynosepressingintoLuka’sarm.Mr.Hewettisstillwatchinguswanderdownthestreet,histortoiseshellglassespracticallyfoggingup.
“Wehaveastoryalready.”
“Ohyeah?”Istopworryingabouttheoldlibrarian’sgooglyeyesandlookupatLukainstead.Hisjawisset.Ohboy,I’veseenthislevelofdeterminationbefore.
2009.Thesummercarnival.Over$75ingameticketstoliberateasmanygoldfishaspossible.
2016.RioSummerOlympics.Whenhebecameconvincedhecouldrunafour-minutemile.
2018.ThetinystudioapartmentIhadabovetheoilchangegarage.Hissuddenneedtoputlocksoneverysinglewindowandtwoonthedoor.
“Yeah,”hesays.WeturnleftdownMain.“Boymeetsgirl.It’saprettysimplestory.”
I’msuspicious.“Alright.”
“Yousee,Boy’smomdecidesshewantstomovetoatinytownontheeastcoast.Shewantssomethingdifferent,somethingnew,andkeepstalkingaboutLittleFlorence.Boydoesn’treallygetit,buthegoeswithher.
Helpshergetsettled.Whenthey’removingherin,BoymeetsaGirl.Runsrightintoherreally.Andsheis–“hecoughs,hisarmtighteningovermyshoulder.
“She’sincredible.Smart,funny,beautifulasallhell.Butshe’ssadtoo.
Sohebuysherabeerandagrilledcheeseandafterthat–well,afterthathekeepsbumpingintoher.Buyshersomemoregrilledcheese.Andthat’sthat.”
That’sthat.Iswallowhard.It’sourstory,but…different.Hedidbuymeagrilledcheeseandabeer.Hetoldmeitwasanapologyforpractically
mowingmedown.Ithadfeltlikeswimmingunderwater,allthosemonths,andthenLukawasthereandmyheadbobbedabovethesurf.
Ilookupathim,stuckononeparticularpartofthatstory.
“YouthinkI’mbeautiful?”
Hefrownsdownatmeaswecontinuewalking.
“OfcourseIdo.I’vetoldyouthatbefore.”
Ishakemyhead,alittlebitdazed.Ithinkbackandtrytorememberthatdayandwhatcameafter.FallingintofriendshipwithLukahadbeeneffortless.HalfthetimeIdon’trememberwhatitwaslikebeforehim.Itfeelslikehe’salwaysbeenapartofmylife.Andnowonder,afteralmostadecade.
Andwhilewearecomfortablewithoneanotherasallbestfriendsare,Idon’tthinkhe’severcalledmebeautiful.Lukahasalwaysseemedobliviousisn’ttherightword.IguessIjustthoughthedidn’tthinkaboutmeinthatway.Friendsdon’tthinkaboutfriendslikethat.
Yousuredonoticehiscollarbones,though,mybrainhelpfullysupplies.
Nevermissaglanceatthosebiceps.
“Youhavenot.”
“Oh.”Hisfrowndeepens.“You’rebeautiful,LaLa.”
Hesaysitalmostlikehe’smadaboutit.Andpairedwiththatfrown,well.It’sprobablytheweirdestcomplimentI’veeverreceived.
Though,therewasthatonetimeamantoldmeIhaveniceteeth.AndtheladyatthesupermarkettwotownsoverwhotoldmeIhavestrongcalves.
“ButifyouwantsomeharrowingstoryofhowIsavedyoufromarumblingtrashcancomingatyouinthemiddleofthestreetwhileyourbootwasstuckinastormdrain–byallmeans.”“Thatsoundsfamiliar,”Imumble.
Hegrins,butIbarelynotice.Mybrainisstillstuckonbeautiful.
Beautiful,beautiful,beautiful.I’mruminatingaswecontinuewalking,soIdon’tnoticeashesteersusintothegreenhousethatsitsprettilyrightonthecornerofthestreet.It’shuge,thecurvedwallscoveredinglass,anornatedomepaintedincoloratthetop.Thesilhouettesofhangingbasketsandwideleavesbrushatthewindows,thefogfromtheheatersobscuringthedetailsofanythingspecific.WhenIwasakid,thehighschoolboysusedtosneakinhereanddrawpenisesonthewindows
IfollowLukablindly,duckingintooneofthethickglassdoors.Twothingshappenimmediately.Thethickhumidityofthegreenhousewelcomesmebyinstantlypuffingupmyhair,andMabelBrewsterscreamsatthetopofherlungs.
LukaandIbothjolt.
“Ohmygod,”Igroan.“Youthoughtstartingherewasagoodidea?”
Mabelisweavingthroughtheshelvesofsucculentsatthebackwithanalmostmaniclookinhereyes.Herlongblackhairisinbraids,tiedneatlybackwithascarfaroundthecrownofherhead,theorangeandredastrikingcontrasttoherdarkskin.WhileIcanfeelsweatstartingtogatheratthesmallofmybackandthehollowofmythroat,herskinisunfairlyglowinginthehumidityofthegreenhouse,alightshineonherhighcheekbones.Shelookslikeagreenhousebarbie,andItellhersoeverytimeshevisitsthefarmwithfreshherbs.
Butrightnow,shelookslikeadeterminedlittlestickofdynamite.
Igroanagain,justforgoodmeasure.Lukashiftsonhisfeet,seeminglybeginningtoregrethisdecisionwhensheknocksovertwopottedpalmsanddoesn’tslowdown.
“Whydoesshelooklikethat?”
Iknowexactlywhathemeans,Ijustwanttohearhimsayit.“Likewhat?”
Hecurlsmeclosertohisbodylikehecanprotectmefromher,franklyterrifying,single-mindedness.I’veknownMabelsincehighschool.ThelasttimeIsawherlooklikethiswaswhenshecaughtBillyWaltersdrawingthepenisesonherdad’sgreenhousewindows.“Likeshewantstochopourbodiesintotinypieces,butalsokindofmakeoutwithourfaces.”
Isnortalaugh.Mabelisalloffivefeet,probably125poundssoakingwet.Butwhatshelacksinstature,shemorethanmakesupforinenergy.
Shemarchesrightuptous,staringpointedlyatwhereLuka’shandiscurledaroundmyarm.Hepullsmeatouchcloserandexhalesashakybreathagainstthebackofmyhead.Iwanttocackleindelight,butI’malittlebitafraidofwhatMabelmightdo.
“Youtwolookcozy.”
Weremainsilent.Shenarrowshereyes.
“Haven’tseenyouaroundinabit,Luka.”
“Yousawmetwoweeksago,Mabel.Atthegrocerystore.”
Shehumsbutdoesn’tacknowledgehisstatement.“Andyou.Ms.FancyFarmer.Havesomethingyouwanttosharewiththeclass?”ShepracticallyburnsaholewheremyhandisclutchingatLuka’sjacket.
“Notmuch,”Iplaydumb.“Oh,actually,”Isayandsheperksup.“I’llhavesomefreshtrimmingsforyoustartingthethirdweekofNovember.
Forwreathmaking,ifyou’dlike.”
Shelookslikeshe’dliketowringmyneck.
“Wreathmaking.”
“Yes.”
“Alright.”
There’sabeatofsilenceasweallconsidereachother.I’mfightingasmile,andIcanfeeltherumbleofalaughtrappedinLuka’schest.HetugsmearoundsoI’mstandingfullyinfrontofhimandfoldsbotharmsovermyshoulders,pullingmeflushagainsthim.It’saperfectfit,thescratchofhisstubblecatchinginthechaoticmessthatismyhairinthisheat.Mabel’seyeslightup,andasmilestartstounfurlacrossherlips.
“Wewerehopingyou’dmakeusawreathforourfrontdoor,”Lukaoffers,chinrestingattheverytopofmyhead.
Cleverman.Hecouldhavecomerightoutandtoldher.Instead,he’smadeitseemlikeit’ssomethingsheshouldalreadyknow.Aforegoneconclusion.He’stappedrightintotheheartofthistown’sgossipmill.
Mabelthreadsherfingerstogether,claspingherhandsoverherheart.
Shegrinsassherocksbackonherheels.
“It’shappening,”shesing-songs.
Andjustlikethat,ourrusebegins.
APPARENTLY,thereisanInglewildphonetree.
WefindthatoutassoonasweleaveMabel’sandcrossthedrivewaythatspillsoutfromthefirehouseontothemainroad.Thetruckbaydoorsarerolledup,andClintandMontogomeryarekickedbackinthefadedlawnchairstheyusewhentheweatherisnice.Theybothstartapplaudingassoonaswe’rewithinearshot,aheartywhistlecomingfromsomewheredeepinside.Gus,nodoubt.He’sprobablystuckhalfwaybeneaththeparamedicvan,tinkeringaway.
“Fuckin’finally!”callsClint,liftinghisenergydrinkinatoast.Montyslapshimandgesturesatthecompletelyabandonedplaygroundacrossthestreetlikehiscursewordsmightlingerandinfluencethecurrentlynonexistentkidstostarttalkinglikesailors.Clintwaveshimoff.“Mabelcalledwiththegoodnews!”
“Wewerethereliketwelvesecondsago,”Imutter.
“Busybodies.Itoldyou.”LukatiltshischinupatClint.“Cathyknowyou’redrinkingthose?”
ClintglancesdownatthedrinkinhishandandthenshootsLukaacheekygrin.“OfcoursesheknowsIamdrinkingthisfine,electrolyteenhancedhydrationbeverage.”Hetiltshischindownandlooksatusbothovertherimofhisglasses,athinedgeofwarninginhissmilingeyes.HiswifeCathywouldwhuphimupanddowntheblockifsheknewhewasstilldrinkingthoseafterhislastheartscare.“Andit’llstaythatway.”
Alexatthebookstoregivesusatinysalutewithhismugofchamomileaswepassbythelargepaneledwindowsofhisstore.Ms.Beatrice,contrarianthatsheis,onlyoffersafrownwhenLukapopshisheadin,myhandclaspedinhis,askingforalattetogo.AndBaileyMcGivensandherwifeSandraalmoststarttocrywhenLukaandIrunintothemonthesidewalk.
“We’resohappyforyouboth,”shemanages,clutchingontoSandra’sarm.“We’vebeenhopingthismighthappen.”
Idon’tknowifshe’stalkingtomeorLuka,butIblushandstammeranddomybestnottocompletelyfoldinonmyself.Ihadnoideaeveryonewassoinvested.IsneakalookatLukaoutofthecornerofmyeyetoreadforanyawkwardness,buthe’sjustsmilinggently,takingallthecongratulationsinstride,notahintofanxietyonhishandsomeface.Me?
I’matightlywoundballofapprehension.
“Yougood?”
Henuzzlesthequestionintomyear,fingersfindingmybeltloopatmywaist.Ialmostjumpoutofmyskin.
“I’mfine!”
It’smuchthesameaswewanderthroughtown.PeopleI’veknownforeverandpeopleIdon’tknowatallclappingusonshoulders,waving
andcheering.Itfeelsabitlikewe’reinaparadeoftwo,andI’minfinitelyglad
LukasuggestedwedothisnowandnotwhenEvelynisintown.Everyoneisactinglikewe’rethechosenonesandouruniondeterminesthefateoftheworld.
BythetimewemakeittotheSheriff’sstationthatbookendsMainStreet,I’mexhausted.Idon’tthinkI’vetalkedtothismanypeoplesincethelasttimeMs.Beatriceofferedabuyone,getonefreespecialonherNutellaswirlmochaccinosandtheentiretownshowedupatopentowaitinline.
Lukarubsmybackbeforesiftinghisfingersthroughmyhair,diggingwithhisthumbatthebaseofmyneck.Iexperiencewhatcanonlybedescribedasafull-bodyshiver,anabsolutelyobscenesoundleavingmymouth.Lukamakesaninterestedhuminresponse.
“Pizzawhenwegetback?”
Inod,stillfocusedontheonesquareinchofskinwherehisthumbispressinglittlecircles.Halfofmewantstocollapseface-firstintothepavement,theotherhalfwantstostripoffallmyclothes.
Lukaarchesasingleeyebrow,browneyesflashingashadedarker.Histhumbpressesagainwithintent,testing,andmyshouldersrollbackwithatinyshiver.Ifeelthatpresslowinmybelly,inthedipofmyspine.
I’vealwaysbeenattractedtoLuka.He’shandsomeinallthewaysIlikebest;tall,perpetuallymessyhair,strongjaw,andasmatteringoffrecklesacrossthebridgeofhisnose.Butit’salwaysbeeneasyenoughtoignoreit.
ConvincemyselfIdon’tseehimlikethat.
I’mnoticingitnow.
Adeviousgrintugsatthecornerofhismouth,interestclearinthelinesofhisface.“Ididn’t–”Heclearsthehuskawayfromhisvoice,fingersinchingacrossmyskinuntilhehasthenapeofmyneckcuppedfullyinhispalm.Hishandisbig,warm.Hesqueezesonceashisgazesearchesmyface.“Ididn’trealize–“
Idon’tknowwhathedidn’trealize,becausewe’reinterruptedbytheveryclearclickandreleaseofashotgunbeingloaded.SIX
LUKAUSESthehandonmynecktotugmebackward,positioninghisbodyhalfinfrontofme.IpeekoverhisshouldertoseeSheriffJonessittingonthefrontporchoftheoldpolicestation,ashotgunrestingcasuallyoverhisknees.
“Thosearegoodinstincts,son,”hetipshishatatLukabutkeepsonehandfirmlyonhisgun.“That’llbeapointinyourfavor.”
Lukalaughs,hisshouldersrelaxingwithaheavyexhale.Hishandslipsfrommyneck,relieved.“Oh,isthisanevaluation?”
SheriffJonesdoesnotlaugh.“Itsureis.”
DaneJones,townSheriff,wasthefirstpersonmymomandImetwhenwemovedintoInglewild.Hesawusunpackingourovercrowdedhatchbackandofferedtohelp,shoulderingoneofmymom’smismatcheddufflebagsoverhisbroadshoulderandbalancingaboxofmybooksinhisotherarm.
Heorderedustwopizzas,gavemymomhiscard,andtoldhertocallifsheeverneededanything.
IpressasmileintothewoolofLuka’scoatandthenpressuponmytiptoes,wavingatthegoodSheriff.
“What’sgoingon,Dane?”
DaneblinksawayfromhisstaredownatLukatosmileatme.It’shardlyasmilebythestandarddefinition,butafternearlytwentyyears,Iknowwhatthattiltofhislipsmeans.
“Heardyoutwoweredating.”
“Oh?”
“ThoughtI’dcongratulateyouboth.”Lukamakesamuffledsoundofprotest,nodoubtcuriousastohowtheshotguntranslatesintobestwishes
Dane’seyesslidebacktohimandhold.“Andgivetheboyhereawarning.”
Ah,okay.
Mysmilewidens,awarmthsettlinginmychest.Strangelyenough,IfeelLukarelaxinfrontofme.
“That’sallyou’vegot?”Henodsatthegun.“Anunloadedgunandanambiguouswarning?”
“There’snothingambiguousaboutmetellingyouIwillbreakeveryboneinyourfinelystructuredbodyifIseeeventhehintofatearonthatgirl’sface.AndIwilltakegreatpleasureingrindingyoudownphysically,mentally,andemotionally.”Herocksbackonhischairandkicksuphisfeetontherailing.Hepatsthegun.“Andwhoistosaythisgunisn’tloaded?”
“Ah,”Lukaswallows.“Noted.”
There’ssilenceasthethreeofusconsideroneanother.IlookatDane.
DanelooksatLuka.Luka,forhiscredit,doesn’tbreakhisstarewithDane.
“Youknow,”Ioffer,voicecarefullyeven.“IdatedWyattandyouneveronceshowedupwithashotgun.”
Dane’seyestriplazilybacktomeandhegivesmealook.“Ithinkwebothknewthatwasgoingnowhere,CinnamonStick.”
IrollmyeyesatthenicknamehegavemewhenIwasthirteenyearsold,tearfullyconfessingmygreatcrimeofforgettingtopayforacinnamonsticksuckerattheStopandSaveonThirdandMonroe.Isatmyselfdowninfrontofhisdeskandcriedmyselfsilly,holdingupmywristsforthecuffsIwassosurehewouldbeforcedtouse.
Shockingly,hedidnotfeeltheneedtoputmeintocustody.
“Areyougoingtoyourdad’snextweekend?”
Igrimace.Ihadalmostforgotten.“Yeah,theusual.”
Lukaturnsandfrownsdownatme.“He’sstilldoingthat?TheearlyThanksgivingthing?”
Yes,myfatherisstillmakingmecometoanearlyThanksgivingathishousetoavoidthehorrorofentertaininghisillegitimatechildonanactualholiday.Andyes,myfatherisstilltheworstcombinationofself-centeredandegotistical,hisfalsehumilityasourcherryontop.
Buthe’stheonlyfamilyIhaveleft.Andthatshouldcountforsomething.
Evenifhedoesn’twantitto.
“Yes,”Isaysimply.“I’mbringingthepie.”
Icanfeelthedead-eyedstaresofbothmenonme.Lukalookslikehehassomethoughtsonthematter.IthinkI’veseenhimfrownmoreinthelasttwodaysthanIhaveintheentiredurationofourrelationship.Dane
hasgonebacktorunninghisfingersoverhisshotgun,lookingcontemplative.
“LethimknowIsayhello,”heoffers.“AndthatIstillthinkhe’snotfittolickthetaroffSatan’sass.”
Ibustoutlaughing.I’dlovetoseethelookonBrianMilford’sfaceifIdeliveredthatmessage.I’llhavetotextittoCharlielater.
“Alright,”IhookmyarmthroughLuka’sandbegintowingusbacktowardstown.Ifwe’relucky,Mattymightstillhavesomedeep-dishpepperonileftandwecangetapietogo.“Alwaysapleasure,Sheriff.”
“Rightbackatyou,CinnamonStick.I’mwatchingyou,Peters.”
IhalfexpecthimtopointathiseyesandthenpointatLukabeforedragginghisfingeracrosshisthroat.Butapparently,thatisasteptoofarforthemancurrentlysittinginfrontofthepolicestationwithaguninhislap.
Lukaisquietaswewalkback.Iglanceupathim,noticinghisfrownhasn’tbudgedaninch.Iclearmythroat.WhatIwouldn’tgivetogobacktothelevityofhisfingerstwistedthroughmybeltloop.
“Diditbotheryou?”
“Hm?”
“TheSheriff?Ithinkhewasmainlyjoking.Youknowhe’sprotective.”
Lukagoestorunhisfingersthroughhishair,butremembersatthelastsecondhe’sstillwearinghishatwiththepoofball.Hecoastshishandoveritinstead,nudgingthecapupuntilathickriotofhairpokesfreeinthefront.Withhisrosycheeksanddark,messyhair,helookslikesomethingthatshouldbeinasnowglobe.Isigh.
“No,thatwasfine,”hesays.Agrincracksthrough,someofhismelancholyfading.“Actually,thatwasfantastic.Ilikethatyouhavepeoplelookingoutforyou.”
“Hechecksinonthefarmeverycoupleofweeks.Ithinkheevenhassomeofthedeputiesdoroadsideclean-uponthestretchofroadthatleadsdowntous.”
Andhealwaysbuysthreetrees.Everyyear.Hegrabsenoughpumpkinstoplaceoneverybanisterofhisfrontporch.HemakessuretograbahotchocolatefromLaylaandfreshproducefromBeckett.He’sagoodman.
“Whyareyoustillgoingtoyourdad’shousethough,LaLa?You’realwaysso–“Heconsidershiswordscarefully,assessingmefromthecornerofhiseye.“You’reclosedoffafter.Itmakesyousad.”
Ishrugandfocusonthewayourfeetmarchoutthesamebeatonthepavement.Luka’slegsaresomuchlonger,butheslowstomeetmypace,twosetsofbootsinperfectharmony.
“I’mnotsad,I’mjust–tired,Ithink.It’salwaysexhausting.”
“Thenwhydoyoustillgo?”
“IliketoseeCharlie.AndElleisnice.”
“So?Youcanseeeitherofthemwheneveryouwant.Youdon’thavetoentertainthisweirdnon-holidayyourdadinsistsondoingyearafteryear.”
I’mnotsosureit’smydad’sidea.Ithinkheplaysalongwithit,ofcourse.AnditiscertainlymoreconvenientforhimifIattendthisversionofThanksgivingandnotthelargebashhethrowsontheactualholidayfortheboardofdirectorsthatoverseehishedgefundmanagementfirm.Butinthebeginning,theinvitationhadcomedirectlyfromElle.
Isighanddecidetooptforhonesty.“It’snicetohavesomewheretobe,”Isayquietly.“It’snicetohaveafamilytovisit.”
Eveniftheentiredinnerisanawkwardninetyminutesofsmalltalk,it’satraditioninitsownright.
“What’sthatsupposedtomean?Areyoutellingme–”I’msurprisedtohearthatLukasoundsangry.Furious,even.“Stella.IhaveinvitedyoutoeverysingleThanksgiving.”
Iknowthat.AndI’vedeclinedeverytime.Instead,IspendmydayatashelterontheoutskirtsofBaltimore,servingmashedpotatoesandturkeysandwichesuntilitfeelslikemyarmsmightfalloff.Andonthewayhome,IstopatSheetzandeatmybodyweightintatertotsandfriedmacandcheese.
Andthat’sokay.Perfect,even.It’sexactlyhowIwanttospendmyholiday.MymomusedtopiecetogetherasimilarfeastforuseveryThanksgiving.Wecouldneveraffordtheturkeyandsweetpotatoesandgreenbeancasseroles,sosheimprovised.WegottvdinnersandsetthetablewithourfanciestplasticwareandlaughedourselvessillytoastingeachotherwithDr.Pepper.
It’smyownlittletradition.
“Iseeyouthedayafter,”Ihedge.“YouknowIdon’tliketomissthebookstoreBlackFridaysale.”
Hestopswalkingandcurlsbothofhishandsovermyshoulders.Ilookupathimandcatchsightofthatpoofballagain.Itreallyisinfuriating.Ifrownbackathim.
“Whyhaven’tyoubeenspendingThanksgivingwithmeandmymom?”
BecauseLuka’smomstillpincheshischeekswhenhewalksinthedoor.
BecausehisgrandmaandallhisauntsmakedinnerwhileyellingoveroneanotherinItalian,slappingwristswithwoodenspoonswhenyougettooclosetothepot.Becauseit’swarm,andloud,andchaotic,andperfect.
BecauseitfeelstoomuchlikeallthethingsI’mmissingouton.
Ishrug.Hemuttersunderhisbreath.
“WellifIcan’tstopyoufromwillinglyspendingyourdaywiththatasshole,I’mnotgoingtoletyoudoitalone,”hestaresdownatme,andIcanseethathemeansbusiness.Helookslikeheshouldbedeliveringthisproclamationfromatopahillbeforeawide,greenfield.Aswordorsomethinginhand.Maybeakilt.“I’mcomingwithyou.”
IstruggletoshakethementalimageofLukainakiltoutofmymind.
“What?”
“I’mcomingwithyoutoforced,fakeThanksgiving.”
“Uh,noyou’renot.”
“Why?”
“Well,you’renotinvited,forone.”
“Alright,well.Charlielovesme.I’lljusttextCharlie.”
It’strue.Charliedoeslovehim.Charliewouldinvitehiminananosecond.
“What’sfortwo?”
“What?”Istartleandstarelonginglyattheneonpizzasigntwoblocksaway.Ifthey’verunoutofdeep-dishpizzainthetimewe’vebeenhavingthisdiscussion,ImightneverforgiveLuka.
“Yousaidforone.What’sfortwo?”
“Fortwo,”Isearchforanappropriateresponse.“Fortwo…”
“See,”he’ssmug.Irollmyeyesandbeginspeed-walkingdowntothepizzaplace.I’llgetadeepdishformyself,andLukawillbeleftwithonlythegluten-free,thin-crust,vegetablespecial.“Thereisnotwo.”
“Thereisatwo,”Isnap.Idon’twanthimtohearthewaymydadtalkstome.Howsometimeshedoesn’tevenacknowledgemyexistenceatall.
LikeI’maninconvenientshadowatthetable.Idon’twantLukatoseewhatmyThanksgivinglookslikewhenhisissowonderful.“Idon’twantyoutocome.”
ThatgivesLukapause,andIfeelhisstepsfalternexttomine.Ifighttheimmediateinstincttotakeitback.
“That’snottrue,”hesaysquietly,andmychestpullstightwhenIhearthehurtinhisvoice.“Youdon’tmeanthat,Stella.”
Shit.Istoponthesidewalkwithonelast,longingglanceatMatty’sPizzaandthenturntofaceLuka,grippingmyhandsjustabovehiselbowslikeheoftendoestome.Ishakehimonce.
“Luka.”Hisfaceisalmostcomicallysad.Ihavenoideahowhismotherevermanagedtodisciplinehimasachild.“Luka,youarealreadydoingsomuchforme.Idonotwantyoutocometo-”Isearchforwhathecalledit.
“Idon’twantyoutocometoforced,fakeThanksgiving.”
Heperksupabit.“Isthatwhy?BecauseyouthinkI’malreadydoingsomuch?”
Inod,hesitant.Heblowsoutapuffofairandrocksbackonhisheels.
“Okay,well,that’seasy.”
“That’seasy?”
“Yeah,I’mcomingwithyou.We’vebeenfriendsforalmosttenyears,LaLa.Stopkeepingscore.”
LUCKILYFORLUKA,thereisstilldeepdishpepperonipizzawhenwefinallyarriveatMatty’s.Asperusual,LukawaitsatthecurbwhileIruninandgrabourfood.Mattygivesmeawinkandasmilefromthebackkitchenandletsmeknowit’sonthehouseforthelovebirds.Heevenarrangesthepepperonisinaheart.ItgoesalongwaytosoothemyLukarelatedfrustrations.
Hesaysnottokeepscore,butIcan’thelpit.I’vealwayshadtroubleacceptinghelpandthatseemslikeallI’vebeenaskingforlately.Idon’tknowhowI’lleverrepayhimforallofthis.
We’requietonthewaybacktothefarm,themurmuroftheradiofillingthesilencebetweenus.Everysooften,there’sthecreakofthecardboardboxasIsneakmyhandinforapepperoniortwo.Itrytobestealthyaboutit,butbymythirdone,Lukareachesoverandcurlshishandaroundmywrist,guidingoneperfect,greasypepperonitohismouth.
Theedgesofhisteethbiteagainstmyfingers,hisbottomlipcatchinganddraggingonthepadofmythumb.There’sahintoftongue,andmystomachdropsdowntomytoes.
Hemakesanexaggeratedgroaningsoundashechews,andIhavetorolldownthewindowhalfaninch.
Ikeepthepizzaboxshutafterthat.
Asweturnontothenarrowroadthatleadsdowntothefarm,IseeBeckettwavingusdown,elbowsrestingonthefencepostthatcirclesthelandweuseforproduce.Lukaslowsthecartoastop,andIrolldownthewindow.IsnapaquickpicturewithmyphonetouploadtothefarmInstagram,andBeckettgrimaces.It’shisownstupidfaultforstandinglikethat.Lukasnickerssomewherebehindme.
“WhyhaveIgottenfourcallsaboutyoutwo?”
“Fourcalls?”
“Mysisters,andthenthephonetree.”
Myeyebrowsshootupmyforehead.“You’reonthephonetree?”
Beckettfrowns.“Everyoneisonthephonetree.”
“I’mnot,”Lukasuppliesfromovermyshoulder.“NeitherisLaLa.”
“Oh,well,”Beckettshrugs,whollyunconcerned.Honestly,Ididn’tevenknowthemanownsacellphone.WhenIneedhim,Ijuststepoutsidemyofficeandbellowhisnameintothefields.“Yougotthewordoutifthat’swhatyouwerelookingtodo.”
Ifrown,somethingaboutthattwistinginthebackofmymind.Inalltheexcitement,Ifeellikewe’veforgottensomethingimportant.Beckettwavesusoffandgoesbacktodoingwhateveritishedoeswhenalonewiththepotatoes,andLukaguidesusdownthebackroads.
Iremembermyearlierhesitationintheday,howwe’rejumpingintothiswithoutaplan.Ithadworkedoutthistime,butwhatcomesnext?I’mstuckonthatasIclimboutofLuka’scaranddigaroundinmybagformykeys,shoulderingopenthedoorandlettingusintotheclutteredhallway.IkickoffmybootsandignorethewayLukaalmostimmediatelystraightens
them,discardingmyscarfonatable.Imindlesslywanderintothekitchenandfindthegnome-shapedplatesthatmatchthedishtowel,leftbythepreviousownerandfranklytoohilariouslyweirdtogetridof.Igrabasliceofpepperoniandstareoutthelittlewindowabovethesink.
I’mtwobitesinwhenIrealizetheproblem.
“Luka.”
He’signoredmyintrospectivemoodandsetupcamponmycouch,acollegefootballgameonthetelevision,andanIPAinhand.Heturnstolookatme,longarmstretchedoutoverthebackofmyloveseat.
“Youfigureitout?”
Inodandshuffleastepcloser.Itakeanextrabiteofpizzaforstrengthandfortitude.
“Everyonethinkswe’redating,”Istart.Hegivesmealookthatquiteplainlysayswasthatnotthepointoftoday.Ieyeballhimbackandremindmyselfthathecan’treadmymind.“It’sjust–iftheythinkwe’redating,whataretheygoingtothinkwhenwe’re–notdating?”
Everyoneweranintotodayhadbeensohappyforus.Invested.BaileyMcGivenshadtearedup.MabelalmosttookLukatothegroundwhenheinsinuatedwewerelivingtogether.IknowIshouldhavethoughtaboutthisbefore,butthiswholethingisstartingtofeelmessy.AndEvelynhasn’tevenarrivedyet.
Hetakesalongdrawfromhisbeer,alittlelineformingbetweenhiseyebrows.“Idon’tfollow.”
Icirclethecouchandperchontheedge.“Wedon’thaveanexitstrategy.”
“Doweneedanexitstrategy?”
Asin,fakedateforever?WalkaroundtownonSaturdaysarminarm,onlytogohometotwoseparatehouses?Thatseemslike…anoddchoice.
MyfacemustbetraymyconfusionbecauseLukachuckles,holdingupbothhishands.
“Holdon,hearmeout.”Heshiftshisbodyuntilhe’sfullyfacingme,restinghisbeerbottleonmyknee.Inarrowmyeyesathimandreachforit,takingaquickswig.DeliciouslybitterhopsexplodeinmymouthandIcalmfractionally.“Igetthattodaywasalittlebitofaspectacle,butwhenthisisallover,afterwecharmEvelynStackhouse–““St.James,”Icorrect.
“–orwhatever,andyouwinthiscontest,whatreallyhastochange?
Wedidn’tactanydifferenttodaythanwenormallydo.IjustlaidoutsomeinnuendosforMabeltopickupon.”
Ithinkofthewayhecurledhishandaroundmyneck,howIcouldfeelthethrumofhisheartagainstmybackwhenhepulledmeagainsthischest.Ithinkofhowhenosedbelowmyearwhenwewalkedpastthebookstore,pointingoutthenewnon-fictionserialkilleranthology.True,weactlikethatsometimes.ButI’dhardlycallitnormal.
Lukacontinues,oblivioustomydubiouslook.
“Imean,whatwereyouthinking?Didyouwanttosendoutamemoorsomething?Howaboutwejust…continue.”
Iblinkathim.Hetakesabehemothbiteofpizza,pleasedwithhimself.Ihavenoideawhathe’stalkingabout.Continuewhat,Luka?Iwanttograbhisshouldersandshake.Continuewhat?
“Wewill–“Ialmostdon’tevenwanttosayit.Ireachforhisbeeranddownitinfourgulpsandthenwince.IPAsarenotforchugging.Ihandhimtheemptybottleandthenthreadmyfingerstogetheronmylap.Iemploymypatientvoice,theoneIusewhenthekindergartenersvisitthefarmontheirannualfieldtripandIshowthemhowtoplanttheirseeds.“Luka,whatdoyoumeanwhenyouusethewordcontinue?”
HelooksatmelikeheknowsexactlywhatkindofvoiceI’musing.
“Sayweweredatingforreal,”hisgazesoftens,hazyinthelightofthetv,browneyeswarmandreassuring.Ahalf-smiletipsupthecornerofhismouth,likethethoughtpleaseshim.Likehecan’tpossiblyimagineanythingbetter.“Itwouldn’tchangethispart,right?”
“Pizzaonthecouch?Absolutelynot.”Thoughitwouldprobablybepantsoptional.Theideaofitsendsaprickleofawarenessthroughme.
“No,Imean,”hesearchesfortherightwords,tiltinghischintolookattheceilinglikehemightfindtheanswersomewhereuptherewiththesupportbeams.Hisfaceisallcleanlinesinthesettingsun.Thesharpangleofhisjaw.Thedarkbrushofhisbrows.Hisstraightnoseandthefrecklesthatdanceoverit.Hetookoffhishatassoonaswecameinandhishairhasn’tquitefiguredoutwhattodo,wildandunkemptandstickingineverydirection.“Imeanlikeifweweredatingforreal,I’dliketothinkthatnomatterwhathappened,wewouldstillactexactlyaswedonow.Thateven
intheeventofabreak-up,likeyou’reworriedabout,wewouldstillbefriendsandstilldothis.Wewouldcontinue.”
“Soyouthink,”Itrytofollowhislogic.“Oh,youthinkbecausewehaveafriendship,itwouldn’tmatterifwebreakupornot.”
Henods.“Yeah,exactly.Wedon’tneedtosayanythingtoanyone.
We’lljustkeepdoingwhatwe’vealwaysdoneandifsomeoneasks,wecantellthem,Iguess.Butit’snotlikely.”
“Won’tthat–Idon’tknow–won’titimpactyouractivitieswhenyou’rebackintown?Afterthis?”
Helooksconfusedasherunshishandbackandforthoverhishair,somehowmanagingtomessitupfurther.“Activities?”
“Youknow,”Imakeavaguegesturewithmyhands.“Likeifyougoout,andwanttopickupaladyfriendorsomething.”IsoundlikeIamonehundred-and-sevenyearsold.
Heblinksatme.“WhoamIgoingtopickup?Ms.Beatrice?”
“Luka.”
“Ihaveneveroncedonethathere.”
Igrimace,rememberinganightoutatthebarwhenhevisitedonhiscollegespringbreak,hishandonatourist’sthighbeneaththebar,hisnosebrushinghershoulderasheleanedinclose.
Iclearmythroat.“Youhaveonceortwicedonethathere.”
HefrownslikehehasnoideawhatI’mtalkingabout.Liketheideaofitispreposterous.“Ihavenot.”
Iamnotwillingtocontinuethisconversation,norexplainwhyevery,ah,encounterofhisissearedintomybrain.“Thepointremains,”Isaywithaniron-willeddeterminationtoberelaxedaboutthis.“Thatifwecontinueandpeoplethinkwe’redating,youmighthavesome–um–trouble.Doingthat.”
“Whichisnotapointthatmatters,”hecounters,lookingconfusedandalittlehurt.“Becausethat’snotsomethingI’vedoneinlike–fiveyears,Stella.Andespeciallynothere.”“Alright.”
He’swrong,butalright.
“Okay.”
“Fine.”
Afrustratedhuffofalaughleaveshimandhekickshislegsout,sprawledacrossthecouch.Istillhavemyreservations,butit’salittlelate
towalkbackthisafternoon.Worstcasescenario,wecantelleveryonethatwedecidedweworkbetterasfriends.
OrIcouldfakemydeathandmovetoMexico.Ibetaholidaytreefarmwoulddogreatthere.Icouldselltinylittlepalmtreesincoconutshellsonabeachsomewhere.
Afterafewminutesofthebothofusstaringunseeinglyatacollegewidereceiverrocketingdownthefield,hissockedfootnudgesmine.
“Everythingisgoingtobefine,LaLa.Nomatterwhathappens,I’mnotgoingtodisappearonyou.Okay?”
LeaveittoLukatotouchonmydeepestfearwhileIhavepepperonigreaseclingingtomychin.MydadleftbeforeIwasbornanditdestroyedmymother.ShediedbeforeIturnedtwenty.Wemovedaroundtoomuchformetomakelifelongfriends.I’venevergottentokeepanyone.
“Doyoupromise?”
I’mnotashamedofhowmyvoiceshakesaroundtheedges,thetightnessinmythroat.Heneedstoknowhowimportantthisis.I’mnotwillingtodoanyofitifitmeanslosinghimintheprocess.
Helacesourfingerstogetherandsqueezes.Hiseyesareearnest,andit’seasytobelievehim.“I
promise.”
SEVEN
THEWEEKbeforemydad’sversionofThanksgivingpassesquickly.LukaspendsitinNewYorkhandlingsomemysteriousworkprojectthatheexplainsusingonlyvagueadjectives,andIfillmytimebygettingthingsorganizedforthefarm’sholidayswitchover.
Ifindapinetreeairfreshenerinthedoorwayofmyhouseafterhe’sgonebacktothecity,hungneatlyinthemiddlelikeasprigofmistletoe.Ipullitdownwithasmileandputitwiththeothers,wonderingifhestopsatthelittlegasstationontheedgeoftowneverytime.
WecleanupthedamagedpumpkinpatchandIinstallacoupleofcamerasalongthepropertyline.Ihadtodrivenearly20minutestofindanelectronicsstorewithanysortofstock.BarryofBarry’sElectronicsinformedmethatwhilethecamerasaren’tashigh-techassomeoftheotherthingsonthemarket,theywillletmeknowifanyoneiscomingontothefarmwithoutmyknowledge.
Oriftheraccoonshavedevelopedathirstforpumpkindestruction.
Inastrokeofabsolutegenius,BeckettturnsthetwistedtreesinthesouthpastureintoahauntedforestonHalloweennight.ThebestpartisheneedstodoabsolutelynothingtomakeitlooklikesomethingfromPan’sLabyrinth.SusieBrighthousetakesonelookatitwhilepickingupcateringwithhermomfromLayla,declaresittotallytwistedandthenextthingIknow,theentiresophomoreclassisrunningthroughthegroundslikeahordeofdrunkenzombies.
It’sthemostguestswe’vehadsincelastholidayseason,anddespiteitbeingagroupofamped-upprepubescentteenagers,it’senoughtogivemeabuoyofhope.Beckett,Layla,andIcelebrateaccordinglyandsitattheedgeofthefieldswithathermosofspikedcider,listeningastheyshriekbackandforthateachother.
“Whatdidyouputintheretoscarethem?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Maybethey’reafraidoftheirownstupidity.”
Allinall,it’sagoodweek.Iwakeupthemorningofforced,fakeThanksgivingandexpecttheworst,butI’mpleasantlysurprised.Nothingonthefarmisdestroyed,allshipmentsarriveontime,andnooneappearsinmyofficetotellmesomethingisonfire.HalfofmeexpectsasinkholetoopenupandswallowmetothedepthsofhellasIwanderacrossthefieldstothebigredbarn.ButIseenothingbutthewell-tendedgardenboxesbytheroadandtreesinthedistance,acoupleofemptybasketsbythetrailthatsomeproducecollectorsmusthaveforgotten.
Igathertheemptybasketsandloopthemovermyarm,pilingthembythedoorasIduckinsidethebarnandbegintopulldowntheboxeswithholidaydecorations.It’smyfavoritepartoftheyear,thetransitionbetweenfallandwinter.WhenIunboxallofthethingsthatmakethisplacemagical.
Hankdidhisbesttomakethisplacefestive,buthewasmorefocusedonthetreesthantheexperience.Hehadleftbehindafewsad-lookingwoodenreindeer,asledmadeoutofoldshippingcrates,andamoth-eatenSantasuit.Allofthelightsstrungalongthebuildingshadburntoutyearsago,andthesignpostforthenorthpolewasfadedandweathered.
LaylacalleditnuclearwastelandChristmasourfirstweekonthefarm.
Mostofmybudgetlastyearhadgoneintorehab.Iwantedpeopletodrivedownthenarrowdirtroadandbegreetedwithatunnelofbigbulblights,justliketheonestheirgrandparentshad.Iwantedthemtopullthroughthefrontgatesmarkedwithtwoextra-largecherryredbows,guidepostspaintedwithspiralsofredandwhite.Iwantedfamiliestoclimboutoftheircarsandlookupatrowsandrowsoftreesonthefoothills,kidsrunningaheadtosnagaspotinlinefortheiceskatingrink.
IwantedittofeellikesteppinginsideaDollyPartonChristmasspecial.
Igrabtheladderandstarttohaulboxesdown,pullingbacklidsandpokingthroughcarefullywrappedpackingpaper.IrunmyhandsovertheNorthPolesignIspenthoursstenciling,redpaintonmyfingertipsforweeks.Someofthetensioninmyshouldersreleasesbythefifthbox.Itlookslikeeverythingishereandaccountedfor.EventhetinytinreindeermadeoutofbeercansbyBeckett,hiswhiteelephantgifttomelastyear.
Iholduponeofthegiantredbowsandrunmyfingeralongthebottomedge.It’ssillytogetemotionalaboutaribbonofallthings,buthereIam.Ihadfigured–witheverything,Ihadfiguredtheribbonswouldbeintattersorstolenorstainedorsomethingelseridiculous.Butthey’rehere,perfectandpristineandreadytositprettyonour
Isendupawishtotheghostsofholidaypast,present,andfuture.Ijustneedthislittlebitofmagictocontinuethroughtheendofthemonth.
“Please,”Iwhisper,wishingIhadasprigofmistletoetowavearound.
Maybesomepeppermintincense.
“Isthatwhatyou’rewearingtonight?”WhenIturn,Lukaisproppedupagainsttheopenbarndoor,donutinhand.Heislooseanglesandrelaxedshoulders,eyestravelinginthesameone-two-threepatternhishandsalwayspressintomyskin.Ihaveanexcusereadyonthetipofmytongue,anxioustobacktrack,toexplain,buthedoesn’tmakeanyindicationthatheheardmybeggingtothebarnrafters.Hetakesabiteandnodsattheverylargebowinmyhands,obscuringhalfmybodyfromview.“Bold,yetfestive.Itshouldleaveanimpression.”
Feelingsilly,Iholditclosetomychestanddrapeitoverme,stickingmylegoutfromunderneathandarchingmyneckback.IamJessicaRabbitinaprettyredbow.There’sachokingsoundandIstraightentofindLukabentinhalf,strugglingtoswallowhisdonut.
Concerned,Itossthebowontopoftheboxesofdecorationsandrushover,smackingtheheelofmyhandinbetweenhisshoulderbladesrepeatedly.ItrytorememberwhattheytaughtusinourhighschoolCPR
class.Striketothebeatofasong?IhumundermybreathbeforeLukaswatsmeaway,hischucklealittlebitraspy.
“WhyareyouhummingEarth,Wind,&FireasIalmostchoketodeath?”
Ah,thatwas…notthecorrectsong.
Lukacoughsoncemoreandstraightens,adevastatingsmilepullinghismouthwide.It’seasylikethistothinkofhimasmine.ThisLuka,withthissmile,inthisplace.Brownlacedbootsandasweateroverplaid.Thesurgeofpossessivenessissofierceittakesmybreathaway,andIrubatmysternuminanefforttoridmyselfofthefeeling.IfeellikeourdisplayintownyesterdayhascrackedopenthetinysteelboxIkeepallmyLukafeelingsburiedin.
IneedtorememberthatLukaisn’tmine.Notevenwhenplayingpretend.
Hecockshisheadatmeandconsiders,somethingtighteninginthelinesbyhiseyes.WhatIwouldn’tgivetoknowwhat’sgoingthroughhismind.
Themomentpasses,andIstruggletofindmyfooting.
“Youreadytogo?”
No,I’mnot.Iwanttostayhereinthisbarnwithhimandmyprettyredbowsfortherestoftime.Iwanttoforgeteverythingelseexists.IwantLaylatodropoffappleciderdonutsatthedoorforsustenance.Maybeapizzaortwo
Instead,Isighandglancebehindhimtowherehiscarisparkedonthegravellotjustoutsidethebarn.Iindulgeinapassingfantasyofslashingallthetiressowehavetostayhereinstead.“IguessIhavetobe.”
“ISITDIFFICULTFORYOU?ThisweirdThanksgivingthing?”
Irestmyforeheadonthewindowandwatchasthefarmlandsandpasturesoutsidemywindowslowlychangeintostripmalls.Abustlingsuburbiawithdrive-thruStarbucksandBurlingtonCoatFactories.Housesthatlooklikethey’vebeenstampedbyacookie-cutterwiththeirpristinewhitefencesandasingle,toweringoaktreeinthefrontyard.Perfectforatireswing.IdreamtofhouseslikethatwhenIwasakid.
Itisdifficultformetogotomyfather’shouse,butnotforthereasonsLukathinks.Heprobablythinksit’shardformetoseethehouseandtheyardandthewinecellarandthefour-cargaragewhenmoreoftenthannot,mymomandIsharedaone-bedroomapartment.Heprobablythinksit’sdifficultformetoseethehomehemadewithElleandCharliethathechosenottomakewithmeandmymom.That’strue,sortof,butit’sharderformetositatthattableonadaymeantforfamilyandrealizejusthowmuchmydadandIlookalike.
Wehavethesameroundface,thesamewide,blueeyes.Webothhavedarkcurlyhair.ThefirsttimeImetCharlie,itwasjarring.Itwaslikelookinginamirror.MymomusedtojokeandsaytheonlythingIinheritedfromherwasherwhimsicalinclinationsandkillerrighthook.Shelikedtopretendthatshewasokay,thatbeingalonewasachoiceshewanted.But
asIgrewolder,Isawhowlonelyshewas.Sheneverdated,asfarasIcanremember.Mydadruinedherwhenheleft.
That’swhyit’shardforme.Isitatthattableandthewholetime,Iwonder.Iwonderifeverytimeshelookedatme,shesawhim.Iwonderifitmadehersad.
Idrawasmileyfacewithmypinkyinthecondensationonthewindow.
“Yes,”Ireplysimply,andleaveitatthat.IcanseeLukashootingmeconcernedglancesoutofthecornerofhiseye,butIignoreit.Tonightwillbe…fine.Itwillbefine.Italwaysis.
AnyhesitancyIhadaboutLukacomingwithmehasfadedinthefaceofadeepappreciationthatintheworst-casescenario,Icangetblindinglydrunkonmydad’sabsurdlyexpensivewineandLukacancartmehomeandpourmeintobed
Iwipethesmileyfaceawaywithmythumbandleanbackintheseat,tiltingmyheadagainsttheheadresttolookoveratLuka.Therearetwomediocrepiesonmylap.Ididn’taskLaylatobakeanything.Mydaddoesn’tdeserveaLaylapie.
“We’vepassedatleastthreeWendy’sdrive-thrus.WanttoskipdinnerandI’llgetyouafrosty?”
“No,”Isigh.Thoughtheofferistempting.Maybeonthewayback.“ItwillbegoodtoseeCharlie.”
Lukahums.“ItwillbegoodtoseeCharlie.Ihaven’tseenhimsince,”heconsiders,hismouthmovingsoundlesslyashethinksback.“FourthofJuly?Ithink?”
Ofallthestrange,isolatingthingsthathappenedaftermymotherdied,Charlieistheonebrightspot.Ihadlookedupmyfatherandreachedoutinamisguidedattemptatofferingclosure.Ihadfiguredhemightwanttoknow–well,Ithoughthemightwanttoknowthatthewomanhehadachildwithhadpassedaway.IstillrememberthedressIwaswearingwhenIpulledupinhisdrivewayonthatwarmspringday.HowangryIwasatalltheflowersbloominginthegarden.Howcouldflowersstillbloomwhenmymomwasdead?Howcouldthesunstillshinesobright?Whywerepeoplelaughingontheirporches,drinkinglemonadelikenothingwaswrong?
Apalebluedressandbrightredflats.Iwantedtolooknice.Iknockedonthedoorandwaited,myheartinmythroat,astackoflettersmymomhadwrittenhimclutchedinmyhand.Charliehadansweredthedoor,his
greetinghastilyabortedthesecondhisgazelandedonme.Hiswide,blueeyes–myeyes–blinkinginshock.
Charliewasbornexactlyeightmonthsafterme.Alotofthingsbecameclearafterthat.
Anddespitetheinherentawkwardnessofyourfather’slovechildshowinguponyourfrontporchonarandomspringday,CharlieandIhadbecomefastfriends.Iguessbothofuswantedasibling.
“WasittheFourthofJulywhenheinsistedondoingakegstandandprojectilevomitedonthesideofBeckett’shouse?”
Lukasnickersunderhisbreath.“Itwas,yeah.Itoldhimnotto.”
“Youdidnot.Infact,Ithinkyouencouragedhim.Youwerechanting.”
“Ah,hell.Yeah,Iwas.Layla’sJell-Oshotshadmefeelingsometypeofway.Shemakesthemsneakytasty.Youdon’tevenknowyou’rehalfabottledownuntilyou’rewearinganUncleSamhat,demandingthatagrownmandoakegstand.”
“We’retoooldforJell-Oshotsandkegstands.”
“Clearly,wearetoooldforJell-Oshotsandkegstands,”helaughs.“Ithinkit’safinetimetotransitiontoboxedwineandanearlybedtime.”
“Iwouldagree.”
I’mgratefulforthedistraction.Idon’tevenrealizewe’vearriveduntilLukaparksthecaronthestreetattheedgeofthedriveway.Hetellsmeit’sforaquickgetawaywithacheekylittlewinkthathasmelaughingallthewaytothefrontdoor.It’sanicechangefromtheslow,defeatedmarchIusuallydo.
Iknockandstareattheperfectnavybluepaintonthedoor.Notasingleknick.IstraightenmyshouldersinchbyinchuntilIamfortified,unmovable.IalmostjumpwhenIfeelfingersthreadthroughmyown.Lukasqueezesmyhand.
“Frosty,”hemouthsandshootsmeawink.EIGHT
STANDINGinthishouseisalwaysastrangeexperience.Atraditioninitsownright,Isuppose.Ellewelcomesusintoherhome,effusiveandlovelyasusual,notasingleblondehairoutofplace.Herwhiteblouseistuckedneatlyintoabeautifulroyalblueskirt,pin-straightwithoutawrinkle.Iwonderhowshemanagestositinitforittolooklikethat.Ipictureherproppedupagainstthewall.Layingflatacrossthecouch.
Westepintothefoyer,thesunreflectingoffthemarblefloorstotheornatechandelierthathangsinthemiddleofthe–receptionroomasEllecallsit.It’simpossiblenottoendlesslycomparethelifeherewithwhatmymomandIhad.ThekindofwomanmymomwasandthekindofwomanElleis.Mymomwouldhaveansweredthedoorwithjamonherfaceandapenstuckinherhair,barefeetandchippedtoenailpolish.Noreceptionroomforus.
“Didyougethereokay?Notraffic,Ihope?”
BlessherforactinglikethisisactuallyThanksgivingandnotarandomSaturdayinNovember.Ifollowhertothekitchenanddutifullyplacethepiesonthecountertop.
“Everythingwassmoothsailing.”
“I’mgladtohearit,”shesays.SheglancesatLukaandclaspsherhandsunderneathherchin.ShelookslikesheshouldbeposinginaJ.Crewcatalog,theholidayedition.“AndIamsogladyoubroughtafriend.”
“I’mgladtobehere.Thankyouforhavingmeonsuchshortnotice,”
Lukahandsherabouquetofflowers,handpickedfromthefarm.Sheburieshernoseintheblooms,cheeksflushingpink.Ismileintothepalmofmyhand.It’snicetoknowI’mnottheonlyoneaffectedbyLuka.
“I’veheardsomuchaboutyoufromCharlieandStella.It’snicetofinallymeetyouinperson.”
HereyesdancebackandforthbetweenuswithwhatIassumeisweightedsignificance.Iforget,sometimes,thatdespitealltheways
CharlieandIhavewelcomedoneanotherintoourlives,myinteractionswithEllearestillverylimited.
“Icanonlyimaginethehorrorstoriesyou’veheard,then.”
“Nonsense,”Elleplacestheflowersinavaseshepullsfromabovethefridgeandthenclick-clacksherwayovertotheovenandchecksinside.Idon’tthinkI’veeverwalkedaroundmyhouseinstilettos.Idon’tthinkmyshoeshaveevermadeitpastthethresholdofmydoor.“Mychildrenhavenothingbutgoodthingstosayaboutyou.”
It’saquickslipofthetongue.Twowordsreally,apossessivepronoun.
Theentirekitcheninstantlyfeelsasifalltheairhasbeensuckedoutofit
MaybeImakeasound,ormaybemybodyistalkingloudenoughforthatnottobenecessary,butIfeelelectrocutedwithit.Stiffandcreaky,likeoneofthescarecrowsthatsitinthecornfields.
Ellestandsquickly,facepinched.ForthefirsttimesinceImether,shelooksflustered.
“Ijustmeant,”shetucksherhaircompulsivelybehindherears.“Ijustmeant–“
“It’salright,”Igiveherasmallsmileandclearmythroat.“IknowI’mnot–Iknowwhatyoumeant.”
“Stella.”Shelooksstricken.“I-”
Whatevershewasgoingtosaythankfullygetslostinacommotionfromthefrontdoor.ThisdinnerisenoughwithouttheaddedreminderthatIamthechildherhusbandhadwithanotherwoman.Ihearseveralbagshittheground,amuffledcurse,andthentheveryclearsoundofglassshatteringagainstmarble.Elledropsherheadbackandlooksattheceilingwitharuefullittlesmile.
“ThatwouldbeCharlie.”
IsnortalaughandthetensionslipsfromtheroomrightalongwithElle,offtocollectCharliefromthefoyer.Isighandshakeoffthestrangenessoftheconversation,theconfusingcocktailofsurpriseandregret.Surprisemakessense.RegretIdon’tknowwhattodowith.Lukashufflescloser,thosebrowneyesofhiswarmashesqueezesgentlyatmyarm.Hisknucklesbrushgentlyundermychin.
“Okay?”heasksquietly.
“I’mfine,”Isay,andI’msurprisedtofindthatIam.OratleastfineenoughthatIdon’twanttoreachforawinebottleandstartguzzling.
That’sapositivechangefromhowIusuallyfeelatthispointoftheevening.Igivehimasmileandtipmyheadtowardsthefancycrystalwineglassessetoutonthecounter.We’redebatingwhichwildlyexpensivebottletoopenfirstwhenthedoortothekitchenswingsopen,hardenoughthatitsmacksrightintothewallandcomesbackagain.
“Youbroughtadate?”Charlieboomsinplaceofagreeting,armsfullofthescatteredremainsofwhathe’sbroughttodinner.Largetornpiecesofapaperbag,thetwinethatIassumewasonceahandle.Thecrustofapecanpieandwhatlookslikethelipoftheornateceramicvasethatwassittingintheentryway.Charlie’seyesdartfromLuka’sshoulderstomeandbackagain,narrowedinconfusion.Idon’tknowwhat’smoreamusing–
thatCharliedoesn’timmediatelyrecognizeLuka,orhe’smanagedtochannelalifetimeofprotectivebrotheraggressionintoasinglequestion.
LukaglancesoverhisshoulderatCharlie,awayfromwherehehasn’tstoppedtwistingopenacabernetsauvignon.Hisforearmsflexandrelease,flexandreleaseashetwiststhecorkscrewaround.Iamtransfixed.“Hey,man.Longtimenosee.”
Charliebobblesthecollectionofitemsinhishandsagain,amajorityofthemreturningtothefloor.“Ohmygod,it’shappening.”
Iflushscarlet.CharlieshouldbeontheInglewildphonetree.IsnatchthebottleofwinefromLukaandpourmyselfaheartyglass.Somuchfornotwantingtodrinkthediscomfortaway.“Nothingishappening,Charlie.
Lukajustcametodinner.”
“Withyou,”Lukaaddswithaslygrinandawink.Ihuff.“Together.”
ThereissomesilentexchangebetweenLukaandCharlie–araisedeyebrow,twoinreturn–thathasCharliepracticallywigglingindelight.
Honestly.Lukatakesthewineglassfrommyhandandsips,apointed,silentexclamationpointonwhateverthatconversationjustwas.
“Imean,sure,technicallywearrivedinthesamecar,”Ibabble.Idon’tslaphimawaybutit’sanearthing.Ilethimhavemyglassandfetchanewone.“Soyes,weareheretogether.Together,asfriends,inharmony.”
“Sureseemsharmonious,”Charliequips,rollinghislipsbetweenhisteeth.Irollmyeyesathimandhereturnsthegesture.It’sastrangethingtoseemyexpressionsmirroredonhisface.Thesamebigblueeyes,darkcobaltwhenthelighthitsthemright.Wecouldbetwinsifnotforthesheerwidthandbreadthofhisshoulders.Hetowersovermysmallform,
andIfeeleveryinchofourheightdifferenceashetakesthreestepsacrossthekitchenandscoopsmeintohisarms.MyfeetdangleuselesslyasIcurlmyarmsaroundhisshoulders,thetoesofmyshoestappingagainsthisshins.
“Goodtoseeyou,shortstack.”
Ipinchbetweenhisshoulderblades,andhechuckleswarmlysomewhereabovemyhead.“Goodtoseeyoutoo.”
HereleasesmeandwandersovertoLuka,givinghimthesametreatmentshortofpickinghimupoffthefloor.IsmileintomywineglassasIwatchthemhug,abitofpiecruststillstucktoCharlie’sarm.LukamutterssomethinginalowvoiceandCharliebarksoutalaugh,hiseyesshiningbrightwhentheyfindmineagain.
“Areweeatingorwhat?”
Bythetimeallthedinnerplattersaresituatedonthetable,mydadstillhasn’tarrived,hisabsencehangingominouslyoverallofourheads.It’slikethethickblackcloudsthatrollinbeforethestorm,lightningflashinginthedistance.Youknowsomethingbadiscoming,butyoucan’toutrunnature.
Elleushersusintotheformaldiningroom,nottobeconfusedwiththecozyfamilydiningroomorthebreakfastnookjustoffthekitchen.
ThetablelookslikeaNormanRockwellpainting.Apristinewhitetableclothandshiningsilverdishes.It’safarcryfromthedixiecupsandpaperplatesIgrewupwith.Theonlytouchthatindicatesactualhumansintendtoeatthismealisthetinycardboardturkeysmarkingouttheplaceswherepeopleshouldsit.Theyarewell-lovedandfaded,thenameswrittenwithanunpracticedhand.ItmakesmesmiletothinkofamuchsmallerCharliepainstakinglyputtingpompomsontoiletpaperrollstomakethemlooklikelittleturkeys.Icanimaginehimputtingthemtogetherasakid,thesamewildcurlsIhavechaoticontopofhishead,tonguestickingoutinconcentration.
Mynameismarkedwithamuchnewer,muchmoreprofessionalnamecard.AsimpleStellaprintedonatinypieceofcardstock,heldwithaheavypaperweightthatlookslikealeaf.Theedgesjustbarelybrushthebottomcurveofthea.Thisisn’tonethatiscarriedfromyeartoyear.Itwasprobablyprintedthismorning.Orderedfromafancysupplier,stampedonheavycardstockwithgroovededges.
Ifindmyseatandseeanewcardkeepingminecompany.Lukawithaburntorangeleaf.Istareatthatforalongtime,untileveryoneelseissettledandseated.
“Willdadbejoiningus?”Charliestareshardattheemptychairattheheadofthetable.Iknowtheyhavetheirstruggles,mydadandCharlie.
Charlieoftenbearstheweightofunfairexpectations.Heworksatthesamefirmasmyfather,primedtoonedayfillhisshoes.Itsitsheavyonhisshoulders,adullmeeknesssettlingoverhimeverytimethey’reinthesameroom.Ihateit.Ihatewatchinghimcaveinonhimself,tuckingawayallthepartsofhimselfthatmakehimsowonderful.
“Ifwe’relucky,no.”Ellecalmlyfillsherwineglasstotheverytop.AheavypourifI’veeverseenone.CharlieandIstareather.Lukamakesasoundlikehe’stryingnottolaugh.I’veneverheardEllesayanythingnegativeaboutanyone–letaloneBrian.NotevenwhenIshoweduponherfrontdoorstep,theworstkindofsurprise,I’msure.Shetookonelookatme,madeahummingnoiseunderherbreath,andofferedmealemonade.
Charlierecoversfirst.“Feelingokay,mom?”
“Delightful,sweetie.Didyouwantsomewine?”
“Isthereanyleft?”
Shetiltsthebottlebackandforth.“Justatouch.”
Charlieputshishandoutforitanddrinksdirectlyfromthebottle.
SittingnexttoElle,Iseethesubtlesimilaritiesbetweenthem.Thesameturntotheirlips.Adimplethatwinksintheflickeringlightofthecandles.
MischiefthathidesinthecornerofElle’seyes,butsitsboldlyinCharlie’s.
Thekindthatgrowsnowashefinishesoffthebottle.“ThismightbemyfavoriteThanksgivingyet.”
I’mabouttoagreewhenIhearthefrontdooropen,clumsy,lumberingfootstepsmovinginthedirectionofthediningroom.Charliecursesunderhisbreath.“Ispoketoosoon.”
Wealllisteninsilenceasmyfathermeandershiswayaroundthefirstfloorofthehouse,nonsensicalinhisdirection.Hetakestwostepsforward,andthencirclesback.Stumbles,trips,andthenhurrieshisstepstowardsthekitchen.Itsoundslikeheslipsatonepoint,andcatcheshimselfwithhisshoulderagainstthewall.
Lukaleansclosertome.“Ishe–“
“Drunk?”Elletakesaverylongsipfromhertoo-fullwineglass.
“Probably.”
That’sanewdevelopment.Idon’tthinkI’veeverseenmydaddrunk.
Heusuallyshowsuplate,boominganexcuseabouttheoffice,aclient,anewdeal,somethingabouthowimportantandneededheisatthefirm.
ButIdon’tthinkI’veeverseenhimwithsomuchasahairoutofplace.
He’salwaysbuttonedup,pristine.Coldanduntouchable.
Hefinallyelbowshiswayintothediningroom,hismovementsuncoordinated,messy.Hisarmcatchesoneofthesilvercandlesticksasheslowlymakeshiswayaroundthetable,knockingitoverandalmostsettingthetableclothonfire.Charliesnatchesitupbeforeanythingcancatch,thebutterdishmovedneatlyontopofthesmallblackringofburn.Hisseriesofmovementsareeffortless,anticipatory.Likehehaspracticecleaningupmessesexactlylikethis.
IalwaysthoughtIwastheonewiththeshortendofthestick.BrianMilfordleftmymomhighanddryassoonasthepregnancytestturnedpositive.Buthere,seeingthis,watchingCharliewarilyobservehisdadasheslumpsinhisseatattheheadofthetable–Ican’thelpbutfeellikeIluckedout.
“HappyThanksgiving,”hemutters,staringdirectlyathisdinnerplate,notbotheringtolookanyoneintheeye.Hereachesforwardandscoopssomemashedpotatoesoutoftheservingbowl…withhishand.
AndIcan’thelpit.Idon’tknowifit’sthetensionofcominghere,thecontinueddisappointmentofmyfatherandallhisshortcomings,orthestressoftheupcomingvisitfromEvelyn,butasIwatchtheself-declaredcorporategodnibblemashedpotatoesoutofthepalmofhishandlikeatoddlerI–Iloseit.MyshouldersshakeasItrytokeepthehysteriaatbay.Iswallowcompulsively,overandover.Butit’salosingbattleandassoonasLuka’shandfindsmythighunderthetable,checkingonmymentalstate,I’msure,aloudbarkoflaughterleavesmymouth.
Oh,howbadlyIwishthatNormanRockwellpaintinglookedlikethis.Imightcommissionsomething.
Mydadfrownsatme.It’sthefirsttimehe’slookeddirectlyatmeinclosetoayear,Ithink,andhehassomegravystucktothecornerofhismouth.“Estelle,”mynameisslurredaroundtheedges.“Controlyourself.”
Mygigglescontinue,albeitmoresubdued.“Alright,”Iacquiescewithalittleheadnod,agreeableasever,butwithahealthydoseofsarcasmI’veneverbeenbraveenoughtousewithmyfather.Ican’thelpit.Notwhenhe’sreprimandingmewithahandfulofpotatoes.“Sure,I’lldomybest.”
Charlie’slaughterslipslooseatthat–aboomofachucklethathasmydadjoltinginhischair.IpeekoveratLuka,andIseehimsmilingintoabiteofgreenbeancasserole.Withhishandstillonmythigh,fingersjustbarelygrazingtheinsideofmyknee,Iamsuddenly,absurdlygladhe’sherewithme.ThatIwon’thavetotellhimaboutthislateroverFaceTime,curledupaloneonthecouch.Havinghimhere,it’sashotofcomfortandconfidence.
Ifindhishandunderthetableandsqueeze,hiswarmeyesdartingupfromhisfoodandholding.
Charliewasright.
BestThanksgivingever.
ELLEDOESNOTAGREEwiththatoverallsentiment.Thatmuchisclearassoonasmydadpassesoutfacefirstwithhisforeheadnarrowlymissingthecranberrysauce.It’sthefancystuff,too.Nowigglingmassofcranberrythatstilllookslikethecanhere.Thereareactualberriesandslicesoforange,andI’mstrangelydisappointedthatIwon’tgetthevisualofmydad’sfacestainedpinktoreferencethenexttimehe’sanasshole.
ThoughIthinkthemashedpotatothingwilldojustaswell.
Wedecidetotreathimlikeafixtureatthetable,nomorelifetohimthanthecardboardturkeys.IwonderifElleisgoingtogentlycoaxhimtobed,butshestandsanddisappearstothekitchen,returningwithmytwopiesandafreshbottleofwine.Charliesnapsseveralpicturesonhisphonewithawistfulsigh.
“Iknowwewereallworriedaboutthetypeofshitthisguywasgoingtopulltonight,”hesays.EllemakesafaceatCharlie’sstringofprofanity.
Shehasaruleaboutlanguageatthedinnertable.“Sorry,mom.Butallinall,Ithinkeverythingturnedoutnice.”
Mydadsnorts,hisentirebodyjostlingonce.Heresettles,andoneofhishandslandsinthegravybowl.
“Imean,lookatthistablescape.”Charliesnapsanotherpicture.
“Perfection.”
Luka’shandisstillonmythighbeneaththetable,hispalmcurvedslightly,fingersalmosttuckedinthecreasebetweenmykneeandleg.Thathandfeelslikeitweighstenthousandpounds,everyplacehisskintouchesminelightinguplikeacircuitboard.Hesqueezeseverynowandagain,andwhenhispinkylightlycaressestheinsideofmylegIjumpsohardIknockoverabasketofdinnerrolls.Hehideshissmileinhisnapkinandleaveshishandwhereitis
“AretheseLayla’spies?”Charlie’shandsarealreadyreachingforthepumpkinpieclosesttohim,forkcaughtbetweenhisteeth.Ishakemyhead.
“No,they’reasugar-freerecipeImadeathome.”AtCharlie’shorrifiedstare,IchanceaglanceatElle.Whilethiseveninghasbeendifferentfromalltheothersinherobviousdismissalofmydad,I’mstillnotsurewhatIcansayinfrontofher.Idon’twanthertothinkI’mungrateful.Idon’twanthertowithholdaninvitationinthefuture.Iamhungryforfamily,forconnectionandrootshowevertheycome.
ButwhenIslidemygazeovertoher,she’ssmilingserenelyintoherwineglass,asecretlookinhereyesthattellsmeshealreadyknowswhatI’mgoingtosay.Ishrug,sheepish.“Iwantedthepietotastebad.”
Charliecollapsesbackinhischair.“God,Stel.YoucouldhaveboughtpecanlikeIsaid!Thatwouldhavebeencontraryenough.”
Icouldhave.“JustsavethispieforBrianinthemorning.”
Elleraisesherglasswithahiccup.“Cheerstothat.”
“THATISNOTWHATIEXPECTED.”
We’rehalfwaybacktothefarm,anextra-largechocolatefrostyclaspedbetweenmyhands.Lukahasacartonofspicynuggetsheldsecurelybetweenhisthighs,halfofonecaughtbetweenhisteethashemaneuversusontothehighway.Ibreathealittlebiteasierthefurtherweget,thestarsbeginningtopeekoutasweheadawayfromthesuburbs.
“It’snotusuallylikethat.”
“Youmeanyourdaddoesn’ttypicallyeatoutofdisheswithhishandsbeforepassingout?”LukaoffersmeanuggetandIshakemyhead.
“Yeah,thatwasafirst,”Iletmyheadrockagainstthebackoftheseatandwatchasthestreetlightsdanceacrosshisskin.Yellow,orange,deep
mutedred.Asoothingpatternthatlandsheavyonhischeekbonesandthetipofhisnose.Heflexeshishandsonthewheel.“IknowIgaveyouahardtime,butI’mgladyoucame.”
Lukalookspleased,hisentirebodystraighteninghalfaninch.Heshootsaquickglanceovertomebeforehiseyesfindtheroadagain.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,ifonlysoyoubelievethatithappened.”
Helaughs.“Yeah,I’mnotsureIwouldhaveifIhadn’tseenitformyself.”
“Andformoralsupport,”Iaddabitmoreseriously,feelingbrave.IrememberwhatLaylasaidinmybedroomtheothermorning,howjustbecauseyoutellsomeonehowyoureallyfeel,itdoesn’tmeanthey’llleave.Idon’tthinkthisiswhatshehadinmind,butit’sastepinthatdirection.AsbigastepasIcanmanagerightnow,anyway.
“Youdon’thavetothankmeforthat,LaLa.”
“Iknow.I’mnot.I’mjust-”Ithinkofhishandonmyknee,thewayhehuggedCharlieinthekitchen.HowEllepressedakisstohischeekwhenshesawusoutthedoor.Hishandsonmyshouldersashehelpedmeintomycoat,hisfingersslippingundermycollartountuckmyhair.“I’mjustgladisall.”
MyLukaboxisrattlinginmychest,allsortsofthingsthreateningtospillout.
Icheckthefarm’ssocialaccountsaswerumblealong,apleasedlittlewiggleinLuka’sheatedseatwhenIseethatEvelynhascommentedonthepictureofBeckettIpostedtheotherday.Youcan’tmakeouthisfaceintheshot,justthesilhouetteofatallmaninthegoldenlightofthesettingsun,milesandmilesoffieldsrollingoutbehindhim.EvelynhascommentedCan’twaittobehereintwoweekswithacomplicatedseriesofemojisanditlightsathrillofexcitementandopensapitofdreadatexactlythesamemoment.Excitement,becauseourfollowernumbersarealreadyclimbingwithjustthatonecommentanddreadbecause,well,nowIhavetolieinthebedI’vemadeformyself.
Idarkenmyphoneandrestitagainstmychest,chewingonmybottomlip.
“Weshouldprobablypractice.”It’ssomethingI’vebeenthinkingaboutsinceourwalkthroughtown.Givenmyreactiontohishandonmyneck
andhispalmonmythigh,IthinkIneedalittlebitmoreexposurebeforeEvelynishere.Idon’ttrustmyselfnottosqueakeverytimeLukakissesmycheek.
“Practicewhat?”Lukaisunconcerned,hishandsrelaxedonthesteeringwheel,thumbcurledalongthebottomcurve.
“Beingacouple.”
Acouplethattoucheseachother.Kissesoneanother.
“Oh?”Hehitstheturnsignaleventhoughthereisn’tanothersoulformiles,headlightsglancingacrosscornfieldsashemakestheturndownthelong,windingroadthatleadsbacktothefarm.“Wastonightnotasolidgoatit?”
Ittakesamomentforhismeaningtosinkin,butwhenitdoesIhavetoholdmybodystill.Idon’twanttogiveanythingawaywiththecurlofmyshoulders,thesetofmyjaw.Notthathecouldseeitanyway.We’refarawayfromstreetlightsnow–onthebackcountryroadsthatlightuponlywiththefullmoon.
Ibreatheoutslowlythroughmynose.Ididn’tthinktonightwaspartofourplan.Ithoughttonightwasjust–us.Therealus.“Isthatwhyyoucame?
To
pretend?”
NINE
IFIGHTNOTtosoundwindedwhenIaskthequestion,thoughIfeelabitlikeI’vebeensucker-punched.Ofcourse.Ofcourse,that’swhatitwas.Thetouches,theglances,theeasysmiles.Itwasallanopportunitytopracticeinfrontofanunknowingaudience.Justlikeourwalkthroughtown.Ishakemyhead.Ineedtoremember.Ican’tkeepgettingconfusedwithLuka.
Embarrassmentsettlesinmystomachlikealeadrockthelongerthesilencelingersbetweenus.ThisiswhyIshouldhavegonewiththeescortservice.IbetIwouldn’tbegettingthisflusteredwitharent-a-date.
Itrytochangethesubject.
“IthinkI’llstartwiththeholidaypreptomorrow,”Imutter,hunchingdowninmyseat.Ibringmykneestomychest,mindfulofthewaymyskirtflaresoutaroundmythighs.Thebows.I’llputthebowsuptomorrow,andpretendthisconversationneverhappened.Itwasastupidthingtosuggestanyway.Whatarewegoingtodo–practicekissing?Wearen’tinhighschool.Wearecapableofkissingoneanotherwithoutworkingonit.“I’dliketogeteverythingsettledbeforeEvelynarrives.”Likemysanity.
“Alright,”Lukadrawsouttheword,thecarbeginningtorumblebeneathusasdirtchangestogravel.“Butlet’sgobackastep.YouthinkIcamewithyoutonightto–what–squeezeinsomemorepractice?Figureouthowtoholdyourhand?”Iwatchasheshiftsinhisseat,elbowlandingontheledgebyhiswindow.Herubsabovehiseyebrow,frustrated.“Idon’tneedtopracticeholdingyourhand,”hemutters.
Isinkfurther,mykneesknockingintothedash,andbundlemyarmsaroundmyself.“Itwasjustathought.”
“Well,itwasadumbone.”
Alaughsputtersoutofme.“Thankyou.”
Mylaughtermustsoothewhatever’sagitatedhimbecausehisshoulderscreepdownfromhisears.Heglancesatmeoncefromthe
driver’sside,starlighthaloedaroundhishead.“ButIdothinkyouhaveapointwiththerestofit.”
“Restofwhat?”
“Thepracticething.”
Iblinkathim.“Youjusttoldmethatyoudon’tneedtopractice.”
“IsaidIdidn’tcometonighttopractice.There’sadifference.”Histhumbtracesthebottomcurveofthesteeringwheel.“Ithinkitwouldbegood.”
Thatsurprisesme.“Youdo?”
“Yeah,Ithink-”It’shisturntoshiftinhisseat.“Well,withusbeingacouple.Addison–“
“Evelyn,”Icorrect.Idon’tunderstandwhyhecan’trememberhername.
“She’llprobablybeconfusedifwe’reacouplethatdoesn’ttoucheachotheratall.”
Iknowitwasmysuggestion,butmymindgoesinstantlytothegutter.Ithinkofhishandontheinsideofmyknee.Howwarmitfelt,howmuchspacehecouldcoverwithhispalm,hisfingerswrappedslightlyalongtheinsideofmythigh.Ithinkofhimslidingthathandhigher,undertheskirtofmydress.Higherstill,hisnoseagainstmythroat,mylegsspreadwideoverhiships.
He’sstilltalkingonhissideofthecar,explainingaboutsomethingoranother,butI’veheardnoneofit.Iclearmythroat.
“Whatwasthat?”
Heswallowshard,aharddipintheroadmakingthecarrockbeneathus.“I’mjustsaying.Wouldn’titbeweirdifwedidn’tkiss?”
“Itwouldbeweirdifwedidn’tkiss,”Iagree.Isoundwinded,likeI’vejustbeenshotinthefoot.
“Noneedtosoundsothrilledaboutit,LaLa.”
WhenIdon’tsayanythinginresponse,stillstuckthinkingabouthishandsonmylegs,hesighs,knucklesstrainingonthesteeringwheelwiththeflexofhishands.“I’msurewecanworkaroundit.”
“Wait,”Iturninmyseat,thestrapgettingcaughtatmyshoulder.
“Whyareyouupsetrightnow?
“Becauseyou’reactinglikeIjusthandedyouadeathsentence,”hegrumbles.
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Icanonlymakeoutthecornerofhisjawinthedimlightfromtheconsole,thebridgeofhisnose.Butit’senoughtoseethathe’sdeliberatelyholdinghimselfincheck.There’sarigidnesstohisbodythatmeanshe’supset.Ireachforhisforearmandsqueeze.We’realmostbacktothecottagenow,darknesscurlingarounduslikeablanket.Thestarsarehiddenbyathicklayerofcloudsandeverythingfeelscloser,quietandstill.
Hepullsustoastopinmydrivewaybutleavesthecaron,aheavysighgustingoutfromsomewheredeepinhischest
“Idon’tknow.Thisconversationgotoutofcontrol.”Herunshishanddownhisface.“Ithinkyouhaveapointaboutpracticing,”hesays,anattempttostartover.Thetensionthattwistedhimtightstartstoslipfromthestifflineofhisbody.“Sothefirsttimewetryinfrontofanaudienceyoudon’tsuckatit.”
“Suckatit?”I’moffended.“Idon’tsuckatit.Youprobablysuckatit.”
“IcanassureyouIdonotsuckatit.”
“What,doyouhaveasurveyyousendout?Rateyourlevelofsatisfactionfrom1-10?”
Hebarksalaugh.“That’snotabadideaactually.I’lladditinwithmypost-coitalgiftbasket.AlittleQRcodetheycanscan.”
Irollmyeyesandclimboutofthecar.Goodtoknowwecanquicklybouncebacktoournormalselves.“Ineverwanttohearthephrasepostcoitalcomeoutofyourmouthagain.”
Twodoorsslam,bootsechoingupthestonewalkway.
“Why?”Luka’strailingme,hisstrollleisurely,hishandsinhispockets.
BecauseIdon’twanttothinkaboutLukawithanyone.Becausehishandonmythighatdinnerisgoingtohauntmefordecades.IclearmythroatasItrytofindmykeysinmybag,Lukacrowdingmyspace.
“Ithinkcoitusisaweirdword,”Itelltheinsideofmybag.Oneday,maybeI’llbeamoreorganizedpersonandwon’thavetohuntformyhousekeyseverytimeIneedtogetinside.Butitwon’tbethisday.
Hislaughwhispersacrossthenapeofmyneck.Ishiverandhopehedoesn’tnotice.
“Whatworddoyoupreferthen?”
“Hm?”Ifinallymanagetogetmykeyinthelockandpracticallyfallthroughthedoor.Mycheeksfeelhotdespitethechillintheair,mybreathingtoofast.Iunwindmyscarfanddropitonthetable.
“Ifyoudon’tlikecoitus,”Lukadoeshisbesttobitebackhisgrin,butitfightsitswaythrough.“Whatdoyouprefer?”Iprefertonothavethisconversation.
“Idon’tknowifI’vethoughtaboutit,”Imanage.Ikickoffmyshoesandwandertothekitchen,Lukafollowingafterhisrequisitereorganizationofmyspace.I’mgladIhadtheforethoughttosetoutthegoodwhiskeythismorning,knowingI’dwantahottoddyimmediatelyuponmyreturn.Whiskey,lemon,tea,honey–it’sallsetoutneatlyonthecountertop.Alsotheremnantsofapumpkinloaf,courtesyofLayla.
IholdupthewhiskeybottleinsilentquestionandLukanods.Hefindsaseatattheoldrockingchairthatsitsattheheadofthetable,mismatchedandhideousbutsurprisinglycomfortable.Isnagthelemonandthecuttingboard.
“Poundtown?Bumpinguglies?”InarrowlymissslicingmyfingeroffasLukalistsoptions.“Thenopantsdance?”
“Ican’tsayanyonehaseveraskedmetopoundtown.”
“Somethingmoredirect,then,”herestshischininhishandandlevelsastareatmethatIfeellowinmybelly,inthebacksofmyknees.“Fucking,yeah?”
Iswallowatthat,awholeslewofimaginingsfallingthroughmymindlikedirtydominoes.IcanhonestlysayIhavenoideawhatwe’rediscussinganymore.Ihearthatword,outofhismouth,andlosethethreadofconversation.AllIknowisthepulseofheatthatpullssharpbetweenus,hisbrowneyesdarkinthestillnessofmykitchen.Thisisnewterritoryand
…notunwelcome.Mouthsuddenlydry,Iwetmybottomlipwithmytongue.
“I,um–“Ishakemyheadandreachforthewhiskey.“What?”
“Fucking.”
LukaandIhavediscussedsexexactlytwotimes,andonlyinvaguetermsandsuggestivehandgestures.Once,whenIalludedtothecompletelackofcommitmenttoforeplaybytheentiremalepopulation,andanothertime,afterwatchingaperiodpiecewithaveryconfusinglovescene,wherewearguedaboutblowjobsforsevenminutes.
SoIam…confused.Confusedandflushedfrommyheadtomytoes.“Idon’t–“Ishakemyheadandslicethelemons,turnontheburnerfortheteakettle.ThefactthatIcanevenmanagethesebasictaskswhenitfeelslikeI’mhavinganout-of-bodyexperienceisastoundingtome.I’mgoingtohearLukasayingfuckingfortherestofeternity.“Whatishappeninghere?”
Lukabalanceshisankleonhiskneeandrocksbackonce.“Idon’tknow.
Igotcarriedaway,Iguess.”Afaintblushbrushesathischeeks,hisgazelingeringonmyshoulders,skimmingdownthecurveofmyback.I’veneverseenhimlookatmelikethisbefore.Ifeelitlikeacaress.“It’seasytogetcarriedaway,”headdsasanafterthought,voiceawhisperinthestillnessofthekitchen.
Istudyhim,unsureifhe’smessingwithmeorserious.Ican’ttell.Italmostfeelslikehe’s–likehe’sflirtingwithme.Idon’tknowwhattodowithit.Ishakemyheadslightlyandfighttogetthisconversationbackontrack.“ThisisnotwhatIhadinmind.”
“No?”
“Idon’tthinkanyoneisgoingtoaskhowIrefertosex.”
“That’safairpoint.”
“Thankyou.”
Westareateachotherinsilence,theairheavy.Myeyesdon’tknowwheretoland.Hisfingertips,tracingbackandforthalongthearmofthechair.Hislonglegsspreadjustslightly.Theflushofpinkonthetipsofhisears.Myperusalisinterruptedwhenthekettlebeginstowhistleonthestove.Iturnmybacktohimandfishfortwomugsintheuppercabinet,pressinguponmytoes.
Usually,Ihavemugsscatteredthroughoutthekitchen.It’snotthatI’mmessy,Ijustpreferconvenience.Idrinkalotofcoffee.Andtea.Andwhiskey.Andteawithwhiskey.Sometimesmulledwine.Andtheoccasionalcakeinacup.Mugsaremycupofchoice,andassuch,aretypicallyleftatvariousplacesaroundmyhome.
ButI’vebeentryingtobeneater,moreorganized,andLuka’sarrivalhasheraldedtheusualtwo-weektrendofcleanliness.WhichunfortunatelymeansI’mputtingmymugsbackinthemostunreachableplaceinthekitchen.Ihearthecreakoftherockingchair,easyfootstepsacrossthehardwood,andthenIfeelLukabehindme,closeenoughforhiskneesto
brushthebacksofmythighs.Mybreathrushesoutofmewhenoneofhishandsfindsmyhip,theotherreachingaboveourheadsforthemugs.
“Hereweareagain,”Imutter.Ineverdidgetoutthestepstooltocheckwhathe’sgotstashedupthere.Feelingalittleindulgent,IpressmyheadbackslightlysoIcanfeelthecatchofhisstubbleinmyhair.Hislaughrumblesagainstmyback,onemugandthentwosetneatlyinfrontofme.
“WhatdoesCharliecallyou?Shortstack?”Lukadoesn’tstepbackasIreachforthekettleandpour,handingmethewhiskeyovermyshoulderwithonehand,hisotherstillonmyhip.Hesqueezesonce.
“Yeah,he’sbeentryingoutnicknames.Tryingtofindonethatsticks.”
“Maybeheshouldtrycinnamonstick.Isn’tthatwhatSheriffJonescallsyou?”
Ihum,myentireexistencefocusedonwherehisthumbdragsagainstmyhipbone.Hepressesintomefurther,justforasecond,hisbodyweightadelicious,heavypressureagainstme.Hisnosedragsthroughmyhair,nuzzlesoncebeneathmyear.
“Youdosmelllikecinnamon,”hesays,voicequiet,serious,unbearablysweet.Iturnmyheadslightly,mytempleagainsthisjaw.
“Ahazardofthejob.”
“Doalltreefarmownerssmelllikecinnamonthen?”
“Andsugarplumfairies.”
Lukalaughsatthat,thestrangetensionbetweenussplintering.Hestepsbackbuthishandholdsagainstmyhip,fingersslippingawaywithreluctance.Ilookupathiminthedimlightofmykitchenandforasinglebreath,Iseeawild,ferocioushunger.Butheblinksandit’sgone.He’smyLukaagain,thechangesoquickIthinkI’veimaginedit.Browneyessoft,smilecrooked,hairawildmess.
Hedropsasliceoflemoninmydrink.“Saluti.”
“Thanks,”Ihandhimhismug,anoldchippedthingthathasafoxonitandsaysohforfoxsake.HetakesasipandItiltmyheadathim.“Andthanksforcomingwithmeearlier.Itmeansalot.”
“Youdon’thavetokeepthankingme,”hemumbles,thethinnestedgeoffrustrationinhisvoice.Helookslikehewantstosaymore,butswallowsit,eyessearchingmyface.Ifeelitlikeafingertipatmyjaw,thehollowofmythroat,thecornerofmylips.“I’mnotdoingthisforyourthanks,okay?”
Hereachesovermyshoulderandplucksapieceofpumpkinbreadoffthecounter,holdingitbetweenhisteethashetugsmeoncetowardsthecouch.“We’regoingtowatchDieHardandyou’regoingtodoyourHansGrueberimpersonation.”
Aswesettleintothecouch,aflannelblanketthrownoverourlaps,Idon’teventhinktoask.Ifhe’snotdoingthisformygratitude,thenwhyishedoingit?
ISTARTmymorninginthebigredbarnbytheroad,armedwithagiantplasticcandycaneandawoodencutoutofanutcrackersoldier.Ilooklikesomevengefulholidayknight.Theonlythingmissingisabowandarrowmadeoutofgingerbread.ButIheardrustlinginthecornerbythedoorwhenIcamein,andIhavenointentionofgettingrabiesbeforeEvelynarrives.Foamingatthemouthdoesn’treallyfitinwiththeaestheticI’mtryingtoachieve.
Ihearitagain,alittlelouderthistime,oneofthegiantmetalarchesthatweuseovertheroadforthelightsswayingbackandforth.
“Shit,”Icurse,andsearchtheground.MaybeIshouldhaveoneofthefirehouseguysdownheretotakealook.They’dknowwhattodowithafamilyofraccoons,right?ThearchgivesanothershakeandIabandonmycandycaneandheadforthedoor.
I’mnotwillingtotemptfatetoday.Tomorrowisanewday.
ThebarndoorisheavybeneathmyhandswhenItrytoslideitopen.Itdoesn’tbudgethefirsttwopullsandIhuffalaughundermybreath.OfcourseI’dgetstuckinherewithendlesspilesofdecorationsandwhatevercritterhasdecidedtomovein.Itfeelslikeadoseofinstantkarma.
Ipullagain,andpressthetoeofmybootintothebottomedgetohelptheweatheredwoodstayonitstracks,allofmyconcentrationfocusedonslidingitopenwithoutbreakingthedamnthing.Itfinallygives,aforebodingshriekaccompanyingitsincrementalmovement,enoughspaceformetoslidemywaythrough.OnlyassoonasIstarttostepoutofthebarn,someoneelsedecidestostepin.
IknockmykneesagainstLuka,myhandlosingitsgriponthedoor.ItbeginstoslideclosedandLukamuttersastringofobscenitiesunderhis
breath,curlingmybodyclosetohisandmovingusbothoutoftheway.
I’mstillpressedupagainsthimwhenthedoorfallsshut.
“Hey,”Imanage,staringwistfullyatthedoor.IhavenoideahowI’mgoingtoopenthatthingagain.Lukamighthavetogivemeaboosttothenarrowwindowsonthesouth-facingside.I’llhavetowigglemywayout.
Hopefully,BeckettandLaylaaresomewhereelseonthefarmandnoonehasacamera.I’vebeenthatdumbbeforeandIhaveaChristmascardcourtesyofLayla’scameraphonetoproveit.IblinkbacktoLuka.“Iwasn’texpectingyou.”
“Yeah,Iwasn’texpectingmeeither.”Herubsoneglovedhandoverhisface,browneyespeeringatmethroughthefanofhisfingers.Heletshishanddropwithaheavysigh,frustrationtighteninghisfeatures.
“Everythingokay?”
“Stella,Ihavetoheadbacktothecity.”HesaysitwiththesamegravitasasonewouldannounceIhavecancerorI’vediscoveredaCivilWarghostintheattic.
“Okay,”Itrytomovepasthim,butheshakeshisheadandwalksusfurtherintothebarn,hishandscurledaroundmyupperarms.It’sdisorientingwalkingbackward,andIshootaglanceovertothearches.Nomovementnow.Hopefullywhatevercritterwasoverthereislonggone.
“Ididn’tthinkI’dhavetogobackbeforeEvelyngetshere.”
Igivehischestalittlepatthroughthedownofhisjacket.Idefinitelydidn’texpecthimtospendtheentiremonthofNovemberbackinInglewild.Heworksremotelyfromtimetotime,butevenso,Ihadassumedhewouldbebackandforthbetweenhisoffice.Iknowtheyrelyonhimforpresentationstoclients,andhecan’tdothatfrombehindhiscomputer.“That’salright.Youwon’tbemissinganythinghere.We’lljustbesettingupforChristmas.Andpotentiallygettinganewbarndoor.”Inodoverhisshoulderandtakeanotherlookatthedoor.Itseemstostillbeonitstrack,atleast.“Whenwillyoubeback?”
“Aweek,Ithink.AndthenI’llbeherethrough–“Heswallows,notfinishinghisthought.“I’llbehere.”
“Okay?”Istilldon’tunderstandwhyhe’ssoworkedup.He’sholdinghimselfstilldespitehishandscurledaroundmyarms,aperfecttwoinchesofspacebetweenourbodies.Heflexeshisfingersonce,twice,andthenlevelsmewithadeterminedlook,histonguepokingtheinsideofhischeek.
“Ithinkweshouldpracticenow,beforeIgo.”
“Um,okay?”IswearIknowanotherword,butmymindislikearecordskippingonthememoryofhiminmykitchen.Holdingthatstupidmug,smellinglikelemonandwhiskey.Thewayhisvoiceraspedandthethingshesaid.Howhisbodypressedtomineagainstthekitchencounter,hischestagainstmyback,thecountertopdiggingintomyhips.
Afterheleftlastnight,Itossedandturnedinbed,thesheetstwistedaroundmybarelegs,myhandlowonmystomachbeneaththesoftcottonofmyt-shirt.Ilingeredthere,fingertipsdraggingbackandforthjustbelowmybellybutton,anacheIhadn’tfeltinages.
“Becausehere’sthething,LaLa,”hesays.IbreatheindeepthroughmynoseandhopewhatIwasjustthinkingaboutisn’twrittenallovermyface.“Ifwedon’tpracticetoday,you’regoingtothinkaboutitallweek.”
He’sright.Iwillabsolutelythinkaboutitallweek.Iwillfixate,freakmyselfout,andprobablystartstresseatingLayla’speppermintmochabrowniesuntiltherearenoneleftforcustomers.Shejuststartedmakingthose,too.
“Okay?”Iclearmythroatandlookforotherwords.“Okay.”
Great.
Lukaisnotbothered.“I’mgoingtokissyouandwe’regoingtodealwithitliketwomature,consentingadults.AndwhenIcomeback,andwhenEvelynishere,youwon’tbeworkedupaboutit.Anditwillbefine.”
ExceptIamnotamatureadult,andIdecideI’mgoingtokisshimfirst.
Likerippingoffabandaid.Igripthecollarofhiscoatwithbothhandsandusethemomentumtopressmyselfupandintohim.Theforceofithasourmouthsmeetingawkwardly,mybottomlipslightlyonhischin,ournosespressedatanawkwardangle.Idon’ttrytocorrectit,don’tlinger,anddropbacktotheflatsofmyfeet,handsstillcurledaroundhim.
“There,”Isay,pleasedwithmyself.IfeellikeI’vefinallygainedtheupperhand.Ikissedhimfirst.Ikissedhimanditwasfine.“Done.”
Heblinksatme,hishandcominguptopressagainsthismouth.“Whatwasthat?”hewhispers.
Ishrug.“Youwantedakiss.Igaveyouakiss.”
“Whatyougavemeisaconcussion.Isthathowyoukiss?”Helooksgenuinelyconcerned.
Irollmyeyes.“Stop.”
“I’llprobablyneedsomedentalwork.”Hepullshishandawaylikehe’scheckingforblood.
“Whathappenedtodealingwiththislikemature,consentingadults?”
Hehideshissmilebehindthepalmofhishand.“Okay,you’reright.
Let’strythatagain.”
“Again?Ithinkthatwasfine.”
“Itwasnotfine,”hefiresback,gazelingeringonmymouth.He’sahealthydoseofstubborn,theamberthatusuallylightsuphiseyesdimmedtoawarm,chocolatebrown.“Ifanyoneseesuskisslikethat,they’llknowinhalfasecondwearefullofshit.”It’safairpoint.
“Okay,thenyoutry.”
“Iamtryingtotry,”hemutters,exasperated.Heheavesadeepbreaththroughhisnoseandconsidersme,eyesdark.There’sasinglebeamoflightthatfiltersinfromthewindowsatthetopofthebarn,earlymorningsunshinebeginningtowanderitswayacrossthefloor.Thelightjustbarelycatchesanoldboxofgarland,ashowerofgoldexplodinglikeakaleidoscopeasthesunshimmersthroughthestrands.
Lukadoesn’tsayanything.Iwatchashesearchesmyfaceinthedancinglight,thegoldreflectedinhisgaze.He’slookingforsomethinginmyexpressionandwhenhefindsit,therightsideofhismouthhitchesupinasmile,asmoothpullofhislips.It’smysmile–thisone.Ihoarditlikealltheothers,bundlethemupandputtheminthesamedrawerasmycardboardpinetrees
Inanachinglyslowmovement,heleansforwardandbrusheshisnoseagainstmine.Ikeepmyeyesopeneventhoughitmakeseverythingalittlebitblurry,goldsparklestwinklingattheedges.Closelikethis,withhisbottomlipjustbarelybrushingmine,Icancounteveryindividualfreckleonhisnose.Aburstofthemonthebridge,lessastheyfanoutbelowhiseyes.Oncewhenwewereyounger,wegotdrunkofftequilaandIdrewconstellationsonhisskin,hoveringoverhimwithmyhaircurtainedaroundus.Iremembertheweightofhiseyesonme,sprawledacrossmylivingroomfloor,howhecurledhisfingersaroundmyanklelikehewasholdinghimselfsteady.
Hecatchesmymouthinakissthesamemomenthisglovedhandsfindmine,fingersgentlyskimminguntilourpalmspresstogether.I’mfrustratedbythethickmaterialcoveringhisskin,unabletofeeltheheatof
him,thecallusesonhispalms.HesqueezesonceasIshufflefurtherintohim,arewardforgoodbehavior.WhenIsigh,hislipssmileintomine,acurveofhismouththatIwanthimtoimprinteverywhere.Intomycheek,myneck,thesoftskinofmythighs.Itfeelslikethebeginningofeveryargumentwe’veeverhad.Me,impatient.Luka,teasing.It’sareassurancethatdespitetippingthescaleofourrelationship,we’restillus.
Lukaholdsmethere,ourhandstwinedtogether,hislipssoftandsearching.Likethis,hesayswithhismouthagainstmine.Slowly.It’sthedeliciousnessofakissthatisn’tintendedformore.Patient.Chaste.
Itdrivesmeinsane.
HehumsunderhisbreathwhenIslipmyhandfromhistofindthenapeofhisneck,atinysoundofsurprisethathasmecatchinghisbottomlipbetweenmine.Iwanttopullatitwithmyteeth,seeifthatsounddeepens,sharpens.Iwanttoshiftmyhandupandtanglemyfingersinhishair,useittoanglehismouthagainstmine.Iwanttountangleallhisgentlecalmuntilhe’sasimpatientasIam.
Hepullsbackinstead.Eyesclosed,hehoverswithhisnoseagainstmycheek,foreheadrestingagainstmytemple.Ican’ttellifmyhandsareshakingorhis.
“Um,”Iclearmythroat.Iwetmybottomlipwithmytongueandtastehazelnutcoffee.Itis,quitefrankly,alottohandle.Iclearmythroatforasecondtime.“Ithinkthatwillwork.”
HepullsawaycompletelyandIkeepmyeyesontheboxofgarlandinthecorner.Thesunhasmovedpastitnow,castithalfinshadow.HeletsgoofmyhandandIcurlmyfingersintofists.
“Yeah,thatwasgood.”Igathermycourageandlookupathim,watchingasherunshishandsoverhishair,fronttobackandbackagain.
Helookslikehejustgothomefromthegrocerystore.Likehehadtostoponthewaytofillupthegastank.Calm.Unaffected.
Businessasusual.
Itellmyselftogetittogether.
“I’llseeyouinaweek?”
Lukanodsandwandersovertothedoor,bendingatthewaistandtinkeringwithsomethingneartheground.“I’llcallyouwhenI’mleavingthecity.”
“Great.”
Heunfoldshisbodyfromhiscrouchandpullsonthehandle.Thedoorslidesbacksmoothly.AburstofsunshinefloodstheroomandIcurlmyarmsaroundmyself.
“Wantmetowalkyouback?”
“Nah,”Igesturetowardsthepileofdecorations,thefiftythousandlightsthataretangledtogether.“I’mgoingtoworkinhereforalittlebit.”
Idon’tcareifthereisanentirefamilyofraptorshiddeninthisbarn.Ineedsometimetomyselftounpackthatkissandthenpackitrightbackupagain.
Hehesitatesinthedoorway.“I’llseeyousoon.”
Iwavehimoffandbusymyselfwithunpacking.It’stheexacttypeofmindlessmovementIneed,toofocusedonlightsandcandycanesandsignpoststothinkthroughthatkissinanysortofdetail.Itwasagoodkiss,yes,butonlybecausewewerebothdeterminedtomakethiswork.
Becausewe’rebothcommittedtomakingthisfakerelationshipseemasrealaspossible.JustbecauseIfeltitallthewaytomytoes–thatdoesn’thavetomeananything.
Bythetimealltheboxesarestackedandsorted,IhavesuccessfullyconvincedmyselfthatIamasunaffectedasLuka.
Icallitamorningwhenmystomachbeginstorumble.Onmywalkbacktotheoffice,Ituckmyhandsintomycoatpockets.It’sstartingtogetcolder,thewindscomingdownoffthefoothillsandwhippingacrossthefields.Ifwe’relucky,we’llgetsomesnowwhenEvelynishere.Ipicturewhatit’slikeoutonthefieldswhenthatfirstlayerofwhitekissesthebranchesofthetrees.Thecoldstillness,theheavyexpectationinthesky.
Thesoftflutterofsnowflakesastheylandonmycheeks,mylashes,thetipsofmyears.IfIcouldliveoutinthefieldsduringthesnowfall,Iwould.
Iflexmyfingersinmypocketsandfeelthesharpedgeoffirmpaper,apieceofstringcatchingonmypinky.Ipullitoutandsmile.
Apine-scentedairfreshenerintheshapeofatree,fromthegasstationjustdowntheroad.TEN
“YOUKISSED?”
IstudiouslykeepmyattentiononthetrayofpeppermintbarkandnotLayla.Ihadn’tmeanttostartourconversationwiththatlittlebombshell,butI’vebeenholdingitinfordaysandIneededtotellsomeone.Somuchfornotfixating.
Lukahastextedmemultipletimessinceheleft.AselfieofhimwithapumpkincannolifromtheItaliandelionhisstreet,alookofhorrorpullingatthecornersofthosegoldeneyes,thestraight,sharpcutofhisjaw.AdiatribeabouthownothingissacredandcannolisdeservetobeconsumedhowGodintended,withfrieddough,ricotta,andchocolatechips.
Anotherselfietwentyminuteslaterofhiseyesclosedinabsolutebliss,cannoliwrapperempty,atouchofpumpkinclingingtothecornerofhismouth.Ichangedhiscontactphotoimmediately.
AtextaskingifI’vechangedthepasswordtoHBOMax,andoops,no,hejustusedtheincorrectamountofexclamationpoints.DidIseethattheyjustaddedthefullcollectionofHarryPottermovies?Aquicknotethatheleftpopcornjammedinthecabinetbythestovewhenhebroughtdinnerovertheothernight.Movietheaterbutter,noneofthatkettlecorncrap.
ApictureofhimandCharlieouttolunch,bothoftheirfacestwistedinexaggerated,comicalfrowns.Wishyouwerewithus,ithadsaid.
Andavoicememoremindinghimselftopickupfreshtomatoesandchickenstock,voiceoutofbreath,theheavysoundofweightsinthebackground.ThatonehadmepicturingLukasweatyandflushed,hairdampjustbehindhisears.Armsflexingandreleasing.IlistenedtothatvoicememotwicebeforeIdeleteditcompletelyfrommyphone,concernedwithmyself.
Atextmessageseventeenminuteslaterwithanapology,hehadmeanttosendittohimselfandIjusthappenedtobeatthetopofhismessages.
Butwhilehe’sthinkingaboutit–doIneedhimtopickupanythingfromthegroceryonhiswaybackintotown?
Allofthem,completelynormal.Notasingleindicationthathewasthinkingaboutourkiss.
“Yes,”Ipickupamalletandsmackthepeppermintbarkonceinthemiddle.ItcracksandIhitittwicemore.NowIknowwhyLaylaisalwaysmakingseasonalchocolatebark.It’sverycathartic.“Butitwasapretendkiss.”
“Ah,okay.Apretendkiss.”LaylashufflesacrossthekitchenasIcontinuetopoundthebark.
WeconvertedanoldtractorshedintoacookingspaceandbakeryforLayla,theceilingslowinthebackwhereshedoesallhercooking,thefrontreplacedalmostentirelywithglass.Fullevergreenandbalsamtreespressinoneveryside,brushingupagainstthewindows.Whenit’sespeciallycold,thewindowsfrostatthebottomsandyoucanjustbarelymakeoutLaylabustlingbehindthecounter,traysofcookiesandbrowniesandtartsinneatlittlerowsineachdisplaycase.Mugsstuffedwithcandycanesandachalkboardwiththedailyspecial.Thediningspaceisfilledwithsmallredtoptableswithwalnutchairs,cozygreenboothsalongthewalls.Therearepicnictableswithspaceheatersjustoutfrontandtheyspilloutintothefields.Ilovethatthisplaceistuckedawaylikealittlegingerbreadhouseforourvisitorstodiscover.
IcameoverthismorningwithaboxofreplacementbulbsforthestringlightsBecketthungovertheweekendandquicklygotropedintopeppermintbarklabor.
Shecurlsherfingersaroundmyhandonthehammer.“Weneedthistobepeppermintbark,honey.Notpeppermintdust.”
Ireleasethemalletandfrownatthecountertop,collectingalittlepileofpeppermintandchocolatewithmyfingers.LaylapicksuponeofthebiggerpiecesIleftbehindandoffersittome.
“Explaintomewhatapretendkissentails.”
“Idon’tknow.Exactlywhatitsoundslike,Iguess,”IshrugandthinkofthesoundhemadewhenIputmyhandsinhishair.Thatlowlittlehum.Inibbleatmypeppermintbark.“Wethoughtitwouldbeagoodideatopracticekissingbeforewehaveanaudience.”
Laylagivesmealook.“Alright.Andsoyou,what?Youjustkissedeachother?”
“Yep.”
Laylasighsandreachesaroundme.Shegivesthepeppermintbarkanotherhardwhack.“You’renotgivingmeanythingtoworkwithhere.”
“Idon’tknowwhattotellyou.”
“Ineeddetails,obviously.”
“Likewhat?”
Laylagivesmealooklikeshewantstousethemalletonmyfingers.
“Likewhat,”shemutters.Sheputsthemalletdownandpropsherhandonherhip,siftingthroughthepeppermintbarkshardsuntilshefindsonetoherliking.“Didyoutalkaboutitfirst?Howlongdiditlast?Wastheretongue?Comeon,now.Don’tbeshy.”
It’snotthatI’mshy.I’mjustalittle…protective,Iguess.Rightnowitfeelslikemine–well,mineandLuka’s–andholdingitclosefeelsright.
“Itwas…fine.”
AtLayla’sslightlymurderouslook,Ifeelabitofthetensionreleasefrommyshoulders.Ihuffalaughthroughmynoseandreachforthebagswe’resupposedtobeputtingthisbarkinto.Notstuffingourfaceswith.
“Itwasanicekiss,”Iofferquietly,thinkingofthewaygolddancedacrosshisskin,howhispalmpressedtomineashetuggedmecloser,intothecurveofhisbody.Isigh.“Itwasareallynicekiss.”
“Anicekiss.”
“Yeah.”
Laylahumsunderherbreath,herinquisitionfading,athoughtfulgleamenteringhergazeasshecocksherheadtotheside.Shereachesforapairofscissorsanddragsthebladealongastrandofcherryred,theribboncurlingbeneathherfingers.
“Youknow,you’reallowedtoenjoyspendingtimewithLuka.”
“Iknow.IalwaysenjoytimewithLuka.”
“Imeant,”shetiestheribbonintoabowandrepeatstheaction,forestgreennailsmovingflawlesslythroughthemaneuver.“Imoremeantlike,youareallowedtoenjoykissinghim.Enjoypretending.”
Andthat’sjustit,isn’tit?Idolikethepretending.Toomuch,probably.
It’stheendofthepretendingthat’llbetheproblem.Thepartthatcomesafter.Ican’tstopthinkingaboutit,despiteLuka’splantojustcontinue
Welapseintosilence,thecrinkleofthebagsandthecurloftheribbontheonlysoundsbetweenus.Iamonceagaingratefulforworkthatkeepsmyhandsandbrainbusy.
“It’sbeenawhilesinceI’vehadanicekiss,”shesays,alittlebitwistful.
IthinkofherandJacob,hercurrentboyfriend.Thewayhiseyesstaystuckonhisphoneratherthananywherenearherwhenthey’retogether.Ifrownandreachforherhand,squeezingitonce.Shegivesmeatightsmileandsqueezesback.
Atimerbeepsinthebackground.Anothertrayofgoodiesreadytocomeoutoftheoven.Laylaisstilllookingatmethoughtfullyaftertheinterruption,rubbingherthumbbackandforthoverherbottomlip.
“What?”
Sheblinks,aslysmilecurlingherlips.“Iwouldhavepaidsomuchmoneytowatch.”
Isputteralaugh,cheeksflushingred.Sometimesshy,sweetLaylasurprisesme.Ipinchtheskinjustaboveherelbow.“Don’tmakethisweird.”
“Toolate,”shesing-songs,headingtowardstheovens.
I’MinthepharmacybrowsingnailpolishIabsolutelydon’tneedwhenGuspopsupinfrontofme,abagofpeanutbuttercupsclutchedinhishandandagoofysmilestretchedacrosshisface.He’sahandsomeguy,especiallywhenhesmiles,twotwindimplesappearinginhisscruff-coveredcheeks.There’sarumorgoingaroundtownthathehassomethinggoingonwithMabel,andIthinkthepairofthemareadorabletogether.
HereachesintothefrontpocketofhisEMSuniformandpullsoutastackofhaphazardlyfoldedbills,holdingthemouttomewithtwofingers.
Itakethestackofgreasybillsafteramoment’shesitation.HemusthavegonetoMatty’sforlunch.“What’sthis?”
Gusleansbackagainsttheconcealerdisplay,anelbowproppedupagainstvariousshadesoffoundation.Heunwrapsasinglepeanutbuttercupcarefullyandthenoffersmethebag.Ishakemyhead,myhandstilloccupiedwiththestackofbillsheldbetweenthumbandforefinger.
“Gus,whydidyouhandmeawadofcash?”
Hesmilesatmearoundamouthofchocolate.“It’syourcut.”
Igroan.“Pleasedon’ttellmeyou’regrowingsomethingonthefarmwithoutmyknowledge.”
Helaughs,knockingoveranentirerowoftinyglassbottles.“It’snotthat.Jeez,Stella.”
“Thenwhatisit?”
“Thebettingboard.”
“Okay,”Iwaitforhimtocontinue,buthejustkeepssmilingatme,anotherpeanutbuttercupinhisgiantpawofahand.
“Yousee,Ihadafoolproofequation,”heholdsuponehandbetweenuslikehe’spresentinginfrontofalecturehall,fingersspreadwideashelaysouthiswords.“Distance,timing,andgoodol’fashionedtension.ThatpictureyoupostedonInstagramofyououtinthefieldshelpedtoo.Butthatwasmoreastrokeofluck.Can’ttakeanycreditforthat.”
Istruggletokeepupwiththeconversation,mymindgrabbingontothatlastpart.Ihadpostedapictureonthefarmaccountofmeinthefields,yes,butthatwasoveramonthago.Idon’ttypicallyfeaturemyself,butithadbeenaperfectdayworkingquietlyoutamongstthetreesandIhaddirtallovermyhandsandcheeks.Itwassilly,impulsive.Twobrightblueeyeslaughingthroughamaskofdirt.CheaperthanaSephoramudmask,Ihadwritten.
“Gus.”IsuddenlyunderstandwhyLaylawantedtomurdermewithaspatulayesterday.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Heopenshismouthtorespond,butwe’reinterruptedbyDanestrollingdowntheaisleinfullSheriffregalia,hattuckedunderhisarm.Hetakesonelookatmeandfrowns,eyebrowsslantedlow.
“Aword,Stella.Ifyoudon’tmind.”
Hisvoicegritsalongtheedges,asuresignthatI’mabouttogetyelledat.
“Uh-oh.Someoneisintrouble.”
IshootalookatGus.Heshrugsandturnsonhisheel,headingtowardsthecheck-outcountersandleavingbehindhismessofmake-up.Coward.Ihopehepaysforthosepeanutbuttercupshe’sdestroying.IalmosttellDanehe’sabouttoshopliftsowecanpostponewhateverthisconversationis.
IshovethewadofcashinmybackpocketandgivetheSheriffmyfullattention,watchingashisfingersdrumonthebillofhishat.
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutthebettingpool,ifthat’swhatyou’reworriedabout,”IcrossmyarmsovermychestandwatchasDane’smustachetwitches.“Soifyou’reheretoquestionmeaboutanunderground–“
“WhyamIfindingoutaboutpropertydamageonthefarmfromLuka?”
Iblink.
“Hestoppedbythestationafewdaysago,saysyou’vebeenhavingtrouble.Afencecollapsed,andnowpumpkinsarebeingsmashed?”
Damn,hemusthavestoppedbyonhiswaybacktoNewYork.IscratchatmyeyebrowandfightnottofidgetunderDane’ssteadystare.“Iwasgonnacomedowntothefarm,butIspottedyouinhere.What’sgoingonStella?Whydidn’tyoucometome?”
“Ididn’t–Ididn’tthinkitwasabigdeal.”Andit’snot.Or,itwasn’t.
Separately,it’salltinythings.Thefence,thepumpkins,thestolensignpostfromthemainroad.ThemisseddeliveriesandthebarndoorleftwideopenbackinAugust,halfoursuppliesgettingsoakedbyasummerthunderstorm.MybrowcreasesinthoughtandIrubmypalmsagainstmythighs.
“Don’tyouhaveyourmagazinehighlightcomingup?”Idon’tcorrecthimandexplainit’sasocialmediafeature,notamagazine.Idon’thavetheenergytoexplainTikToktohimrightnow.ItriedtoshowhimInstagramonceandhefrownedsofiercelyIthoughthisfacemightfreezethatway.Hewasgrumblingunderhisbreathaboutcatfiltersforclosetoamonth.
“Evenmorereasontomakesureeverythingisbuttonedup.”
“Youthinkit’sconnected?”
Lukahadimpliedsomethingsimilar,andIcan’tsayIhaven’tbeenthinkingaboutit.Itdoesseemlikeanawfulamountofbadluck,butwhatcouldpossiblybetheexplanation?Ican’timagineapackofhighschoolerswouldbesomethodical.AndI’mnotsurewhoelsewould.Idon’thaveanyenemiesinthistown.
Herubshispalmacrosshisjawandpeersovermyhead,grayeyesscanningthepharmacy.It’semptyasfarasIcantell,Cindysomewhereinthebackworkingonrestock.“Idon’tknow,”hesaysquietly.“ButIthinkit’sworthlookin’into.”
Hesettleshishatbackonhishead,tippingthebrimupwithhispointerfingersoIcanstillseehisface.“I’llstopbythefarmthisafternoonandtakealookaround.”Hepausesandshuffleshisfeet.“WillLaylabethere,youthink?”
Inarrowmyeyes.“Why?”
Alightblushclimbshischeeks.“Iwouldn’tsaynotooneofherbearclawsifthat’swhatyou’reasking.”
Ihuffalaugh.“Yeah,she’llbethere.I’llletherknowyou’restoppingbyandshe’llfixyouupwithsomethingnice.”
“Noneedtogothroughanytrouble,”hemumbles.
“Notrouble,”Ismileandcurlmyhandthroughhiselbow,towinghimtothefrontofthestoreandensuringhecan’tgetaway.IhavesomethingI’vebeenmeaningtodiscusswithhimandnowistheperfecttime.“Now,whileweareonthesubjectofthingswe’vekeptfromoneanother,I’venoticedyou’vebeenspendinganawfullotoftimeoveratthepizzashop.”
Dane’sblushgoesfromalightpinktoafierce,burningredinamatterofseconds.Icackleandtugonhisarm,justshortofhoppingupanddowninglee.Iknewit.
“Iknewit,”Ipokehiminthechest,rightabovehisbadge.“Iknewit,Iknewit,Iknewit.”
“Youknownothing,cinnamonstick.”Heswatsmeaway,butIcanseethathe’sfightingbackasmile.Hishandfindsthebrimofhishatagainandhepullsitdownlowbeforepushingitup,unsurewhattodowithhimself.
Heclearshisthroatandpeersatmeoutofthecornerofhiseye.“Ilikethepizza.”
“Sure,”Ihum.“Andithasnothingtodowithacertainhandsomepizzashopowner,huh?”
I’vecaughtDaneloiteringoutsideofMatty’sacoupleoftimes.Ididn’tthinkanythingofituntilIspottedhimstandingjustoutsidethewindow,gazinglonginglyatthehandsomepizzamanbehindthecounter.IfollowedhiminandlistenedtohimstutteroverhisorderforapepperonipizzaandsomegarlicknotsandIknew
“TheyhaveagoodspecialonTuesdays.”
“Thatcertainlyexplainswhyyou’rethereSaturday,Monday,andThursdayaswell,then.”
“Easy.OrI’mgoingtobetheonesmashingyourpumpkins.”
Ibitebackonmylaughandguideusdownthestreet,backtothesheriff’sstationandcoincidentally,thepizzashop.IhaveafewerrandslefttorunwhileI’mintown,butgivingDaneagentlenudgeintherightdirectionisadetourI’mhappytomake.Hegrumblesunderhisbreathasherealizeswherewe’rewalking,butkeepsmyhandtuckedinthecrookofhisarm,pattingitabsently.
“Whendoesyourcontestladyarrive?Theonewhoisdoingthestoryforthefarm.”He’sofficiallyswitchedoffsheriffmodeandisaskingasafriend.
“Aboutaweekandahalf.TheMondayafterThanksgiving.She’llstaythroughtheweekendandleavethatSunday.”
“Feelingready?”
Iam,surprisingly.Mostofthedecorationsandlightsareup.TheonlythingIstillneedtodoisreplacetheburnt-outbulbsfromthestringsthatlacethroughthefieldsandplacethebowsonthegates.Wemadethedecisionlastyeartostartthelightsontheroadandweavethembacktotheveryedgeofourpropertyline.Atnight,everyinchofourfarmglows.
Beckett,Layla,andIdidadryrunlastnight,illuminatingeverythingassoonasthesundippedlowenoughtocasteverythinginafaintpurpleglow.Thesecondthelightstwinkledalive,Ifeltmybreathcatchinmythroat.LaylahadsmiledeartoearandevenBeckettgaveanodofapproval.
Everythingwasfallingintoplace.
“Ifeelready.Thefarmlooksgreat.Ithasmeintheholidaymood.”
Danesnortsatthat.“Ithinkyou’reintheholidaymoodtwenty-four,seven.Three-sixty-five.”
It’strue.I’vealwayslovedChristmasandeverythingthatcomeswithit.
It’stheonetimeofyearwhereeverythingfeelslikemagic.Hopeful.
Earnestandkind.Thewholeworldslowsdownand…believesforonce.
MomandIwoulddothesamethingeveryChristmas,nomatterwherewewere.Thelarge,colorfulbulbsonthetreebythefireplace.Thick,redstockingsinthehallway.PieforbreakfastonChristmasmorningandiceskatingintheafternoon.Istillkeepthosetraditions,eventhoughshe’snothere.It’slikeholdingapieceofherclose,thesweetacheofitalwayssharpestinthecenterofmychest.
“IthinkyouhavetobeifyouownaChristmastreefarm.”Ishakemyheadtoclearthecobwebsofthepastandsteadymyselfwithadeepbreath.It’sbeenalmost…god,it’salmostbeentenyearssincemymompassedaway.Iliketothinkeverythinghappensforareason,butI’mstill–Istilldon’tunderstandwhyshehadtogososoon.
We’reoutsideofthepizzashopnow,thelightfromitshazy,humidwindowsglowingwarmandbright.IlookatDaneoutofthecornerofmyeye.Idoubtherealizesthathe’stheonethatstoppedushere,focusedonthemanworkingattheovensbehindthecounter.Theairaroundussmellslikeoreganoandtomatosauce,asiren’ssongspillingoutontothepavement.
InudgeDaneoncewithmyshoulder.“Yougonnagoin?”
Heshrugs,alittlehelpless,andIsqueezehisarm.Ionlywanttheverybestthingsforthisman.Thismanwhochosetobeafathertomewhenmyownrefused.Hescratcheshischinandthenfusseswiththecollarofhisshirt.
“Howdidyou-”Heclearshisthroat.“Howdidyou,youknow,withLuka?”
Foronemortifyingsecond,IthinkDaneisaskingaboutourkissinthebarn.“What?”
Heclearshisthroatagain,alittlebitlouderthistime.“Howdidyoutellhimhowyoufeel?Howdidyouaskhimto–totakeachanceonyou?”
Somethinginmychestshiftsatthat,alittlepluckthatIfeelreverberatedowntothesolesofmyfeet.Isqueezehisarmharderuntilhelooksatme.
“You’renotachance,Dane,”Iwanttoshakehisshoulders,getthemegaphonehekeepsinthepassengerseatofhiscruiserandscreamitinhisface.Instead,IsettleforawhisperthatwobblesaroundtheedgesandthebestsmileIcanmanagewhenmythroatfeelssotight.“You’reasurething.”
ITUCKmyselfbehindalightpoleacrossthestreetandwatchasDanewandershiswayintothepizzashop,pretendingtolookatcannolisintheglasscaseatthefrontbeforeheshuffleshiswayovertotheovens.
Shouldersbyhisears,hefidgets,hishattuckedbackunderhisarm.Matty
halfturns,abouttoaskafterhisorderI’msure,andtheireyescatch.
Matty’ssmilesplitsintosomethingwideandbeautiful,andDane’sshouldersrollback,hisforearmsfindingthecounter.Finallyrelaxed.
Asurething.
IhidemysmilebehindmyfingertipsandwandermywaybackupMainStreet,shootingLaylaatexttoletherknowthatDanewillbestoppingbylatertotakealookaround.Thewindkicksuparoundmyanklesandtwistsaroundmycalvesuntilitliftstheendsofmyjacket,curlingundermysweaterandbrushingahelloatthesmallofmyback.It’smyfavoritetimeofyear,thisin-betweenfallandwinter.Itfeelslikethewholeworldisholdingitsbreath.Stillnessandsweetnessallrolledintoone.
I’mnotwatchingwhereI’mgoing,toocaughtupintrackingmybootsagainstthepavement,theblacksharpagainstthebrownsandcreamsoffallenleaves.They’realmostallgonenow,theonlybranchesburstingwithlifearetheonesonthefarm.Sturdylittleswipesofgreendottedallalongthefieldsandhillside.AsplashofredhereandtherefromthehollytreesthatBeckettplantedpurelybecausetheylookedpretty.
Myphonebuzzeswithatext.IcheckitandseeastringofmessagesfromCharlie.
Charlie:Don’tthinkI’mgoingtoforgetaboutyoubringingLukatodinner.
Charlie:Wediscussedyouatlengthduringlunchtheotherday.
That’sinteresting.Iwonderwhattheytalkedabout.I’mjusttappingoutareplywhenanothermessagepopsup.
Charlie:Won’tkissandtell,though.
Irollmyeyes.
Charlie:Also,isn’tthisamazing?
ApicturepopsupofmydadfacedownontheThanksgivingtable,exceptCharliehasaddeddancingturkeysalloverhim.Iimmediatelysaveittomyphone.
I’mjusttypingoutmyresponsewhenIslamintoabody,themomentumalmosttakingmetotheground.Istumbleandcatchmyselfonalightpole.Unfortunately,thepersonI’verunintoisnotsolucky.
IreachoutahandtohelpMr.Hewettup,cheeksblazinginembarrassment.It’snotlikemetobesocareless,thoughIsupposeIhavealotonmymind.
“Mr.Hewett,I’msosorry.”He’sbusyrearranginghisglassesonhisface,brushingoffbrownleavesfromtheedgeofhiscoat.“Ididn’tseeyou.
Iwasn’twatchingwhereIwasgoing.”
Hescowlsupatmefrombehindtheslightlymagnifiedlensesofhistortoiseshellglasses,grayeyesnarrowedindisdain.Hisjacketisfadedattheelbows,well-lovedandwornoften,thecollarstickingupunevenononeside.Hispatchygrayhairisabitofamess,tousledbythewindnowwhippinginearnest.He’sasmallman,butheholdshimselftall,chintiltedupindefiance.
It’sthelookonhisfacethathasmetakinghalfastepback,theaggressivenessout-of-placeonthistinysidestreet.Itfeelsangrierthananysidewalkbump-indeserves.IsuddenlyrememberthestrollLukaandItookthroughdowntownlastweek,withMr.Hewettwatchingusfromthestepsofthelibrary,thatsamefuriouslookonhisface.IhadthoughtithadsomethingtodowithLukaandmetogether,butitseemslikeImightbethecommondenominator.
“I’mreallysorry,”Isayagain.Ihaven’tbeentothelibraryinages,anditseemslikeI’vemissedsomethings.LikewhateverImighthavedonetopissoffWillHewett.“CanI–“
“‘Itisbettertohaveyourheadintheclouds,andknowwhereyouare,’”herecites,voiceoddlyformal,abitnasally.“‘Thantobreathetheclearer
atmospherebelowthem,andthinkyouarein
paradise.’”Iblinkathim,confused.“Um.”Isthataninsult?Awarning?
“That’s
Henry
David
Thoreau.”
Apparently,it’sHenryDavidThoreau.
IwasgoingtooffertobuyMr.Hewettahotchocolatetoapologizeforbulldozinghim,butnowIjustwanttoquicklyremovemyselffromthisoddconversation.Idomybesttobekindtoeveryoneinthistown,gratefulfortheirroleinhelpingmeputmyselfbacktogetherafterthedeathofmymom.ButI’mnotsureIcantolerateastiltedconversationaboutNewEnglandtranscendentalism.Notevenforapepperminthotchocolatewithextrawhippedcream.
“Thatis…nice,Ithink?”WhenMr.Hewettonlyofferssilentcontemptasaresponse,Ishovemyhandsdeepinmyjacketpocketsandlookforanescaperoute.Thepineairfreshenerfromtheotherdayisstillthere,andI
gripitlikealifeline,edgesdiggingintomypalm.“Alright,well.Ihaveafewthingslefttodointown.I’llstopby-”Iamnotgoingtolietothisman.
“I’llseeyouaroundtown,I’msure.”
Ihurrydownthestreet,carefulthistimetonotewhereI’mgoingandifthereisanyoneelseonthesidewalk.Whatastrangelittleman.Isearchformyphoneinmyoversizedpockets,intendingtofinallytextCharliebackwhenitsuddenlycomestolife,buzzinginmyhand.IsmilewhenIseethepictureofLukaandthepumpkincannolionmyscreenandswipetoanswer.
“Hey,Iwasjustabouttotextyou.”
“Ohgod,isshetherealready?”
Ifrownatthewayhisvoicesoundsslightlyoutofbreath.Likehe’srunningor–Iheartheclinkofacoffeecupinthebackground,thefadedtonesofsomesportsshow–pacinghisapartment.
Ilookaroundmeatthealmostcompletelyabandonedsidestreet.Justmeandacoupleofsparrows,collectingcrumbsfromanoldhalf-eatenbagel.“What?No,Evelynisn’thereforanotherweekorso.TheSaturdayafterThanksgiving.”
“NotEvelyn,”hebreathesout,andIimaginehimscratchingatthebackofhishead,justwherehishairstartstocurl.“Mymother.”
Iswallowbackalaughathisdeeplyforbiddingtone.MainlybecauseIknowhowmuchLukaloveshismom.HisrelationshipwithherislikeaHallmarkcard.Hedoesn’tgoadaywithoutcallingheratfive-thirtyonthedotsoshedoesn’thavetoeatherdinneralone.Oncehegotcaughtupinameeting,butstillmanagedtocallherfromthehallway
“What’sgoingonwithyourmom?”
“Idon’twantyoutopanic,Stella.”
UneasescratchesatthebackofmythroatandIswallowaroundituntilIcanmanagemyvoice.Ifanything’shappenedtoLuka’smom-memoriesriselikeaswellingtide.Hospitalvisits,prescriptionbottles,howsmallandbrittlemymomlookedattheend,stilltryingsohardtosmileforme.
“Luka,”Ican’tseemtocatchmybreath.Ipressshakingfingertipstomychest.“Isyourmomokay?”
“Ah,shit.Yeah,Stella.She’sokay.”Alltheairwhooshesoutofme.IfeellikeIneedtobendatthewaistandrestmyhandsonmyknees.“She’sokay.I’msorry.Thatwas…notagreatlead-in.”
“Ithinkyou’veknownmelongenoughtounderstandthattellingmenottopanicwillonlycausemetopanic.”
IswearIcanhearhissmileoverthephone.Iclosemyeyestoimagineit.Alittlebitrueful,tuggingsharplyontheleftsideofhisbottomlip.
“You’reright.I’msorry.”
“Alright,so,”Iheadtowardsthebookstore–mylaststopbeforeheadinghome.AlexcalledyesterdaytoletmeknowhejustreceivedashipmentofAChristmasCarolboundinfabricwithgoldfoiletching.Iwanttogetsomefortheoffice,andoneforEvelyn’sroomatthebedandbreakfast.I’lladdsomecookiesfromLaylaandafreshbagofcoffeefromMs.Beatrice.MaybeoneoftheminitreesthatBeckettgrowsinthegreenhousebehindhishouse.ButLukaisdistractingmewith…whateverthisis.“What’sgoingon?”
“Mymomknows,”heoffersinexplanation.Ihearthetvinthebackgroundclickoff,andtheheavygustofasighashecollapsesintohiscouch.“Iunderestimatedthepowerofthephonetree.Also,BetseyJohnson.”
Mybootscrunchoverleavesalongthepathway,birdsscatteringasIwalk.“That’snotaproblemthough,right?Sheknowsit’s–“Iglancearoundmeattheemptysidewalk.Idropmyvoice.“Sheknowsit’snotreal.”
Lukaissilentontheotherendofthephone,andIfeelthatuneasyfeelingagain.
“Luka.”
LyingtoEvelynisonething.Thetownanother.Butlyingtohismom,ofallpeople.Thatfeelslikeasteptoofar.Ineveranticipatedlyingtohisfamily.Ican’tbelievehe’sevenconsideringit.Themanwhobuysasweatshirtwithanangrybadgeroniteveryyearandwearsitunironicallyontheweekendsbecauseitmakeshismomhappy.
“Luka,”Isayagain,thistimewithahintofpleading.“Tellmeyoudidn’t.”
“Ifbydidn’t,youmeanIdidn’tsayanythingwhenshecalledmeinrapid-fireItaliantotellmethatshewasbringingyoumanicottiandlasagna,thenyes,youwouldbecorrect.”IheartheclinkofacoffeecupagainandIfightnottochangedirectionandheadtothebarinstead.“Shewas–shewasreallyexcited,Stella.Icouldn’ttellherwe’rejustfakingit.”
“That’sexactlywhyyoushouldhavedoneit!Ifshefindsoutwe’relyingtoher,she’llbefurious.”Worse,she’llbehurt.Ican’tbeartodisappointhismom.Ican’thaveherlookatmedifferentlyafterallofthis.“Luka,thisisamess.”
“Lookatitthisway.Ifwetellherthisisfake,she’lltellhersisters,yeah?”That’strue.Luka’sauntsarealwaysaroundandtheykeepexactlynothingfromoneanother.IonceheardhisAuntGiannatellhismomaboutherhemorrhoidcream.“AndmyAuntSofiawillabsolutelytellCindyCroswell.TheyplaybridgetogethereveryotherSunday.”
Iscratchatmyeyebrowandfightnottoscreamintothesky.NeverinmylifehaveIhadmorechildishimpulsesinthespanofasinglemonth.“Idon’tknow,thisis–“
“It’llbefine,LaLa.”
Itrytoassuremyselfwiththecalmconfidenceinhisvoice,butit’sdifficult.Itactuallyonlypissesmeoffmore.It’llbefine.We’lljustcontinue.
It’snotabigdeal.Hisnonchalanceovereverysingledetailisfrustrating.
He’snottheonewitheverythingtolosehere.
Itrytoexplain.“Ijustdon’twanthertothinkofmedifferently,isall.
Attheendofallofthis.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Whenwe–“IglancearoundthestreetagaintomakesureI’malone.
“Attheendofallthis,whenwearenolongerfakedating.Idon’twanthertobehurt.”
Hesighs,frustrationaroundtheedges,hisdeepvoicerumblingabit.Iimaginehiminhisapartmentwithhisfeetkickeduponthecoffeetable,hiscupofcoffeerestingonhisknee.“Wetalkedaboutthisalready,Stella.
Wedon’thavetosayanythingtoanyone.”
He’sunbelievable.“Wewillabsolutelyneedtosaysomethingtoyourmotherwhenshe’sinvitingherson’sgirlfriendtofamilydinners.”
“OrmaybeI’lltakeadvantageofthefactthatyou’rebeingguiltedintoconsistentlyattendingfamilydinners.Finally.”
Thisisn’ttheconversationIwanttobehaving.IhaveenoughonmyplaterightnowwithoutLuka’slaissez-faireattitudetowardsthemostimportantrelationshipinmylife.It’slikehedoesn’tevencarewhathappensafterallofthis,doesn’tcarewhatpeoplethinkofus–thinkofme.
Angryandalittlebithurt,Ipickupmypaceonthesidewalkandblinkatthefrustratedtearsburningatthecornersofmyeyes.I’vealwaysbeenanangrycrier,nomatterhowhardItrytostopmyself.AnditonlymakesmemoreupsetasItrudgealongthesidewalk.Iknowthiswholethingwasmyideaandaconsequenceofmyactions,butLukaisn’t–he’snottakingthefalloutseriously.
“Alright,well,I’matthebookstoresoIhavetogo,”Ifib.Thebookstoreisatleastthreemoreblocksdownthestreet.“YouknowAlexdoesn’tlikepeopletalkingonthephoneintheshelves.”
“Stella,wait.”
“I’llcallyoulater.”
Idon’twaitforhimtorespond,endingthecallandtossingmyphoneinmypocketsoI’mnottemptedtoreadwhateverstringoftextmessageshedecidestosendthrough.Lukahasneverbeenthetypeofpersontoletthingslie.Unfortunatelyforusbothprobably,Iabsolutelyam.
Rightoncue,myphonebuzzes.Iignoreitandkeepwalking.
ELEVEN
THERE’SacarwaitinginmydrivewaywhenIfinallymakeithome,astackofbrandnewbooks,andaself-indulgentpepperonipizzaonmypassengerseat.MattyhadbeenwalkingonairwhenIstoppedinbeforeheadinghome,hummingunderhisbreathashepulledpizzafromtheoven.IthadbeenenoughtotemporarilyliftthelittlestormcloudthatsettledovermyshouldersfollowingLuka’scall.
Nowthough,IfeelrumblesinthedistanceasIwatchLuka’smomclimboutofherbrightredKia,astackofTupperwareinherarmsandagrinonherface.It’sastrangething–tofeelbothcripplingguiltandheartwarmingflatteryinthesamebreath.ButImanageallthesame,raisingmyhandinawaveasIsigh.
Luka’smomisstunninglybeautifulwithrichchocolatebrownhairthattumblesdownherback.Shehasstreaksofgrayjustbehindherearswithlightgrayeyestomatch.I’veheardthekidsintowntalkingabouther
“spookyeyes”andhowshemissesabsolutelynothing.TherumoristhatthelittleItaliandollthatsitsontheedgeofherdeskinhereighth-gradeclassroomisaspiritobject.Itletsherwatchherclasswhenherbackisturnedtotheboard.It’sinsaneandhystericalandLukaboughthismomthreemoreafterhefoundout.
She’sintimidatinginthewayallgoodteachersare–quiet,knowing,andsure.She’llletyouknowwhenyou’renotreachingyourfullpotential,andthenhugyouthroughit.Everythingisalesson,everymomentisanopportunitytolearn.LukalikestocomplainabouthowshemadehimwritereportsonholidaytvspecialsduringChristmasbreak.Practicefractionswithhisasparagusatfamilydinner.
Iclimboutofmycar,myarmsloadedwithbooksandpizza.Shetakesonelookatthecardboardboxstainedwithgreaseinmyhandandnarrowshereyestoslits,thechangeinherdemeanorsocomicallyswiftIhavetoswallowaroundmylaughter.
“Hi,Mrs.Peters.”
“Stella,youmakemefeeloldwhenyoucallmethat,”shehoistshertowerofTupperwareinonearmsoshecanpointatmypizza.“Whatisthat?”
Iglancedownatthebox.Weonlyhaveonepizzashopintown,andMatty’sboxeshaveafairlyobviousblueandwhitelogoprintedacrossthetop.ItsaysMATTYinlargeboldfontalongthesides.“It’sapizza.”
“FromMatty.”
Iglancedownattheboxjusttobesure.Icanjustcatchtheedgeoftheblockyblueletters.Still,Ihesitate,becauseCarinaPeterslookslikeshe’sonestepawayfromusingherTupperwareasaweaponagainstthedinnerinmyhands,andI’mreallycravingpepperoni.Iclutchitalittletighterandnodtowardsthehouse.
“Wanttocomeinside?Itlookslikeyourhandsarefull.”
Shetightenshergriponthecontainersstackedneatlyinherarms.
Whitewithbluelids,atrianglepatternprintedattheverytopedge.LukahasthesamestackofTupperwareinhisfridgeinthecity,leftoverrisottoandmanicottiandtiramisuthatIalwayssneakbitesofwhenIstayover.
Shehastwotraysandanotherthreesmallercanisters,allwithlabelstapedcleanlyontheside.Itlookslikeenoughfoodtofeedmeforweeks.
“Comeinside,”Isayagain.“IthinkIhavesomebiscottileftoverfromLuka.Youcanevenhavesomepizzaifyouwant.”
Shefollowsmeupthestairstomyporch,backtoglaringattheboxinmyhands.“Iwouldn’teatthatpizzaifitwerethelastthingonthisplanet.”
I’mprettysureshewouldn’teatMatty’spizzaifsomeonewasholdingaguntoherhead.I’veheardherrefertoitasaninsulttothepeopleofItaly,abastardizationofculture.
EatingtherewithLukaisalwaysamasterclassonevasion.Hehasneveronceactuallydinedinthebuilding,andhemakesmegoinalonewhenwegettakeout.Hismotheralmostcaughthimonce,waitingatthecurbformetocomebackwithourdinner.Hehaddrivenawaysofast,thestreetcleanerhadtobuffouthistiremarks.Icameoutwithourfoodtoanemptystreetandhadtowalkfourblocksdowntothealleywaybehindthecafetofinallygetaridehome.HishandswereshakingwhenIslidintothepassengerseat,wide-eyedterroronhishandsomeface.Hesleptonmy
couchthatnight,tooafraidtogohomeandfacehismotherifshehappenedtoseehim.
“NoItalianintheirrightmindwouldputcheeseinthecrustofapizza,”
sheshakesherheadlikeshe’sneverheardofamoreridiculousthinginherlife.“Andthestromboli.Didyouknowstrombolidoesn’texistinItaly?Itisacrimetocreatesuchathing.”
Idoknowthis.She’stoldmebefore.AndLukatellsmeeverytimeheordersastromboli.
“It’sverydeliciousthough.”
Sheslashesherhandthroughtheairwithasharpgesture,cuttingrightthroughmywords.“Ihavebeenaskingthattheschoolstopsusinghisfoodforfundraisers,butthekidsarecrazyaboutit.IgavemyeighthgradersalessononItaliandining-”Ihavenoideahowshemanagedthisasamathteacher.“-realItaliandining,mindyou,andtheyhadtheaudacitytoaskifmozzarellastickswereconsideredantipasti.”Sheplacesahandagainstherchest,herfingerscoveredinrosegoldrings.Onefromherlatehusband,anotherfromhersisterCecilia,andanotherfromLuka.TheyglintinthesunlightasIreachforthetinofcookiesLukahidinmycabinet.“Thedamagethismanisdoingtoouryoungpeople.”
Sheshakesherheadsadlyandturnsonherheel,headingstraightforthefridge.Shemanagestoopenitwithoutasingledishtopplinginherarmsandbeginstorummageinside.Iwatchasshetakesabagofwiltedmixedgreensandthrowsitinthegeneraldirectionofthegarbage,arrangingandrearrangingtofithercollectionofTupperware.
“Doyouknowhe’sfromBoston?”Shetossesanexpiredbottleofmustardafterthebagofgreens.“Ibethedoesn’tevenhaveadropofItalianbloodinhisbody.IonceaskedhimwhatpartofItalyhisfamilyisfromandhesaidtheNortherncoast.TheNortherncoast,Stella!Idonotbelievethistobetrue.”
“Whywouldn’titbetrue?”
Sheturnstoglanceatmeoverhershoulder,alockofthickdarkhaircascadingoverherrighteye.AsingleeyebrowarchesandInowknowwhatitfeelsliketobeoneofherstudentscaughtontheircellphoneinthebackofclass.
“BecausetheNortherncoastisknownfortheirRisottoalNeridiSeppi,”thewordstripoffhertongueinthefaintaccentshehasn’tquite
managedtogetridofdespitethirtyyearslivingintheStates.“AndIhaveneverseenthemansomuchaslookatsquidink.”
Imakeafaceandherlipsquirkupatthecorners,alittlesharperontheleftside,thelooksoreminiscentofLukathatIfeelanansweringtuginmychest.“Itisbetterthanyouthink.”
“I’lltakeyourwordforit,”Itellher.Ihandheraplateloadedwithbiscotti.“Alright,hereyougo.I’msorryIdon’thaveanyIllyonhand.
Lukacomplains,too.”
“Mysonisgivingyouahardtime?”
IthinkofLukastandingatthestovejusttwofeetfromwhereshestandsnow,myhandtowelinhisbackpocket.Howhemademedinnerandpackedupleftovers,hidgroceriesaroundmykitchen.Ithinkabouthisshoulderpressedtomineonthecouch,myhaircatchinginthescruffalonghisjawasIfadedinandoutofsleep.HowIwokeupinmybedwithathickblankettuckedaroundme,aglassofwateronthenightstand.
Ithinkabouthiminthebarn,glovedhandsholdingminetight.Thetasteofpeppermintandhazelnutcoffee.
“No,”Ismileather,heatbrushingatmycheeksdespitemybestefforts.
“He’snot.Youraisedareallywonderfulman.”
EvenwhenIdon’twanthimtobe.EvenwhenI’mupsetwithhim.
Shepreensatthat,aproudlookonherface.“Idid,didn’tI?”Shetakesabiteofhercookieandsettlesintooneofthekitchenchairs,pattingthespacediagonalfromherininvitation.“ThoughIsupposesomeofthatgoestohisfather,aswell.”
“Hedoesn’t–“Ihesitate,unsureifIshouldsaythatLukararelytalksabouthisdad.Isitwrongformetosharethesethingswithher?IsitdishonesttoLukaandtherelationshipwehaveifItalktohismomaboutit?Idon’tknowwhereIstandwiththisfakerelationshipandhowitblursthelinesofmyrealones.
ShegivesmeaknowinglookasIslideintotheseatacrossfromher.
“Hedoesn’ttalkabouthisfather?”
“Notreally,no.”
He’llletthingsslip,sometimes.Anunconsciousmentionofsomethinghisdadoncedidorsaid.Butassoonasherealizes,hebottlesitbackup.
Tucksawaythememoriespiecebypieceuntiltheydon’thurtasbadly.Ido
thesamethingwithmymom,inaway.Sometimesitsneaksuponyou,whenthatconstantacheturnsintopainsosharpitstealsyourbreath.
Shenods.“Hedoesn’tspeakofhimwithmeeither,”onefingertracestheedgeofherplate,backandforth,hergazedriftingoutthewindow.“Itmakesmesad.Weshouldrememberthosewhohaveleftuswithfondness.Speakingofthemkeepstheirmemoryalive.”
“Mymomsaidsomethingsimilartomerightbeforeshe,um,rightbeforeshepassed,”Istillrememberthesmellofantiseptic,sostrongandsochemical,burningatmynose.HowmyshoessqueakedacrossthefloorasIbentatthewaistandtriedtofindafreeelectricaloutletforthescentdiffusersIbrought.Lavender,herfavorite.“Shesaidsheonlywantedmetohavehappymemories.”
Itrymybest.Itrytorememberherwhenshewashealthyandhappyandspinningaroundourkitchentothebeat-upoldradioshekeptontopofthefridge.Butsomedaysareeasierthanothersandwhileit’smostlyfondnessnowlikeLuka’smomsays,it’salsoahealthydoseoflongingtoo.
Carina’shandreachesformine.“Isometimesforgetthatyoulostyourmother.ShepassedawayrightbeforeImovedhere,yes?”
OnaTuesdayat3:13pm.IthadjustrainedandtherewasarainbowarchingoveratreeintheparkinglotwhereIsatonthecurb,bothmylegssplayedinfrontofme,hairplasteredtomyforehead.IwassmokingacigaretteIgotfromoneofthesecurityguards,andIhadnevertouchedonebeforeinmylife.Inod.“Shewassickforawhile.Cancer.”
“Cancerisaterriblething,”shesays.Shemakesashortsoundunderherbreath,aquicktsch.“Idonotknowifthereisaneasywaytolosesomeone,butwithLeo,itwassoquick.Heleftforworkashealwaysdid.
Hekissedmetwice,Lukatwice,andthelasttimeIsawhim,hewaswalkingoutthefrontdoor,yellingoverhisshoulderthathewantedzucchiniflowersfordinner.”Sheswipesunderhereyequicklywithherfingertips.“Hewasabossyman.”
Irecognizethesadnessinherwords,thelonelinessofrememberingsomeoneallbyyourself.
“YoushouldtrytotalkwithLukaabouthim,”Ioffergently.“Ithinkitwouldbegoodforbothofyou.”
Shenodsandwipesatherfaceagainbeforewavingherhandbetweenus,afingerpointedatmeinmockaccusation.“ThisisnotwhyIcamehere,tocryatyourtable,”shepullsherhandfrommygripandpressesboth
palmsflattothetabletop,situatingherbodyinthechairuntilshehasmepinnedwithherstare.“Icameforaninterrogation.”
“Oh?”Nowherquestionsfeellikeawelcomebreakfromtheheavinessofourconversation.ThisiswhatIwasexpectingwhenIsawhercarinmydriveway.Ileanbackinmychairandreachforacookiefromthetin.“Ihopeyouputsometiramisuinthefridgethen.”
Shelaughs,abrightburstofitthatlightsupmysmallkitchen.“Oh,thereyouare.Iwasworriedforasecondthatyou’dplaycoywithmenowthatyou’redatingmyson.”Shesettlesinherchair.“Now,tellme.HowdidyouandLukagofrombestfriendstosomethingmore?”
IKEEPitasclosetorealityasIcan.Itellherthataftersomanyyearsoffriendship,wejustsortoffellintodatingoneanother.Thatintheend,datingwasn’tsodifferentfrom…beingbestfriends.Shearchedaneyebrowatthat,aninterestedhumbeneathherbreath.
Wetalkaboutthekidsinherclassroom,hersisterEva’sforayintoballroomdance,andtheridiculousnessofMs.Beatriceandhermerit-basedorderingsystem.ItseemstheonlywayMrs.PeterscangetoneisbyenlistingLuka’shelpaswell.
It’snicehavingherinmykitchen.It’scozyandwarmandshefillsthespacewithherloudlaughter,herringsclinkingalongtheedgeofthetable.
ShedevourstherestofhercookiesanddeclaresthatshehastogobotherGianawithThanksgivingpreparations,abruptlypushingbackfromthetableandhandingmeafolded-uppieceofnotebookpaperoutofherbackpocketwithreheatinginstructions.SheleaveswithakisstobothofmycheeksandaslightlythreateninginvitationtofamilyThanksgivingcalledoverhershoulder.
Disappearinginacloudofkicked-updirt,herlittleKiarumblesawaydowntheroadbacktotown.Iwatchhergowithmyshoulderagainstthebanisterofmyfrontporch,thelightsinthefieldsbeginningtotwinklealiveasthesundipsbelowthehorizon.Ihearmyphoneinthekitchenbutchoosetoignoreitfornow,watchingMotherNaturepainttheskyinshadesofpurple.Cornstalksblowgentlyinthebreeze,theonlyremnantofthefallseason.We’llcutthosebacksoonenoughandfillthespacewithpre-cuttrees,readyforfamilieswhodon’twanttomakethetrekallthe
wayoutintothefoothills.Laylahandlesthatportionofourbusiness,sawingdowntreesandloadingthemupinthelittletractorBeckettusestomaketripsbackandforth.Shesaysit’sgoodforhersuppressedrage.
Beckettsaysit’sgoodforhisback.
Whentheskyfinallyfadestoadeepindigo,Iheadbackinside,eyeballingthephoneonmycounter.Idon’tlikearguingwithLuka.Ineverhave.Ourdisagreementsneverlastlong,buttheyalwaysleavemefeelinglikeI’veputonanitchysweater,uncomfortableinmyownskin.Itaphisnumber.
“Stella,listen,”hesoundsalittlebitbreathless,uneven.“I’msorry.”
Icollapseontomycouchandkickmyfeetuponthecoffeetable.Idragthecableknitthrowhewasusingtheothernightovermylap.Itstillsmellslikehim.“I’msorry,too.”
HeexhalesslowlyandIimaginehimfallingbackintohisplushcouch,hisarmspreadwideagainstthebackofit.“Wasshe–didmymomstopby?”
“Shedid,”Iglanceovermyshoulderatthefridge.IwishIhadgrabbedthattiramisuonthewayover.“Shebroughtmefood.”
Lukagroanslongandloudanditpullsmybellytight.Hearingthosesoundsfromhimhasneverbeeneasy,butnowthatIknowwhathetasteslike,it’sborderlineunbearable.Ishiftundermyblanket.“Thatmeansshealsobroughttheinquisition.”
“Shecalleditaninterrogation.”
“Stella,I’msosorry.”Hisvoicedropslower,alittlebitmuffledlikehe’sspeakingthroughapilloworhisfacepressedtothenearestflatsurface.
“Ishouldhavebeenthere.”
“Andwhatwouldyouhavedone?Youcan’tlietoyourmom.”
“Iabsolutelycan.Idoitallthetime.HowdoyouthinkI’vesurvivedmymotherandallhersisters?Youhavetobeagreeable.Youhavetotellthemtheirpastasauceisthebestthingyou’veevertasted.Youhavetosayyoulikesmelts.”
Ifrownandcozydownfurtherinthecouch,pullingtheblanketuptomynose.“DoIwanttoknowwhatasmeltis?”
“No.Youdonot.”
“SheinvitedmetoThanksgiving,”Imumble.“SoI’llprobablyfindoutthenanyway.”
“You’llactuallycome?”Hesoundssurprised.
“OfcourseIwill.Yourmotherinvitedme.”
Hescoffs.“Ihaveinvitedyou.Foryears.Andyoualwaysmakeexcuses.”
“It’snotanexcuseifIalreadyhaveplans.”
“Andthoseplans,yousuddenlydon’thavethemthisyear?”
I’llstillgototheshelterinthemorningandhelpservemeals,butIcanbebackintimetogotothePeters’forThanksgiving.It’seasytotellmyselfit’sforoursecret,sonoonesuspectsthatwearen’tbeingtruthful.Buthonestly,itwouldbenicetonotbesoaloneontheholiday.IthinkaboutwhatMrs.PetersandItalkedabout–aboutrememberingandhappymemories.Idon’tthinkmymomwouldwantmewallowingaloneonmycouchonThanksgivingeatinggasstationfood.
“Ithink,”Istartslowly,carefulwithmywords.LaylatoldmeI’mallowedtoenjoythistimeandIthink–Ithinkshe’sright.There’snoharminspendingaholidaywithmybestfriendandhisfamily.“IthinkI’dliketotrysomethingdifferent.”
Lukamakesahappylittlesound.Iheartheshuffleoffabricagainstleather,theclinkofaglassagainsthiscoffeetable.“I’mreallygladtohearit.”
“Metoo.”Iwigglemytoesinmythicksocksandpickataloosethreadintheblanketrestingovermychest,hesitanttobringupwhatelsehismomandIdiscussed.Iwanttotalkwithhimaboutit,butI’mnotsurehowhe’llreact.
“Whatisit?”
Ichewatmybottomlip.“Whatiswhat?”
“Whateveryou’renotsaying.”
“YourmomandItalkedaboutafewotherthingstoo,”Isay.Whenhesaysnothinginreturn,Icontinue.“Wetalkedaboutyourdadalittlebit.Ithink–Ithinkitmakeshersadthatyoudon’ttalkabouthimwithher.”
Lukahadbeentwelvewhenhisfatherpassedaway.There’sneveragoodtimetoloseaparent,butLukahadtogrowintoamanwithouthisdad.Hismomhasapictureinthehallwayofherhouse,hangingjustasyoubegintowalkupthestairstothesecondfloor.It’sahighschoolspiritnightorsomethingsimilar,Luka’sbodyganglyinthewaymostteenageboysare,hishairshaggyandunkempt.It’sapictureofalltheyoungboysand
theirdads,withLukastandingproudlywithhisarmaroundhismom.EverytimeI’mattheirhouseandeverytimeIseeit,Ifeelanoverpoweringrushofsadness.BecauseIcanseeitinthestrainofhisarms,intheweakedgesofhissmile.Hemissedhisdad.
Hemisseshisdad.
Lukaclearshisthroat.“Didshesaywhatshewantedtotalkabout?”
“No,justthatshewantstotalkabouthim.Shesaidtalkinghelpskeepamemoryalive.”
He’squietforalongtimeatthat.Soquiet,Icheckthephoneseveraltimestomakesurehehasn’thunguponme.
“Luka.”
“Hemademegrilledcheese,”hesayssoftly,aheavypausefollowinghisdeclaration.Icanheartheclickinhisthroatwhenheswallows.Hetakesadeepshudderingbreathin,holdsit,andthenreleasesit.Igripmyphonetighter,themetalbuttonspressingindentsintomypalm.IwishIwerewithhim,mykneepressedtohishiponmycouch.
“Hewas–hewasashitcook,actually.Alwaysblamedmymomandcalledherbossyinthekitchen.”Ihuffalaugh,thinkingofCarinasayingthesamethingjustanhourago.“Buthewouldmakemeagrilledcheese.
WheneverIwassad.”
Thatdayatthehardwarestore,whenLukacaughtmefromfaceplantingintothecement,hetookonelookatmeandaskedmeifIwantedtogetgrilledcheese.DidheknowIwassad?Couldhetell?
Irubatmynose,therushoffondnessforthissilly,stupidmanoverwhelming.Ifirmupmyvoice,makeitassteadyaspossible.“Youcanwheneveryouwanttotalkabouthim,Luka.Youcan.”
He’sstillquiet,astillnessthatIfeeleventhroughthephone.“Iwishyouwerehererightnow,”heconfesses.
Somethingsqueezesinmychest.Inodandpluckattheblanketinmylap.“Yeah.Yeah,metoo.”
Anotherlengthypause.Hisvoice,quieterthistime.“Thanks,LaLa.”TWELVE
“ALRIGHT,guys.Thishasbeenfunandall,”Irestmyhandsonmyhips,facingthedepthsofthebarn.SomethinghasmanagedtounwindhalfthegarlandthatItwistedaroundthesupportpostsandtworibbonsaremissingfromthewreathsonthedoor.“Butit’stimetoclearout.”
I’mwellawarethatraccoonsarenocturnalcreatures,butmycourageisfleeting.Ihadtriedtocomeoutherelastnightwithaflashlightandatennisracket,butthatseemedlikeabadideaassoonasItooktwostepsintothefieldsandheardanunexplainablenoiseinthedark.TheflashlightwenttumblingandIwentjoggingbacktomyhouse.WhatIplannedtodowithatennisracket,I’llneverknow.Now,bythelightofday,it’scertainlylessscary.AndIshouldbeabletoatleastfindoutwherethesecrittersarenesting.
Again,IhavenoideawhatI’lldowiththatinformation.ButweneedthisbarnforSantaandunlesswecanconvincetheseraccoonstoputonantlers,theyneedtofindanewhome.
SomethingrustlesinthefarcornerandIsteelmyself.Icandothis.Ihavedonescarierthingsthanthis.Ifoundthatwholelittlefamilyofcockroacheswhenwewereguttingthetractorshed.Ihadnightmaresoftinylegscrawlinginmyhairforweeks.Thisisnothingcomparedtothat.
Itakeastepcloser.There’sanothershuffleofmovementandthena…
meow?Alittlebraver,Imakemywayacrossthebarnandpokemyheadoverthetopofourold-fashionedmetalmailbox.Nestledjustbehinditwithsomeofthegarlandthatwentmissingandavelvetredribbonbundledtogetherinalittlenest,isamommacatandherthreekittens.Allwhitewithblackspotsaroundtheireyes.
“Well,”Mommacatpeersupatmewithnoshortageofdistrust,curlingherbodyclosertothethreeballsoffurtuckedagainsther.“ThisisnotwhatIexpected.”
Ahalf-hourandacoupleofphonecallslater,Beckett,Layla,andIarestaringdownatthelittlefamilyinmyoffice,nestledinalaundrybasket
withthebitofthegarlandMommarefusedtoletgoof.Shehadn’tleftherhomewithoutcomplaint,butassoonasshesawmeplaceherbabiesgentlyinthebasketandcoaxhertofollow,shewasagreeableenough.
Nowallfouraredozing,sweetlittlesnoresfromtheirtinypinknoses.
“Thisisfuckingadorable,”Beckettmutters,almostangrily.Hetwistshisbaseballhataroundbackwardandfoldshisarmsoverhischest.“Whatarewesupposedtodowiththem?”
“Takethemtotheshelter?”
Beckettunfoldshisarmsandbracketshishipswithhishands,shootingmeaglare.Iholdbothhandsup.
“Okay,maybenot.Ijust–Idon’tknowwhattodowithfourcats.”
“IthinkweshouldtakethemtoDr.Colsonandgofromthere.”Laylalowersherselfdowntoasquat,pressingherfaceupagainsttheslatsofthelaundrybasket.Onetinypawboopshernose,andshepracticallymeltstothefloorinapuddle.Shesighsdreamily.“Theyreallydosortoflooklikeraccoons.”
Withtheircoloringandthespotsaroundtheireyes,it’snowonderImistookthemforraccoonsallthistime.Frankly,Ihadslidopenthebarndooronce,sawaflashofblackandwhite,andcalleditaday.Ijustalwaysthoughtaveryemotionalraccoonwasleavingthosescratchmarksonalltheposts.
“MaybeweshouldnamethemomRacoon,”Iwonderaloud,andbothBeckettandLaylagivemealook.“What?”
“Ifwe’renamingthecats,it’slikelywearekeepingthecats.”Laylastandsbackup,brushingherhandsonthebackofherjeans.Ilookbackdownatthetinyballsoffurandfeelasharppangoflonging.Ialwayswantedapetgrowingup,butweneverhadthetimeorthespace.AndwithourbusyseasoncomingupandEvelynarrivinginaweek,wecertainlydon’thavethetimenow.Butmaybe,withthethreeofus,wecould–
“WearenotnamingherRacoon,”Becketthuffs.“It’sinsulting.Ithinkit’sobviouswhatweshouldnamethem.”
LaylaandIexchangealook,hersmilehiddenbehindthetipsofherfingers.Becketthasn’tlookedawayfromthecatsonce.
“Yeah?”
Hepointsatthesmallestbundleoffur,tuckedintightwithherfacehiddeninhermom’schest.“Comet.”Hepointsattheothertwo,curled
together.“Cupid,Vixen.”Hepointsatmom,whohasturnedherfaceuptolookathimwithwhatIsweartogodisthecatversionofhearteyes.
Beckettcupshertinyfacewithhislargehandandshepurrs,nuzzlingintohispalm.“She’sPrancer.”
“Well,”Laylasighs.“Iguesswehavecatsnow.”
AFTERATHOROUGHBATHandexaminationbythetownvet,Dr.
ColsondeclaresPrancerandherbabiesreadytoheadhome.Heprescribesamedicatedshampoojustincase,andsomefoodladenwithsupplementstohelpPrancerbulkupabit.WhenheasksifIhaveallthenecessaryitemstohouseafamilyofcats,Istareathimdumbly.Ibarelyhavethenecessaryitemstohousemyself.Idon’tevenknowwheretheclosestpetstoreis.
ButBeckettswoopsinwithafrownandpullsthelaundrybaskettighttohischest,mutteringsomethingaboutAmazonshoppinglistsandanolddogbedathisplace.SomeleftoverfeedingdishesfromwhenhissistertriedtofostertwoFrenchies.Sensingshe’sbackinthearmsofheronetruelove,Prancerrisesgracefullyfromthebasket,hopsontoBeckett’sshoulder,andcurlsherselfintohisneckwithapurr.Dr.ColsonandIwatchwithamusementasBeckettswingsopentheexamroomdoorandwandershiswaythroughthewaitingroom,acatonhisshoulderandabasketofkittensinhisarms.He’slikelytoobliteratetheentirefemalepopulationofInglewildifhegoestoofarlikethat.
ApparentlyIwasn’ttheonlyonewhowantedpetsasakid.
Bythetimewegetbacktothefarm,thesunishanginglowintheskyandthere’sstillplentyIneedtodo.ButforonceIdon’tfeeltheweightoftheincredibleamountofpressureIputonmyself.Instead,Ifeelnothingbutabubbleofjoyasweturndownthelane.Giantarcheslinedwithlights.Redandwhitestripedposts.Amassivesignwithcrispwhitepaint,welcomingyoutotheNorthPole.Itreallydoeslookperfect.
“Ihaven’thadachancetotalktoyouthisweekwithhowbusywe’vebeen,butitlooksamazing.Evenbetterthanlastyear,”Beckettsaysfromthepassengerseat,Prancerstilldrapedacrosshisshoulder,littleCometsnoozingawayinthefrontpocketofhisjacket.“Thisplaceiswhatitisbecauseofyou.”
Iturnleftandheadtowardshiscabinatthebaseofthefoothills.Hanksaidthepeoplewhoownedthelandbeforehimtriedtousethisplaceasahuntinglodgeorsomethingsimilar.Buthuntinghasneverbeenverygoodontheeasternshore,andtheyclosedupshopquickly.Ihaveonecottage,Becketthasanother,andthethirdweturnedintoouradministrativeofficeandwelcomecottage.Iofferedhimtheplaceasapartofhisworkhere.
It’seasierforhimtoliveonthepropertywithhisearlymornings,andbeforethis,he’dbeensharingahomewithhisparentsandtwoyoungestsisters,withhisothertwosistersstoppinginfrequently.He’salwaysbeenthefirsttotakecareofothers,almosttoafault.
“It’sbecauseofyouandLaylatoo.”
IfeelterribleeverytimeIgetacomplimentfromeitherofthem.Istillhaven’tbeencompletelyhonestaboutourfinances.I’mtooafraidoftheirreaction,oftheirdisappointment.IswearI’dchopoffmyarmbeforeIletthemdown.
“Listen,Beck.ThisthingwithEvelyn.It’snotjustagoodopportunity.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”He’sbusytryingtomoveacomfortablePrancerfromherperchacrosshimtothelaundrybasket.Shemeowssoftlyandhehushesherwithawhisper,knucklesbrushingunderherchin.It’sunbearable.
“TheexposureisgreatandI’mhopingitcanbringinmorecustomers.
ButI’mmoreinterestedintheprizemoney.Itwould–itwouldhelpusoutalot.”
Heblinksatme,faceunreadableinthesettingsun.“Areweintrouble?”Ishrugmyshoulders,myheartinmythroatandtensioninmybelly.“Wecoulduseaholidaymiracle.”
Heconsidersme,weighingmywords.It’stheclosestI’veevercometotellinghimthetruth.It’sstilllessthanhedeserves,buttherestoftheexplanationsticksinmythroat.Afteramoment,heheftsthelaundrybasketinhisarmsandslipsfrommycar.Heduckshisheadbackdownwithanarmbracedonthedoor,faceserious.
“Thenlet’smakesomefuckingmagic.”
IWAKEupinthemorningburiedbeneathaheapofblankets,thesmellofcoffeeticklingmynose,thesoundofclinkingglassesinthekitchenpullingmefromthedredgesofsleep.Iblinkblearilyattheweaksunlightpouringinfromthewindowoverthedresserandstretchoutmylegs,baretoes
peekingoutfromthebottomofmyblanketasItrytorememberifthere’ssupposedtobesomeoneinmykitchen.Ifit’saburglar,they’rebeingawfullypolitebyputtingonthecoffee.
Ihearmovementinthehallway,sockedfeetagainstthehardwood.Idon’tknowhowIknowit’shim,justthatIdo,acomfortinlisteningtohismovementsaroundmyhouse.WhenIwasakid,Ihatedhowquietourapartmentwaswhenmymomwasworkinglate.IalwaysfeltbetterwhenIheardhercomehomeandstarttheteakettle,reheatherleftoversinthemicrowave.
Lukaappearsinmydoorwayinthemiddleofafierceyawn,eyesscrewedshut,sweatshirtoninsideout.Hishairisflatononesidelikehewaswearingahatwhenhecameinandjustnowrememberedtotakeitoff.Idartaquicklookathistoes.He’swearinghisnugsandkissessocks–
theoneswithdancingchickennuggetsholdinghands.
“Whattimeisit?”Imutter,snakingmyhandthroughmynestofblanketstoreachforthemugofcoffeeinhis.It’stheonlypartofmybodyI’mcurrentlywillingtomove.Hesitsattheedgeofmybedandpatsmyfoot,handingmethemugandmakingsureIhaveagoodgripbeforehepullsaway.
“Seven.Sorryit’ssoearly.”
Isquintathim.“Didyouleaveatthreeinthemorning?”
Heshrugs,noncommittal,avoidingmyeyestolookatsomethingonmyheadboard.I’mnotsurethestitchingonmydiscountupholsteryisthatinteresting.There’ssomethinghe’snottellingme,butit’stooearlyinthemorningtotryandfigureitout.I’lllethimhavehissecretsfornow.
Itakeasipfromhismug.Whateverthisis,it’scertainlynotthecoffeeIkeepinmycabinet.It’srichanddeliciousandItakeanotherlongpull,moaningwhenIgetahintofmocha.Luka’sgazetripsashadedarkerandIslipdownalittlefurtherinmybed.It’sdifferentnow,knowingthathiseyesturntheexactsamecolorwhenhismouthisonmine.
Iclearmythroat.“Ithoughtyouweresupposedtocallmefromtheroad.”
“Imeantto,”hesaysandleavesitatthat.Hisvoiceisscratchyaroundtheedgeswithsleepiness,anadorablyflusteredsoftnesstohiminhisexhaustion.
“I’mkindofgladyoudidn’tifyouleftatthreeinthemorning.”Ilookatthecirclesunderhiseyes,atthewayhe’slistingslightlytoonesidelikehecan’tcommittoholdinghimselfupright.Icurlmyselftoonesideofthebed.
“Luka.”
Hehums,eyesclosed,mugraisedtohismouthbutnotactivelydrinkingfromit.It’slikeheforgotwhattodowithithalfwaytohismouth.
Ibitemylipagainstasmileandflickbackmyblankets.“Luka,laydown.
Comebacktosleepforalittlebit.”
Helooksdownatme,eyelidsdroopingwithheavy,slowblinks.“Icansleeponthecouch.”
Itakethemugoutofhishandsandputitonthenightstand.“Don’tberidiculous.We’vesharedabedbefore.”
“Iwasgoingtosleeponthecouch,”hemuttersagain,lettingmepullhimdownandcollapsingintomybedwithaborderlinepornographicmoan.
“Isthismemoryfoam?”
AllIcanseeofhimthroughthemoundofpillowsandblanketsisatuftofbrownhairandthecurveofhisear.Themattressbouncesslightlyasheshimmiesbeneaththeblankets,hisfeetslippingundermycalf,hishandatmyhipasecondlater.HesqueezesonceasIburrowmyselfbackintomypillow.
“Getsomerest,Luka.”
AllIgetinresponseisalightsnore,hisfoottwitchingagainstmyleg.
IWAKEININCREMENTS,sunlightwarmingmycheekandthejutofmyanklewheremyfootistwistedoutofthebedsheets.Itstillsmellslikecoffeebutit’smutednow,thebirdsfullyawakeinthetreesthatsitattheveryedgeofmyyard.Icanhearthemcallingtooneanother,jumpingfrombranchtobranch.Isquintoneeyeopenandgolden,sparklingsunlightfillstheroom,dancingoffthesnowglobeIhavesittingonmydresserandtheoldvintagefloormirrorIfoundatafleamarketinthecityandmadeLukastraptothetopofhiscar.
I’vealmostforgottenthere’ssomeoneinbedwithmeuntilfingersflexonmybellybeneathmysleepshirt,aheavypalmslidingloweragainstmy
bareskin.Stillcaughtinthehazeofsleep,itfeelsliketheedgesofadeliciousdream.Ituckmybodyclosertothemancurledbehindme,hiskneesnudgingagainstthebacksofmine.Twospoonsinadrawer.
“Skinssoft,”hemutterssomewhereintomyhair,voicerough,nosinguntilhefindsmyshoulder.Hishandflexesagain,thumbdragginguponceandthenbackdown,memorizing.Goosebumpslightupmyarms,aheavytuglowinmybelly.WarmthsettlesandspreadsandIpushbackintohim,wiggling,tryingtogetcloser.Hegruntsandhishandshiftsfrommybellytomyhip,holdingmethere.Forasecond,Ithinkhemightanglemeaway,rollontohisbackandfallasleepwithhisforearmoverhiseyes,buthedoesn’t.
Hetightenshishandatmyhipjustashisleftkneepushesforward,nudgingmineuntilI’moff-balance,surroundedbyhisheat.Ourbodiestoucheverywhere–hischestflushwithmyshoulders,hisbellytothesmallofmyback.Icanfeeleveryinhalehetakes,thesoftcottonofhissweatpantssoftagainstmybarethighs.Iarchmybackandshiftagain,restless,andfeelahardnesspressintothecurveofmyass.Lukashiesawayfrommewiththemotion,tiltinghishipsjustslightlyuntilwe’renolongertouching.Andmaybeit’sthestickyslownessofalazymorningormaybeI’mjusttiredofpretendingallthetime,butIchasehistouchandrockbackintohimonce,hissharpinhaleansweringagainsttheshellofmyear.
It’sstillbetweenus,nothingbutbirdsongandthepoundingofmyheart.Hedoesn’tmoveatallexceptforfingersgrippingandreleasingatmyhip,hispinkyslippinghalfaninchdownbeneaththehemofmysleepshorts.It’saninnocenttouch,allthingsconsidered,justhisfingerbrushingthebareskinatmyhipbone,butitfeelslikeanotherstepforwardinthisstrangedancewe’rechoreographingtogether.Ifeelthattouchinthehollowofmythroat,inthetipsofmybreasts.Asilentconversation,hisbodyaskingIsthisalright?Ileanmyheadbackintohisshoulder.Hetightenshisgripandusestheleveragetopullmyhipsbackintothecradleofhis,moreinsistentthistime.Whataboutthis?
It’saslowrhythm,hisbodyrockingforward,minecurlingback.It’sabitlikebeingoutonthebayinoneofthoselittledinghyboatswesometimesrentinthesummer,ariseandfallwitheverywhisperedexhale.
It’sgentle,searching,andtheheatinmybellygrowsandspreadsuntilmybreathingshallowsout,asinglebeadofsweatrollingdownbetweenmy
breasts.Henudgesharder,hipsrolling,andIholdontohiswrist,urgehispalmupuntilhishandispressedflatjustbeneaththeswellofmybreast.Iwanthimtomovethatlastbithimself,cupmeinhishandsuntilit’snothingbutbareskin.It’sadelicioustease,allmovementandnofriction,andit’screatinganachingwetnessbetweenmythighs.Histhumbsmoothesup,tracingoncealongthebottomcurveofmybreast.Webothgroan.
“Luka,”Istutter.Iwanttoaskwhatwe’redoing.Iwanttoaskformore.
Hemakesanoisedeepinhisthroatatthesoundofhisname,halfgroanandhalfgrowl.Hepushesintomeharderforaperfectmoment,bodyheavyagainstmine.“Luka,couldyou–“
Mywordsbreakthespellbetweenus,ashiverofawarenessrollingfromhisbodytomineasourrhythmfaltersandslows.IswearIcanfeelthebloodrushingundermyskin,pulsinghotintheplacesIwanthimthemost.
“I’lldowhateveryouwant,Stella,”hesays,voicecaughtontheraspofhisbreath,foreheadagainstthebackofmyneck.Hisskinisflushedhot,slightlystickywithsweat.Suddenlymybedroomisaninferno.Ihearhimswallow.“Wedon’t–wedon’thavetotalkaboutitifyoudon’twantto.”
Somethingaboutthewayhisvoicesplintersaroundtheedges,thetrembleinhishandthathetriestohide–itdoesn’tfeelright.Itwistinhisarmsandgetdistractedbythesightofhim.Pinkcheeks,darkeyes,asinglelockofhairplasteredtohisforehead,bottomlipredfromwherehisteethwereholdingit.Helookslikehewasdroppedintothewashingmachineandsettoheavytumble.
Ibrushmytoestothetopofhisfootbeneaththeblankets.“Whatdoyoumean?”
DoeshethinkIwanttostop?
Oh,god.
Doeshewanttostop?
HishandsfighttoholdmecloseasItrytopullmyselftotheoppositesideofthebed,hishandgrippingatmyhip,stilltuckedbeneathmyshirt.
“Stop,no.”Hepullsmywristtohismouthanddropsaquickkissonmypulsepoint.ItsendsanotherlickofheatcurlingupmyspineandIshiver.Ifhenotices,hehasthedecencynottosayanythingaboutit.“No,Ijust
meant–ifyouwantedtostop.Wecouldstopand–“Heswallows.“Wedon’thavetotalkaboutit.”
Iabsolutelydonotwanttostop.He’swatchingmesocarefullythatit’slikeI’vespokenthewordsaloud.Hisentireframesoftens,thefingersaroundmywristspreadingout,thumbstrokingthecenterofmypalm.Onedarkeyebrowarcheshighonhisforehead.Helookslikesugarandspiceandeverythingnotsonice,sleeprumpledandflushedinmybed.
I’vehaddreamsthatstartedandendedexactlylikethis.
“Or,”hesays,andleavesitatthat.
Ishufflecloser.“Orwhat?”
Thehandthat’sbeentracingpatternsonthebareskinofmyhipslipsfrombeneathmyshirtandfindsmychininstead.Histhumbdragslightlyovermybottomlip,backandforth.“Orwecouldtrysomething.”
“Whatsomething?”
Iwishmyvoicedidn’tsoundsobreathy,thatitwasn’tsoobviousIwanthistoucheverywhere.
Helicksathisbottomlip,eyesmappingthecurveofmyjaw,thetangleofmyhairtwistedlikeacrookedhaloagainstmypillow.Whateverhesitationhehadisgonenow,athoughtfulintentioninthewayhecurlsalockofmyhairaroundhisfinger.
“Icouldseehowmuchittakes.Thesoundsyoumake,”hesays,voicelowandintimate,agrittoitI’veneverheardbefore.Hisbedroomvoice,Ithinkfaintly.Halfofhismouthcurlsupinawickedgrin.Hisbrowneyesareburnishedwithgold,moltenandwarm.“Ifyou’requietorloud.”
Iswallowhardandsqueezemylegstogether.Iwantthat.Iwantthatverymuch.
“Why?”Iask.Hisanswerisimportant
“BecauseIreallyfuckingwantto,”hereleasesonabreath.
Hiswordssettlelikesnowflakesagainstwarmskin.Asingleshockofcoldandthenwarm,meltingheat.Aconfession.Iblinktwicebutdon’tgivemyselfasecondtothinkitthrough,toagonizeovertheconsequences.
Ikeepmyselfinthemoment.
“Okay.”
Lukatwistshishanduntilourpalmsarepressedtogether,sameasthatdayinthebarn.Iclosemyeyesinanticipationandlistentohisbodymovebeneathmysheets.Hewhispersaquietokayinresponseanddragshis
nosealongmycheek,bumpsitlightlyagainstmine.Itipmychinupintohim,thebarestbrushoflips–whenahornblaresfrommydriveway.
Lukacollapsesagainstmewithagroan,foreheadatmycollarbone.Icardmyfingersthroughhishaironce,tugginglightlyuntilhemakesthatsoundagain,abitmorestrangled.WhateverawkwardnessIshouldfeelinthefaceofdryhumpingmybestfriendisstrangelynon-existent.Ifeelnothingbutahappylightnessfizzinginmychest,poppinglikechampagneeverytimeIfeeltheflutterofhiseyelashesagainstmyskin.
MaybeI’llsettleintoananxietytailspinlater,butrightnow,I’mreveling.Iamfloatingonacloudofflushedendorphins.IbetIcouldrunseventeenmilesintwominutes.
Anotherroundofhonkingsoundsfromthefrontyard,thistimetothegeneraltuneofJingleBells.Lukaangleshimselfupononearmaboveme,liftingthecorneredgeofmycurtaintolookoutside.Oneofhissweatshirtstringsdragsalongmycollarboneandpoolsinthehollowofmythroat.Icanfeelhimhardagainstmythigh.Iswallow.
“WhyisBeckettonhistractorwithafamilyofcatsdrapedoverhim?”
IgrindthepalmsofmyhandsintomyeyesandtrytoignorethewayLuka’shipsarepinningmetothebed.Myhazymorninghappybubblehasofficiallybeenpopped.“I’msupposedtowatchthemtoday.”Ihadforgottenweagreedtothatwhenweleftthevetlastnight.
Lukapeersdownatmefromhisbalancedpositionaboveme,hisarmsbracketingmyhead.IfIturnmyheadslightlytotheleft,Icouldcatchthedelicateskinathiswristwithmyteeth.Hiseyesslipfromgoldenambertorich,meltedchocolatelikeheknowswhatI’mthinking.Westareateachother,considering.
Anotherroundofhonking,thistimesomethingfromtheTrans-SiberianOrchestra.Ididn’trealizesomeonecouldbesomusicalwithacompactutilitymachine.
Lukashakeshisheadwitharuefulgrinandlooksbackoutthewindow.
Icanseeitinhiseyes.HewantstoripthathornoffBeckett’stractoranddosomethingcreativewithit.“Sincewhendoyouhavecats?”
Idon’t.Beckettdoes.Ormaybeit’sasharedcustodything,Idon’tknow.Thedetailsaren’tveryclear.
“They’reraccoons,”ImutterasLukaleverageshimselfoffme,slippingfrommybedandtrudgingdownthehallway.Headjustshimselfashe
movestowardsthedoorandIflushhot,staringatthebackofhissleepmussedhair.Iwaitfortheinevitableriseofregret.Iholdmyselfstillandclosemyeyes,breathedeepthroughmynoselikeIlearnedinthoseyogavideosLaylaisalwayssendingmelinksto.
Butitnevercomes.There’ssimmeringarousal,aliquidheatthatplucksatmyskin.Adrumbeatofdesire.Andagiddyawareness,atinyflameofhope.
That
didn’t
feel
like
faking.
THIRTEEN
ICRAWLoutofthebedwithagroanandgrabtheoversizedsweaterhangingofftheedgeofmydoorway.It’samiraclethatLukamanagedtoignoreitandnotfolditintosubmissionandtuckitintotheproperbureaudrawerassoonasheenteredtheroom.He’dhaveaheartattackifhecheckedmyclosetandsawthesheeramountofthingsstuffedin
Islipthecardiganovermyshouldersonmywaytothefrontporch,elbowingmywayoutthefrontdoor,thefloorboardsfreezingcoldundermybarefeet.IhopupanddowninplaceuntilLukanudgesanoldpairofrainbootsinmydirection,theinsidelinedwiththickflannel.Islipintothemgratefully.Luka’sbootsareunlaced,aferociousyawnopeninghismouthwideaswebothstareblearilyintothelatemorningsun.Iglancebrieflydownatthefrontofhissweatpants.Henoticesandgivesmearuefullook.
“LikeI’dwalkontoyourfrontporchwithaboner,”hegrumbles.
“Morning.”
IjumpatBeckett’soverlycheerfulvoiceattheedgeoftheporch.Idon’tknowhowheinfusessomuchinnuendointoasingleword,buthemanages,standinginfrontofhistractorwiththecatsperchedatophimlikehe’stheirking.Prancerhasclaimedherusualspotinthecurvebetweenhisneckandshoulder,thethreekittensfightingoverthefrontpocketofhisflannel.
Isquintandwrapmysweatertighteraroundme,crossingmyarmsovermychest.IwishIhadgrabbedapairofpantstoo.Thewindiscoldagainstthebacksofmyknees.“Whyareyouserenadingmewithyourtractorhornthismorning?”
Beckettsmirksatme,stompsupmysteps,andhandsLukaakitten.
“Didn’twanttointerruptanything.”
CometgivesLukaacuriouslook,tinyheadtiltedtotheside,likelytryingtofigureoutifhecanbetrustedornot.Theystareateachother,
browneyesongold,blinkinginconsideration.Luka’shairiswildfromsleep,stickingineverydirection.IwishIhadtheopportunitytosiftmyfingersthroughit,threadandpullandtug.Cometseemstobeofthesamemindsetbecauseafteramoments’consideration,sheletsoutaplaintivemeowandscampersuphisarmtocurlatophishead,nuzzlingherfaceintohiscurls.
Iunderstandtheimpulse.
“Youdidn’twanttointerruptanything,butyouproceededtoworkyourwaythroughanearly90sChristmashitscatalogviayourhorn.”
Beckettshrugsandlookspointedlyatmybarelegs.“Ididn’twanttoseeanything.”
Igrumble.“Nothingtosee.”Therewouldhavebeen,maybe,ifhehadbeentwentyminuteslater.
IshiverasIscoopasleepingCupidoutofBeckett’sshirtintothepalmofmyhand.
OnlyLuka’seyesmoveashetriestogetmyattention,therestofhisbodyheldunnaturallystillduetothekittenusinghishairasanest.“Istilldon’tunderstandwherethesecatscamefrom.”
IholdoutmyarmstoBeckettfortherestofthelittlefamily.Prancergivesmethesamedistrustfullookasyesterday,pullinghermouthbackinahiss.Iactivelyresistdoingthesame.Instead,IshushhergentlyandattempttoextricateherfromBeckett’sgrip,herclawsholdingontohisshirtfordearlife.
“It’salright.”
Oneofthebabies,atleast,hasdecidedI’mworthtrusting.VixenwalksherselfupmyarmfromBeckett’spocketandsitsprimlyonmyshoulder,tailticklingatmyear.Cupidpurrsintomyhand,stillasleepandunbotheredbyallofthecommotion.Prancer,meanwhile,isshreddingthefrontofBeckett’sshirtinheranxiety.Icurlmyhandaroundherandtrytopull.
“Easy,you’llbebackwithyourtruelovesoonenough.”
“They’retheraccoonsfromthebarn,”BeckettexplainstoLuka,gentlingmygriponPrancerandcurlinghislargehandsaroundher.Hepullsherupandnuzzleshernoseoncewithhis,hergripreleasingonhisshirtwithatinymeowoffarewell.ItissickeninglysweetandI’mabsurdlydisappointedmyphoneisstillsittingonmynightstand.
IjustwatchedBeckettgiveacatagoodbyekiss.Ifeellikeweshouldputaplaqueonthisfrontporch.HewatchesmeasItuckPrancerintothecrookofmyelbow,thelongingclearonhisface.It’sbothcomicalandendearing.Heshuffleshisfeet,rockingbackonhisheelsoncewithhishandsdeepinhispockets.“Icanpickthemuptonightif
Itellmyselftolooksolemn,tonotmakefunofthemanforcatseparationanxiety.“Doyouwant?”
“It’snicetohavethecompany.”
Isoftenatthat.It’shardtothinkofBeckettasanythingotherthanstoic,butIrecognizetheshadesoflonelinessinhimthesameasmeandLuka.It’sanotherreasonI’mgratefulforthisfarmandtheweirdlittlefamilywe’vepiecedtogether.We’reallabitlessalone.
“Pickthemupwheneveryouwant.I’llbeintheoffice.”
Henodsandheadsbacktohistractor,stillrumblinginmydrivewaybehindLuka’scrossover.Wewatchhimgo,Prancerdeclaringherdisgruntlementwithherclawsinmyhair.
“Okay,butthey’renotraccoons,right?They’recats.”
“Correct.”
“Stillsoconfused.”
Lukareachesabovehisheadforthedozingkittenandcradlesherinhisarms,followingmeintothehouse.IdriftintomythoughtsasIworktosetthekittensuponapileofoldblanketsinthecornerandLukareheatsthecoffee,pullingdowntwomugswithwinkingSantafaces.CometsauntersherwayoveraftersheleapsoutofLuka’sarms,settlingintohernewblankethomewithherfamily.Theytuckthemselvestogetherinahappypileofcontentmeows,dozinginthesunlightpaintingpatternsacrossmyhardwood.
IsupposeIshouldbemoretangledupaboutwhathappenedthismorning,butthetruthissimpleenough.IwantLuka.I’vealwayswantedLuka.AndthismorningfeltlikejustthetypeofindulgenceeveryoneisalwaystellingmeIneed
Didn’tLaylasayIshouldenjoymytimewithhim?Didn’tIdoexactlythat?
Iglanceoverathimstandingatthesinkwithhishandcurledaroundamugofcoffee.He’sbeenstirringthesamespoonforclosetoaminutenow,themetalclinkingagainsttheceramiceveryturnaroundthecup.I
watchashislipsturndownatthecornersandheshakeshisheadslightly,justonce,likehe’shavinganargumentonlyhecanhear.
“Shouldwe-”IswallowaroundmyhesitationandwatchasLukablinksbacktohimself.Ajoltinhisshouldersashestraightens.“Doyouwanttotalkaboutthismorning?”
Hepausesandthensetsthespooninthesink,thesplitsecondofindecisionlodgingmyheartfirmlyinmythroat.Idon’twanthimtohesitatewithme.Ineverwanttolosetheeasebetweenus
Hemeetsmeinthelivingroom,extendingahandtohelpmefrommycrouchedpositiononthefloor.There’snojoltofelectricitywhenourskintouches,justthesweet,settlingwarmthIalwaysfeel.Likethefirstbiteofpieafterwaitingforittocoolontheracksnexttotheoven,tartanddelicious.Orclothesfreshoutofthedryerinthemiddleofwinter.Steadyandsure.Afamiliarcomfort.
Hepullshishandawayandtucksitintothefrontofhissweatshirt,flippedbacktotheproperdirectionatsomepointthismorning.Hiskneeshakesupanddown,andhetakeshishandoutandrunsitthroughhishairinstead.Helooksupatmefromunderhislashes,reluctant,andsettleshishandonthebackofhisneck.“Uh,doyouwantto?”
“Ithinkweshould,”Isayquietly,droppingontothecushionnexttohim.AnotherhesitationandItuckmyfeetunderhisthigh.Hisentirebodycollapsesatthemovement,shoulderscurlinginwithrelief,asighescapingfromsomewheredeepinhischest.Hishandfindsmyankleandwrapsarounditlightly,thumboverringfinger.It’sthesamewaywe’vealwaysfallentogetheronthiscouch,andthere’sareassuranceinthat.Hegivesmeasheepishsmile.
“Ididn’t–”Hesqueezesmylegonce.“Ididn’tmakeyouuncomfortable,didI?”WhenIdon’tanswerrightaway,hishandsqueezesharderatthebackofhisneck,knucklesturningwhite.“Ididn’texpectforthatto–“
“No,Iwasn’tuncomfortable.”Theopposite,actually.“Ijust–“Ithinkofhowhemovedagainstme,thewayhisbottomlipdraggedagainsttheskinatthebackofmyneck.Iclearmythroatandwrapmysweatertighteraroundmytorso.“Wehaven’tdonethatbefore.”
We’vehugged.We’vecuddled.We’vetwistedourselvesaroundoneanotheronthecouchwatchingmovies.Butwe’veneverpantedintoeachother’sskin.Movedtogethertochasefrictionandheatandwanting.
“No,wehavenot,”hesays,alittlebitshy.Hefinallyreleaseshisneckandsmilesintohiscoffee.Ilikethisversionofhim,almostasmuchasIliketheversionofhimthatsitswithhislegsspreadwideinmyrockingchair,sayingthewordfucking.“Wasitweird?”
I’vebeenwaitingallmorningtofeeltheawkwardness,thepanic.TofeelweirdaboutmybestfriendwhisperingintomyearaboutthenoisesImake.ButI’vefeltonlythesamebubblyfeelingofcontentmentI’vefeltsincehekissedmeinthebarn.Idon’tknow,maybeI’llhaveabreakdownaboutitlater,butrightnow,Ifeel–Ifeelokay.Good.
“It’sweirdthatitwasn’tweird,Ithink.Doesthatmakesense?”
Hestraightensabitatthat.“Thatmakessense,”heoffers.“We’vebeenfriendsforever,andthatwas-”AknowingsmilehoversonhislipsandIpracticallyfeelthedragofhisgazeoverthehollowofmythroat.“Iwasdreamingofyou,andwhenIwokeupyouwerewarmandsoftand–IguessIcouldn’tresist.”Onefingerstrokesagainstmyanklebone.“Thetruthis,
LaLa,that’sbeenatemptationforawhile.”
Iblinkathim.“Whathas?”
“Well,Imean,notspecificallygrindingagainstyouinbed,”hesaysquickly,andthenpauses,tiltinghisheadbackandforthinconsideration.
“Actually,Iguess,yeah.Specificallygrindingagainstyouinbed.”Hegivesmeacheekysmile,colorrisinginhischeeks.Ipinchathisribs.
“Beserious,please.”
“Iambeingserious,”helaughs,pullinghimselfoutofpinchingdistance.Hecomesrightbacktome,though,whenIsettleintothecouchandreachforthekittens,strokingtheirtinyheadswithmyknuckles.
“Ithink–“Heshiftsinhisseat,placeshiscoffeeonthetableandgripsmyankles,maneuveringmylegssothey’retuckedathisside.“ThissocialmediapersonarrivesMonday,right?Andshe’shereforaweek?”Herestshischinonmyknees.
Inod.
“Arecap,then.Wedon’tfeelweirdaboutthismorning.Andit’sweirdnottofeelweird.Butit’sagoodweird?”Inodagainandhesmiles,adipofsunlightcatchinginhishair.Iglareatit,halfexpectingafamilyofbluebirdstoflyinthroughthecrackinthewindowandsettleonhisshoulders.
“Okay,sohowaboutthis.We’resupposedtobepretendinganyway.
Whatifweusethisweekasatrialperiod?Formeandyou.Seehowitgoes.”
“Atrialperiod?”
“Yes.”
“Seehowitgoes?”
“AreyoujustgoingtorepeatbackwhatIsaytoyou?”
Irubmythumbintomytemple.“IthinkIneedyoutoexplainit.”
“Okay,so,”henarrowshiseyesandtiltshishead.“Likehowwe’reactinginpublic.Whatifwetriedthatwhenwewerealone,too?Takethismorningasanexample.Wewantedtotryit,sowedid.Andwe’restillokay.Ithink–IthinkIfitfeelsright,weshouldfollowit.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaningifwe’rehereandIwanttopressyouintothecountertopandseewhatyoutastelike,thenIcantrythat.”Mystomachswoopslow.Henuzzlesmyknee.“Ifyouwant.”
“Isthatwhatyouwant?”
“Obviously.”
Itisnotobvioustome.
“Likeafriendswithbenefitssituation?”Idon’tliketheideaofthat.
Heshakeshishead,makingasourface.Itreassuresme.“No.Ithink–Ithinkwebothfeelthetensionbetweenus,yeah?”Inod.Ican’tbelieveI’madmittingthatI’vethoughtabouthimlikethat,aboutuslikethat.“Thenthiswilljustbe,Idon’tknow.Aweekofactualdatingandallthatentails.
Wedon’thavetoturnitoffwhenwe’realone.”
Iconsiderit.I’mnotsurehowIfeelabouta7-dayguaranteeapproachtothemostimportantrelationshipinmylife.“Andwe’llstillbefriends?
Nomatterwhat?”
Henodsfirmly.“Nomatterwhat.”
“Doyoupromiseme?”
Ineedapromise.Infact,I’dpreferalegallybindingdocumentwithournamessignedinbloodatthebottom.IknowAlexatthebookstorenotarizesdocumentsfromtimetotime.Iwonderifhe’dbewillingtopressasealtosomethingwrittenonthebackofatakeoutmenu.Thisfeelslikeanoversimplificationofacomplicatedadditiontoanirreplaceable
relationship.I’vewatchedenoughromanticcomediestoknowthisisprobablygoingtoendbadlyforoneofus,andmymoneyisonme.
LukatugsatmybottomlipwithhisthumbuntilIreleaseit,tracingtheindentsleftfrommyteeth.Heisearnest,open,andI’mgratefulthatheseemstobetakingthisasseriouslyasIam.
“Ipromiseyou,Stella.Crossmyheart,”hemakesalittle‘x’overhischest.“Thisisaslowpressureasitgets.Noexpectations.Wedon’thavetodoanythingwedon’twanttodo.”
That’stheproblem.Ican’tthinkofmanythingsIdon’twanttodowithLuka,andI’mnotsosureindulginginaweekbeforecuttingmyselfoffforeversoundslikeagoodplan.Ioncetriedtogiveupcaffeinecoldturkey.
Laylafoundmeshiveringinmyofficeinthemiddleofsummer,chewingfranticallyonsticksofgum.Idon’tknowiftheymakegumstrongenoughforLukawithdrawal.
“Rightatthismoment,though,youknowwhatfeelsright?”Heleansforwarduntilthetipofhisnosedragsagainstmycheekandmyheartleapstomythroat,thatsamedelicioustensionfromearlierthismorningpullinglowinmybellywhenhishandsdragupmyshins,overtheoutsideofmythighs.Helingerstherewithhispalmscuppingmybareskin,fingertipsjustbarelybrushingunderthehemofmyshorts.Icanthinkofplentyofthingsthatwouldfeelgoodrightnow,startingwithmepressedoutflatagainstthiscouch.
Lukasmilesatme,onesideofhismouthhitchingup,thentheother.Istareatthepatternoffrecklesjustunderhislefteye.“Omeletswithbacon.”
WEEATouromeletsatthetablelikecivilizedhumanbeings,arespectabletwo-point-fivefeetofsolidbarnwoodtablebetweenus.Despiteourdecisiononthisnewaspectofourrelationship,thereisnomorelingeringineachother’sspace.Thereisnokissing,ortouchingorevenheatedglances.There’sjustmeandLuka,ahalf-emptycartonofalmostexpiredorangejuice,astackofcrispybacon,andhisforkonmyplateeveryotherbite,tryingtostealmycheese.
“Idon’tunderstandwhyyoudon’tjustputcheeseinyouromelet.”I
pullmyplateoutofhisreachagainandgrabasliceofhisbaconforgoodmeasure.He’sdrivingmenuts.
“Idon’tlikecheeseinmyomelet.”
Hiswanderingforksaysdifferently.Hereachesfortheorangejuiceandgivesitagoodshakebeforetoppingoffmyglassandhis.Helooksmorewell-restednow,thefaintcirclesunderhiseyesgone.Therestorativepropertiesofdryhumping,Iguess.Hecatchesmestaringathim.
“What?”
“Whydidyouleavethecitysoearly?”Iforkanotherbiteofeggintomymouth.Idon’tknowhowhemanagestogetthebaconsocrispyonceit’sinsidetheomelet.Witchcraft,probably.
Heshrugsbutlooksawayfromme,frowningathiseggwhitesandspinach.Eyesfulloflongingslideovertomyplate.EggswithcheddarandbaconandOldBay.Itugitclosertomysideofthetable.Ifhewantedadeliciousomelet,heshouldhavemadeoneforhimselfinsteadofthehealthprescriptionhehasloadedinfrontofhim.
“Wantedto,”hemumbles.Pinktouchesthetipsofhisears.“Imissed–
Imissedhome,andIcouldn’tsleep,soIjustdroveback.”
Idon’tliketheideaofLukanotbeingabletosleep.Ifrown.“Doesyourmomknowyou’reback?”
Henodstowardsthecoffeemachine.“WheredoyouthinkIgotthatfrom?”
“Youstoleyourmom’scoffee?”
“No,shehaditsittingoutwithabrightbluestickynotethatsaid‘ForStella’alongwithsomecreativethreatsinItalianifItookanylibertieswithyourcoffee.”Heleansbackinthechairandhookshisarmaroundthebackofit,feetkickedwide.Itshouldn’tlooksoindecent.Allhe’sdoingissittinginmykitchenchair.Butthesheeramountofspacehetakesupwithhisbodyandrememberinghowmuchspacehetookupinmybed–ithasmeshiftinginmychair.“IsawitandfiguredI’djustcomeover.Crashonyourcouch.”
“I’mgladyoudidn’t.”
Onedarkeyebrowjumpsonhisforehead.“Crashonyourcouch?”
Inodandhesmiles.Helooksdownatthetabletopandthenbackuptome,bashfulwithatouchofheat.“Yeah,metoo.”
WesettlebackintosilenceasIthinkthroughmylistofwhatneedstobedonetoday.Oneofthekittensisinvestigatingtheorangejuice,anotherweavingthroughthesaltandpeppershakers.PrancerandVixenhaven’tmovedfromtheircozyspotbythewindow,bathedinahaloofsunshine.
I’llreturnthemtoBecktonight,andit’slikelyhewon’tvolunteertoeverbringthemback.Iguessoursharedcustodyagreementisofficiallyover.
TomorrowisThanksgiving,andthefollowingdayisourofficialholidayseasonopen.We’vehadsomecustomershereandthere,mainlypeoplefromtownvisitingLaylafortheirsugarfix.Butwe’vehadacoupleofpeoplecomefortrees,too.Onefamilyinparticular,withabeleagueredlookingdadandtwooverexcitedpre-teens,hoppingupanddownin
“Idon’tthinkI’mgoingtostayinNewYorkmuchlonger,”Lukasays.Hepartnersthatbombshellstatementwithasipofhisorangejuiceandacrunchofbacon.Cometskittersawayfromthecondimentsandhurriesbacktoherpalletofblanketsandsunshine.Heshrugsalittlebit.“I’mnotreallyhappythere.”
Iblinkathimandthinkthroughsomeofourrecentconversations.
Didn’thespendforty-fiveminutestheotherdayexplainingthesuperiorityofgoodpublictransit?I’mprettysurehecomposedapoemaboutthathalalchickencartinfrontofhisapartment.
Stupidly,that’swhatIfixateon.“Ithoughtyoulikedyourstreetchicken.”
Heignoresme.“There’sastart-upinDelawarethat’sbeentryingtorecruitme.They’resmallandit’sreallydifferentfromwhatI’mdoingnow.
Lessclient-facingstuff,butI’dbecloser.AndIcould–Icouldworkremotelymore.”
LukainDelaware.That’sonly–IcandrivetotheDelawareborderintwentyminutes.There’sevenafishtacostandonthewayifIheadtowardsthecoastandtakethescenicroute.Wecouldmeetatthebeachonsummermorningsandhavecoffeewithourtoesinthesand.Itamperdowntherushofexcitementandtrytochannelthepartofmethat’ssupposedtobeanimpartialbestfriend,asoundingboardforbigdecisionslikethis.
“Isthatwhatyouwanttodo?”
AsfarasIknow,NewYorkhasalwaysbeenhisplan.Workingatabigmarketingagency,leadingthedatateam–it’salwaysseemedlikesomethinghe’shappydoing.Hescratchesatthebackofhisheadandmeticulouslyextricatesapieceofspinachfromhisomeletwiththetipofhisfork.Hegivesitalooklikeit’sinsultedhismother.“I’dbehappybeingcloser.Idon’tknow,Idon’tthinkthecityisformeanymore.Itfeelstoobig.Andmymomsaysshe’stiredoftakingthebusupforvisits.”
Shehasneveroncetakenthebus.LukaalwaysbooksheraticketonthefancyAcelatrainthatrunsupanddownthecoastandshe’sdeliveredtoNewYorkinlessthantwohours,tipsyoffcheapbottlesofminiwine.
ShesaysthetrainremindsherofItaly,butinsteadoftherollinggoldenhillsofTuscanyvineyardsoutsideherwindow,she’sforcedtolookatawastelandofcapitalism.
“Butwouldyoubehappy?InDelaware?”
Thetensionslipsfromhisshouldersandhishandloosensitsgriponhishair.Hegivesmealook,ahalf-smilecurledacrosshislips.There’sasecretthere,hiddeninthelinesofhisface.“IthinkIwould,yeah.”
Ican’thelpmygrin.Itspillsoutofmelikethesunshinemakingmykitchenglow.Iletmyselfindulgeinthefantasyofitforamoment,thepossibilityofLukacloseby.“Youknowthere’sa-”
“Fishtacostand,yeah,”hisforkfindsmyomeletagain,butthistimeIlethim.I’mfeelingmagnanimous.“It’snotstreetchicken,butIthinkI’llmanage.”
Ipushmyplateinfrontofhimandlethimhaveatit.AllIwantedwasthebacon,anyway.Iplucktherestofhisfromhisabandonedplate.“Whilewe’reonthetopicoflivingarrangements,weshouldprobablyfigureoutthisweek.”
Hedoesn’tlookupfromwherehe’sshovelingfoodinhisface.“I’msupposedtobringyoutoThanksgivingtomorrowbyanymeansnecessary,”hesaysaroundamouthfulofpotato.“Mymotherspecificallysaidthatshedoesn’tcareifyou’reunconsciousatthetable,justthatyouwakeupintimeforpie.”
“That’s…violent,butnotwhatIwastalkingabout.”
“Oh,”hesitsupanddragshisthumbacrosshisbottomlip,catchingabitofketchupbeforepoppingitinhismouthandlickingitoff.Iamsufficientlydistracted.“Whatarewetalkingaboutthen?”
“Evelynthinksweownthisplacetogether.Ifyou’restayingatyourmom’swhileyou’rehere,she’llprobablythinkthat’sweird.”
Lukanodsandspearsaleftoverbreakfastpotato.“ThenI’mgladIbroughtthegoodcoffee,roomie.”FOURTEEN
THANKSGIVINGATLUKA’Shouseispandemonium.Weletourselvesinthefrontdoortoachorusofshriekingandlaughterfromthekitchen,armedwithenoughbottlesofredwinetotakedownasmallmilitia.Ihaveoneineachofmyhandsandanothertuckedundermyarm,afourthinmybagnexttotheflaskofwhiskyLukasnuckinjustbeforeweleft.Lukaisladenwithbouquetsforhismom,grandmother,andeachofhisaunts,averitablewalkinggreenhouse.Hepausesinthehallway,ItalianandEnglishandDavidBowiedriftinginfromthekitchen.IhearhisAuntGiannayellsomethingaboutstuffingwithoutoystersandLukawinces.
“I’mhavingsomesecondthoughts,”hemuttersjustasallthewomenbegintocackle,hismomyellingsomethinginItalian.Luka’searsturnbrightred.“Quick,Ithinkwecanturnaroundbeforeanyonenoticesus.”
Igotorubhisshoulderwithmyhand,butI’mstillholdingthebottleofwine.ItapitagainsthiminwhatIhopeisacomfortinggesture.Hefrownsdownatme.“It’llbefine.Thisisn’tthefirsttimeI’vebeenaroundyourfamily.”
ButitisthefirsttimeI’vebeenaroundthemwhentheythinkI’mdatingLuka.WhatevergoodwillI’vebuiltupovertheyearsdisappearsassoonasIstepfootinthekitchen,fivesetsofstartlinggrayeyesnarrowedinonme.Thismustbewhatitfeelsliketobetrappedbehindenemylines.IwavewithawinebottleandAuntEvashufflesover.
“Areyoulatebecauseyouwerehavingsex?”Shegrabsthebottleofwineoutofmyhandandnodsatthelabel.IhearLukamutteracreativestringofcursewordsbehindme.“Justbecauseyoutwoarehumpinglikebunniesnow,doesn’tmeanyoucanjustshowuplatetothings.”
Abouquetofmumsisthrustbetweenus,Luka’seyebrowsslantedlow.
“We’retwentyminutesearly,AuntEva.”
Shereachesupandpinchesbothofhischeeks,followingwithkisses.
“I’llbethejudgeofthat,Cucciolo.You,”shepointstomeandthenpointstoanemptyplaceatthecounterwheretherelookstobeabout76-poundsofpotatoes.“Peel.”
“She’saguest,AuntEva.”
“Sheisnotaguest.Sheisfamilyandshepeelspotatoes.”
Igotopeelthepotatoes.Afterhemakeshisroundofgreetings,cheeksabrightredfrombeingpinchedincessantly,he’sputtoworkaswell,arrangingandrearrangingthetablesettingunderthecarefuldirectionofhismother.Luka’sgrandmothercomestomeatthesink,peelerinhand.
Shegrabsapotatoandmakesquickworkofit,noddinginthedirectionofthediningroomasLukamovesthegravyboathalfaninchtotheleft,jawclenched.
“Itistraditiontomakehimflustered,”shewinksatme.PoorLuka,theonlysonforallthesewomentotorment.Hisauntsareintentionallyandsomewhatnotoriouslysingle.Hesaysgrowingup,thelittleItaliantowntheylivedincalledthemlupicheululano.Thewomanwolveswhohowl.
“WeliketoguesshowlongitwilltakeforhimtostartbeggingmercyfromSanPietro.”
Ittakesanother20minutesandanargumenthalfinEnglishandhalfinItalianaboutwhatshouldgoontopofthesweetpotatoes.Hethrowsthebagofmarshmallowsclutchedinhishandatthepantryinexasperationandstompsintothebasement,hissingsomethingaboutfoldingchairs.Inoticehemakesastopatmypursefirst,aflashofsilverinhishand.Assoonashe’sgone,allthewomenstarttolaugh.There’sanexchangeofmoneyandthenCarinaissweepingovertomewithmischiefinhereyes,akisspressedtobothofmycheeks
“Wearesohappytohaveyouhere,Stella.”
“I’mhappytobehere,”Ismile.
Infact,astheeveninggoesonandLukaemergesfromthedepthsofthebasementwithtwofoldingchairsunderhisarmandwhiskeyonhisbreath,I’mprettyupsetwithmyselfforsayingnotothisforyears.AuntSofiapullsoutanalbumofLukababypicturesduringappetizers,herfacepositivelyalightwithglee.Itakeitfromherwithgreedyhandsandgeta
glimpseofasailorsuitbeforeLukaslamsitshutagain,takingitandtossingitontopofthefridge.It’sfunnythathethinksI’mnotaboveclimbingupthere.
Hedoesn’tbotherhidinghisflaskafterthat.
It’scozyandsillyandsweetandaperfectholidaywithfamily.Lukagrabsmyhandhalfwaythroughdinnerandtwinesourfingerstogether,thumbbrushingovermyknuckles.Idon’tknowifit’sforthebenefitofhisaunts,orifthisisoneofthosethingsthatfeelsright,butIleanintoit,restingmyshoulderagainsthisandscoopingabiteofpieoffhisplate.Bythetimewe’releaving,Iamstuffedtothebrimwithgoodfoodandevenbettercompany,mychestlightforthefirsttimeinmonths.ApparentlyadinnerwiththefullPeters-Russofamilyisasuitabledistractionfromapredominantfearoffailureandabandonment.
Istandbythedoor,onceagaineyeballingatowerofleftoversthatseemstostretchfromfloortoceiling.ThisTupperwareisdifferent,moremodern,andIwonderifLuka’smompickeditupafterseeingthestateofmyfridgelastweek.Istillhaven’tmanagedtoworkmywaythroughthedishesshebroughtover.Iamoutoftiramisu,though.That
SheaddsanothersmalldishontopasLukapullsonhiscoatbythedoor.IhavenoideawhatI’mgoingtodowithallthisfood.“Helikescranberrywithcroissantsinthemorning,”shetellsmewithawink.
Lukaflushespinkforprobablythehundredthtimethisevening.I’mdelighted.“Grazie,Mama.”Hekissesbothhercheeksandthenpullshertightagainsthischest.Hewhisperssomethinginherear,somethingIcan’thear,andshecloseshereyestight,rockingintohim.Whenhereyesblinkopenagainthey’reshiningwithtearsbutsmiling,andIavertmygazetothebaseboards.
“Whenareyouvisitingagain?”shedemandsashepullsopenthedoor,arushofcoldairsweepingintothehallway.
“CanIleavebeforeyouask?”
Shepincheshermouthshutandwatchespointedlyashetakesastepontotheporch.Heholdsahandoutforme,takinghalftheTupperwareoutofmyarms.Assoonaswe’reoverthethreshold,sheasksagain.“Andwhenwillthatbe,Luka?”
Ilaugh.“Howaboutyoucometothefarmthisweek?We’rehavingaguestandI’msureshe’dlovetomeetyou.”
Lukastaresatmewithacomicallydistraughtface.Mistake,hiseyessay,evenashismomclapsherhandstogetherandjumpsinplace.Hejustrollshiseyesandholdsbackasmile.
That’salright.I’msmilingenoughforthebothofus.
“Oh,that’sright!You’reinthatcontest.Thekidshavebeentalkingaboutitallweek.Therewassomesortofsign-upsheetgoingaround.
They’vebeenassigningshifts.Mr.Hollowayconfiscateditthinkingitwasforthedrugs–“Lukamouthsthedrugsbehindher.“-buthandeditofftothePTAwhenherealizedwhatitwas.Theadultsdecidedtosignup,too.”
I’mconfused.“Signupforwhat?”
“Forvisiting,”shesays.Sheleansontheopendoorwaywithherarmscrossedoverherchest.“Wecan’thaveanemptyfarmforyouwhileyourfancyTokTokladyisintown.Ithinkyou’llhaveasteadystreamofvisitorsthroughtheholidayseason,thelastIsawofit.MabelisevenhangingtheChristmasdecorations,sowealllookourbestforyou.”
Irapidlyblinkagainstthewarmpressoftears,Luka’shandgentleatthesmallofmyback.“Everyone-”Iclearmythroat.“They’redoingallofthatforme?”
“IhavemysuspicionsatCindyCroswellsigningupforavisiteveryday,ofcourse,butyes.”Shecurlsherfingersaroundtheedgeofthedoor,lightandwarmthandlaughterspillingoutontotheporch.“Don’tyouknowyet,Stella?Thisisyourhome.Whatisit–IknowitinItalian,but–chisivolta,echisigira,sempreacasavafinire.”
Luka’shandslipsupmyspineandcurlsovermyshoulder.“Nomatterwhereyougo,youwillalwaysendupathome.”
“Yes,”shesnapsherfingersatherson.“Andwithhomecomesfamily.”
“HOWCANYOUEATRIGHTNOW?”
Lukaisstretchedoutacrossmycouch,thicksweaterbunchedslightlyaroundhismiddle,thebottomhalfofhisbutton-upexposed.Igotaglimpseearlierathiscollar,butnowIcanseethepatternbetter.Hehaslittleturkeydrumsticksdancingalloverhisshirt,tuckedunderneathasnuggreenknit.
Heforksanothermouthfulofpieoutofthetin.
“Idon’tknow,”hegroans.“Ihavenoself-control.”
IfeellikeI’mtheonewithnoself-controlasIwatchthewayfirelightdancesoverhisskin.Hismouthcurlsaroundthefork,abitofwhippedcreamclingingtohistoplip.Iwanttocrawlontopofhim,tuckmythighsagainsthishipsandlickitoff.
Hepointsatmewithhisfork.“Yourthoughtsarewrittenalloveryourface.”
Isinkfurtherinthecozyarmchairbythewindow.“Arenot.”
“You’relustingafterpie.”
Ihuffalaugh.Ifeelheavywithwineandwant.“Amnot.”
Lukalevelsmewithalookandthencarefullysetsthepietinonthecoffeetable,relaxingbackagainstthecouch,bodylooseangles.“LaLa,”heswallowsonce,mynamejustassweetonhistongueasthatpumpkinpie.
“Youcan’tsaythingslikethat.”“Whynot?”
“Because.”Hisgazeisdarkintheflickeringlightfromthefireplace.
“Becauseitmakesmewanttokissyou,andyou’reallthewayoverthere.”
Herollshisheadagainstthecouchcushiontolookoveratme,hishandrestingonhisbelly.IwishIwasrestingrightthere.Awarenesssnapsbetweenus,athinstringofdesirepullingtight.
“Iknowwesaidwe’dfollowwhat’sright,”hesaysinalowvoice.Hiseyeslingeronmylips,captivated.Minedriftoverthestraightlineofhisjaw,thelengthofhisthroat,thejutofhiscollarbonesthroughthecrookedcollarofhisridiculousshirt.Idon’tthinkI’veeverfeltsuchanticipationbefore,thecurlofitheavyinmychest.“Butyou’vegottagofirst,LaLa.Idon’twanttofeellikeI’mpressuringyouintoanything.”
“That’snotfair.”Islipmylegsoutfromwherethey’retuckedundermeandplacemymugofteaontheendtable.Lukawatchesme,handsshiftingtospreadhisarmswideagainstthebackofthecouch.Iriseandtakeastepcloserandhiskneestipopenininvitation.“Idon’twanttopressureyoueither.”
“Howaboutthis,”hegrits,impatient,handsreachingouttomeassoonasmyfeetstepbetweenhisopenthighs,fingerswrappinglowaroundmyhips.Hetugsonce,myleftkneefallingtothewornleatherathisside.Hetugsagain,notsatisfieduntilI’mbalancedabovehim.Hehumsunderhisbreath,contentmentinthelazyslouchofhisbody,mythighs
neatlybracketinghiships.JusthowIwanted.“Howaboutwepressureeachother?”
Ismileandrestmyhandsonhisshoulders.“Thatsoundslikealine.”
Hisnosescrunches,anadorablefurrowbetweenhisbrow.“Ifitis,it’sabadone.”
“Idon’tknow,itseemstohaveworkedoutforyou.”
Iignorethebriefflashofwarninginthebackofmymind,thebrightneonsignthat’sblinkingwait,slowdown.It’shardtothinkabouttheconsequenceswhenhispalmiswarmonthesmallofmyback,draggingupmyspine.Hetangleshishandlightlyinmyhairandtugsgently,justonce,aflashofsomethingdecadentinambereyeswhenImakeasmallnoiseinthebackofmythroat.Helikesthatnoise,Icantell.Hewantstohearitagain.
Ifixthecollarofhisshirtuntilit’sstraight,mythumbbrushingthebareskinatthehollowofhisthroat.Hehasfreckleshere,too,lighterthantheonesonhisface.Idriftmyfingertipsacrossaclusterofthemathiscollarbone,tracingalinetothecenterofhischest.Heshiversagainstme.
“Stillweirdthatit’snotweird,”Isayandhehumslowinhischest,hisbodyrelaxingfurtherintothecouchasIsettlemorefullyontopofhim.It’sadelighttotouchhimlikethis.Iwatchhimwatchingme,thehandinmyhairuncurlingfromafisttoagentlestroke,strandsslippingthroughhisfingers.Hecupsthebackofmyheadandthenliftsagain,thistimemycurlscascadingaroundmyshouldersandsurroundingusbothinathickcurtainofblack.Asmilelightsuphisface.
“Yourhairissofttoo,“hewhispers.
Ifeelsoft.Softandrelaxedandlanguidinhishold,ourchestsbrushingtogetherwitheveryinhale.IchangedintoanoversizedsweaterandanoldpairofhissweatpantsassoonaswegothomeandIwanthimtotakeadvantage.DiphishandunderthehemandfindoutifI’msofteverywhere.
Buthedoesn’t.Onehandstaysinmyhairandtheotherstaysatmyhipashetipshischinup,nudgingmynosewithhisuntilIslipmyhandtothebackofhisneckandbrushourlipstogether.
“I’vebeenthinkingaboutkissingyouallweek,”Ifeelhimsayagainstmylips.
That’snice.I’vebeenthinkingaboutkissinghimsinceIwastwentythree.
Thefirsttimewekissed,itwasgentle.Careful.HeheldmyhandinhisandcurledaroundmybodyandkissedmelikeIwasmadeofglass.
Idonotextendthesamecourtesy.
Ileanforwardandcatchhismouthwithmine,myteethgrazinghisbottomlip.Imovemyhandfromthebackofhisnecktohisjaw,guidinghismouthopenwithmine.Hegruntslikehe’stakenablow,thewindknockedoutofhislungs.Icanfeelthequestioninthetenselineofhisbody,theshouldIthatIlickoffthetipofhistongue.Hemakesanotherpainednoiseandthenhisbodymelts,hishandsgrab,andLukashowsmejusthowmuchhewasholdingbackwhenhekissedmeinthebarn.
He’sinsistent,impatient–alittlebitgreedy.It’slikehewantseverythingIhavetogive,allatonce.Hechasesmykiss,histhumbatmychintippingmymouthopenuntileverythingslowsintoawetslideofheat.
HetasteslikecinnamonandthewhiskyhekeptstealingsipsofallnightandIletmyselfsinkintothelanguidpullofit.BecausenowitfeelslikeI’mtheonethat’sbeenpunchedinthechest,myheartbeatloudinmyears.Icanfeelmypulseeverywhere.Inthesmallofmywrists,thebaseofmyspine,theplacebetweenmythighswhereI’mspreadoverhim.Thehandatmyhiptracesdowntocurveovermyass,pressingmeforward,tuckingmeclose.It’slikethatmorninginmybedroom,exceptbetter,becauseIcanfeelhimnow,hardandready.ThebuttonofhisjeansdigsintomybellyasImovecloserandgrinddownalittle,andhegroansaroundmytongue–myfavoritetasteyet.
Hebreaksawayfrommymouthanddragsbitingkissesovermyjawtothehollowjustbehindmyear.Ishiverandthreadmyfingersthroughhishair,rockingoverhislap.HehuffsalaughandItuguntilIcanseehisface,thedancingflamesfromthefireplacecastinghimhalfinshadow,halfinlight.Hesmilesupatmeanddropsakisswheremysweaterhassloucheddownoveroneshoulder.Heconsidersthestretchofbareskinandthentugsthesweaterdownalittlemore,kissingthesoftskinjustabovemybra.Hesighsandleanshisforeheadthere,hismutteredcurseabenediction.
“IthinkIshouldsleeponthecouchtonight.”
Ihumandscratchmynailsathisscalp.Hiswholebodypracticallyvibratesandhenipsatmychestwherehismouthrests.Ihopeitleavesamark.
“It’llbeatightfit,butIthinkwecanmakeitwork.”
Hegroansandshakeshishead,hipsthrustingtheslightestbitbeneathme.Iwanttochasethefrictionuntilthewindingpressurewithinmebuildsandbuildsandsnaps.IwantpantingbreathsandtensionstretchedliketaffyuntilIbreak.Iwantitonthiscouch.Iwantitinthehallway.Iwantitspreadoutonmydiningroomtable.
“Iwannatakemytime,”hesays,facesomewhereinmysweater.“Iwannadothisright.”
Hetiltshisheadbacktoresthischinagainstme,darkbrowneyeshotonmine.“Whendidyougetsotempting?”
Hisarmswrapfullyaroundme,holdingmeclosebutalsokeepingmefrommovingagainsthim.Irecognizethemomentaspassed.Slowisprobablyagoodthingwhenitcomestous,butrightnowitfeelslikemyheartisreadytobeatrightoutofmychest.
“Iusedtohavecontrolovermyself,”hemutters,armsflexingaroundme.I
know
the
feeling.
FIFTEEN
IWAKEupinthemiddleofthenightwithabodypinningmetothebed,Luka’sbreathingsteadyandevenagainstmyneck.He’salwaysbeenacuddler,shiftingandrollingandmovinginhissleepuntilhe’swrappedaroundme.Thefirsttimeweeversharedasleepingspacewewerecampingtogetheratthebeach,theedgesofthetentshakingintheheavywindsoffthewater,oursleepingbagsinparallel,alanternhanginginthecorner.Hehadsheepishlytriedtomakealittlewallbetweenuswithsweatshirtsandabagoftortillachips,mumblingsomethingaboutchroniccuddling.IhadthoughthewasjokinguntilIwokeupwithLuka’sthighacrossmyhips,hisarmstwistedaroundmytorso,andthebagoftortillachipswedgedundermyback.
Iscratchmynailslightlydownhisforearmandsmilewhenhenuzzlescloser.It’snicetohavehimhere.It’snicetowakeupwithhimnexttome.
Orontopofme.
Ishiftandyawnandpeerattheclockonthecornerofmydresser,Luka’sleftarmwrappingtighteraroundmymiddlewiththemotion.IttakesmeasecondtounderstandwhyI’mawakeandthenIhearitagain,ametallicpingfrommyphone.IreachforitandLukagrunts,turningontohissideandburrowingunderoneoftheseventhousandpillowsagainstmyheadboard.
EverymanIhaveeverdatedhascomplainedaboutthenumberofpillowsIkeeponmybed.ButnotLuka.Tonightbeforehecollapsedintoanexhaustedheap,hemutteredaquietfuckyeahbeforesmotheringhimselfwithacozychenille.Hewasasleepinlessthanthirtyseconds.
Iwinceatthebrightscreenofmyphoneinmydarkroom,navigatingtothecameraapp.ThealarmsystemhasgoneoffacoupleoftimesinthemiddleofthenightsinceIinstalledit.Onceitwasafamilyofdeergrazingatthedried-outcornstalksstackedbythetractors.AnothertimeitwasBeckett,doingwhateveritishedoesoutinthefieldsbeforethesunrises.
Thelasttimeitwasaninquisitiverobin,nothingbutaflashofherfeathersasshepeckedatthetopofthecamera,thewholethingshaking.
SoIdon’tknowwhatI’manticipatingwhenIswipetoopenthenotificationaboutmovementoncamerathree,butit’scertainlynotahoodedfigurethrowingrocks.
Awarenesshasmejoltingupinbed,watchingasthepersonabandonstherocksandlooksatthegroundbytheirfeetforsomethingelseinstead.Iwatchwithmyhearthammeringastheyfindsomethinglongandthin–arake,itlookslike,leftoutofthebarn–andreachup.Thepicturejolts,swims,andthengoesdark.
“Luka.”Itossmyphoneandpracticallyfalloutofbed,lookingformysweatpants.They’refoldedneatlyovermydeskchair.Itrytohopintothem,myhandsshakingtoobadlyformetogetagoodgriponthewaistband.“Luka,wakeup.”
Hegroansandshimmiesfurtherdownintomymountainofpillows.“Ican’ttakeyoutogettacosrightnow,La.M’sleeping.”
Ifindmyleftboot,half-hiddenundermybed,andjumpononefootasI
attempttopulliton.“There’ssomeoneoutside.”
ThathasLukasittingup,blinkingblearilyatme,hairstickingupinwilddisarray.“What?”
“Thecameras,”Iexplain.“Someonejustknockedoneoutwitharake.”
Hethrowsbackmycomforter,feetfindingthehardwood.“Justnow?”
“Yeah,”Ireachformyphone,darkonmybedspread.Idon’tknowwhy,there’snouseinshowinghimadisconnectedcamera.“ThenotificationfromthecamerawokemeupandIsawsomeone.”
HepullshissweatshirtoverhisheadandthenlookspointedlyatwhereI’mstilltryingtojammyfootintoaboot.“Andyouweregoingtowhatgooutsideandstrikeupafriendlyconversation?”
Ifrown.“ObviouslyIhavetogooutthereandseewhat’sgoingon.”
Hescratchesatthebackofhisheadroughly,makinghishairstickupevenworse.ItwouldbecuteifIcouldfocusforhalfasecond.“No.Notobviously.StayhereandcallBeckett,”hetellsme.Hetakesasteptowardsthehallwayandthenturnsbacktome.“CallBeckett,andthencallDane.”Itrailafterhimoutofmybedroom.“I’mgoingwithyou.”
“Youarenot.”
Ifollowhimtotheentrywayandgrabmycoatbeforehecanshoveitinthecloset,outofmyreach.Istuffmyarmsintothesleeves,defiant,andgrabahat,pullingitdownovermytangledcurls.ItfeelslikeI’marmingmyselfforbattle.Lukafrownsatmewithaheavysigh,quicklypullingonhisjacket.
“Doyoustillhavethatsoftballbat?”
Inod.“Whatareyougoingtodowithit?”
“Hopefullynothing.”
IcallBeckettwhenLukaishalf-buriedinmyhallcloset,emergingwiththesoftballbatIusedformaybethreeyearswhenIdecidedIwasgoingtomakeittotheJuniorLeagueSoftballWorldSeries.It’sbrightpinkwithatye-dyehandgripandIrefusetogetridofitbecausemymomworkedovertimeforamonthtobuymethatthing.Iloveit.Ihitexactlyzerohomerunswiththatbadboy.
Needlesstosay,IdidnotmakeittotheJuniorLeagueSoftballWorldSeries.
Lukaheftsitoverhisshoulderandpeeksopenmyfrontdoorliketheboogeymanhimselfisabouttojumpoutfrombehindafencepost.Hetriestoclosemein,butIhustleafterhim,keepingmystepslightdownthefrontstairs.Beckettanswersonthethirdring.
“Whyareyoucallingmeat–“
“There’ssomeoneonthefarm,”Irushout,keepingmyvoicelowjustincase.Justincase,what,Ihavenoidea.Lukagesturesatme,awordlessquestion.Where?IpointtowardstheSantabarn,sittinglargeandominousontheothersideoftheiceskatingrinkwehadinstalledthreedaysago.
Thefarmlooksdifferentinthemiddleofthenight,themoonblockedoutbyaheavycoverofclouds,abreezewhisperingthroughthetrees.
Everythingsoundslikefootsteps,andIfeellikeourhoodedintruderisgoingtocometearingoutatusatanysecond.IgripLuka’sarm.“Someoneknockedoutthebarncamera.“
“Areyoualone?”There’srummaginginthebackground,astringofcreativecursewords,andacrash.
“Lukaishere.We’reheadingthatway.”
“I’llberightthere.”
Lukastaysclosetomeasweroundtherink,fistsclenchedtightaroundthecolorfulhandleofthebat.HenodsatmyphoneasIhangup.“Dane.”
“YoureallythinkIneedtocallthepolice?”
Thelookhegivesmeisonepartincredulous,anotherpartunadulteratedexasperation.“Dane,”hesays,throughclenchedteeth.
Idoubtwhoeverknockedoutthecameraisarealthreat.It’sprobablyjustoneofthekidsfromthehighschool,messingaround.Theywerewearingahoodiewithabadger,forgoodnesssake.
IcallDaneandheanswersonthefirstring.
“What’swrong?”
“Someoneisonthefarm,”Irepeatforwhatfeelslikethehundredthtime.“Myalarmwentoffanditwassomeoneknockingoutthecamera.
It’sdisconnectednow.”
Istarehardintothedark,lookingforanysortofmovement.Myeyesareplayingtricksonme.Everytwitchingtreebranchissomeone’sleg.Thebigbannersthatcircletherinkaflashofasweatshirt.
“Whyareyouwhisperin’?Stella,Isweartogod-”Anotherroundofcreativecursewordsandthesephoneconversationsarestartingtogetrepetitive.“Areyououtsiderightnow?”
Irunmybottomlipbetweenmyteeth.“Maybe.”
“Gobackinside.”
“I’mwithLuka.”
“Thenthebothofyougobackinside.Donotengagethetrespasseronyourproperty,StellaBloom,orIwilllockyouupmyself.ThesamegoesforLuka.”Heexhalesabreathlikehe’sjustrunfifteenmileswithabarrelstrappedtohisback.“Nowgositinyourhouse,lockallthedoors,andwaitformetogetthere.Doyouunderstand?”
IglanceoveratLuka.We’realmostatthebarnnow,thetallredsidingwithinarm’sreach.Wehugclosetotheside,keepingtotheshadows.Lukanodstowardsthedisabledcamera.“We’llcheckthelocksonthebarnrealquick,”hewhispers.“Thengoback.”
“Doyouunderstand,Stella?”Ihearacardoorslamandthentherumbleofanengine.
“Iunderstand,”Isayquickly,eagertogethimoffthephone.Iunderstandwhyhewantsmetodothat,butIdon’tnecessarilyagree.
“Seeyousoon.”
HestartstosaysomethingelsebutIendthecall,tuckingmyphoneinmybackpocket.TogetherLukaandIcreeptowardsthelargeslidingdoors,
bothofmyhandswrappedfirmlyaroundhisarm.He’sgoingtohavetentinybruisesonhisbicepfrommyfingers.Myheartbeatpoundsthroughme,adrenalinemakingmeshake.LukastopsabruptlynexttomeandIalmoststumbleforward,preoccupiedwithlookingatthebitsofcamerascatteredontheground.Lukasteadiesmeandthenpointsatthebarndoor.
It’sopen.
Westareateachother.Suddenly,Dane’sinstructionsmakealotmoresense.Ishakemyheadandgesturebacktowardsmyhouse.Lukafrownsandpointsonceatthegroundandthennodshisheadforward,clearinstructionsforstayherewhileIgolook.Absolutelynot.Heisnotgoingintothedarkbarnbyhimselfwithnothingbutabaseballbat.Ishakemyheadfuriously.Herollshiseyes.
Fortunately,ourstandoffisinterruptedbyafigurestrollingoutofthebarn
Ialmostbitemytonguecleanintwo,asqueakofsurpriseasLukaforcefullydragsmebehindhim.IwishwehadnevercomeouthereandjustwaitedforDanelikeanyothersanehumanbeingwouldhave.Lukawasright.What’smyplanhere?Askhimnicelytostopdestroyingmythings?
Theshadowedfigurestills,clearlyhavingspottedus.Lukaraisesthebatinfrontofus.IwishIhadoneofthoseplasticcandycanes.IfLukaisrightandthisisthesamepersonwhohasbeencausingallmyproblemssinceweopened,I’dliketogetinawhackortwo.
“What’reyouguysdoing?”
Lukadropsthebatwithaheavingsighandbendsatthewaist,bracinghimselfonhisknees.Tensionleavesmeinarush,leavingmelightheadedandpissedoff.IpickupapieceofcameraoffthegroundandlobitatBeckett.Hesmacksitaway.
“Whatthehellareyoudoingsneakingaroundouthere?”
“Iwascheckingtoseeifthebarnislocked.Whatareyoutwodoing?”
HesquintsatLukawhoisstillrecoveringfromaheartattack,bentinhalf.
“Isthatapinkbat?”
“It’srosegold,”Isnap.“Werethedoorslocked?”
Beckettnods.“Nodamageinside.Justthecamerahere.”
“Someonejammedthedooraweekago,”Lukaoffers.“Itwasn’tclosingalltheway.”
“Isthatwhatthatwas?”IknewsomethingwaswrongwiththedamnthingandIdidn’tthinktwiceaboutit.“Doyouthinkthey’restillhere?”IlookaroundusasLukapicksupthebatandstraightens.I’vejustnownoticedoneofthekittensisinBeckett’sfrontpocket.Vixen,bythelooksofit.MaybeComet.
“Doyoustillhaveeverythingontheswitch?”Lastyearweconnectedallofthedecorationstoasingle,digitalswitch.ItmakesiteasierthanBeckettandIwalkingalloverthefarm,unpluggingoverahundredextensioncords.Becketthilariouslystillreferstoitastheswitch,likeflickingonthelightwhenyoustepintothegarage.
“Goodidea,”whispersLuka.
IhandBeckettmyphone.“Whatidea?”
Thefarmsuddenlyblazestolifearoundus,everysinglelightblinkingonatonce.It’slikethatsceneinChristmasVacationwhenChevyChasepullstheextensioncordsoverhishead.I’mprettysureyoucanseeusfromspacerightnow.Iblinkagainstthesuddenbrightnessandthenseeit,aflashofwhiteandaknocked-overrake,thetreesrustlingintheentrancetothewestpasture.
“There,”IpointandBecketthandsmethekittenbeforetearinginthatdirection,Lukaquickonhisheelswiththatridiculousbatheldlooselyinhislefthand.Ibrieflyconsidergoingafterthem,butthere’snoway.LukaandBeckettbothrantrackinhighschoolandnooneknowsthesefieldsbetterthanBeckett.Goodlucktowhoeverthinkstheycanoutrunthem.
IholdComet/Vixenuptomyfaceandgivehernoseatinykiss.Shemeowsatme.“Iknow,sweetheart.Let’sgobacktothehouseandwaitforDane.”
It’slessintimidatingtowalkhomewithallofthelightson.Still,I’mcarefultopayattentiontomysurroundings.Ihavenoideaifthispersonwasaloneornot,andLukatookmybatwithhim.IfBeckettisrightandit’sthetwinswreakinghavoc,it’slikelyoneofthemisstillhidingclosetothebarn.
Butmytripbacktothecottageisuneventful.Isitdownonthefrontstepsofmylittlecottageandstrainmyears,listeningforanysoundofLukaorBeckettorourtrespassers.Ichewonmylipandwatchthelights
swaybackandforth,thepinprickoftwoheadlightsappearingattheentrancetothefarm.Daneracesdownthedirtroadlikeabatoutofhell,thecrunchofgravelloudbeneathhistires.He’soutofhiscardoorbeforethevehiclehasevencometoacompletestop,fulluniformandafiercefrownonhisface.Iwonderifhesleepsinhissheriff’sbadge.
“Itoldyoutostayinthehouse.”
Iholdupthekitteninanefforttodistracthimandrespectfullydon’tpointoutthatIamsittingonthestepsofmyhouse.Danefrownsandglancesaroundtheyard.
“WhereisLuka?”
Iwince.“You’renotgoingtoliketheanswer.”
Hesighsandrollshisshouldersback.I’vejustagedhimfiveyearswithonelate-nightcall.“Whereishe?”
“WithBeckett.”
“Areyoubeingdeliberatelyvaguerightnow?”HetipsthebrimofhishatupwithhisknucklesandgivesmethesamelookhegavemewhenIwasnineteenandtellinghimIhadnoideahowthatPBRcanendedupinmyhand.“WhereisBeckett?”
Idebatemyoptions.DanepinchesthebridgeofhisnoseandIdecidetobehonest.
“Theytookoffintothefieldswhenwesawsomeone.”
Danesighs,afewchoicewordsonthetipofhistonguebeforeheswallowsthemdownwithobviouseffort.“Wasitwhenyoulititup?”
Inod.“Beckett’sidea.”
“Itwasagoodidea.Wouldabeenabetterideahadyouwaitedforappropriateback-up.”Heturnsandlooksoverhisshoulderasanothersetofheadlightsappearsdowntheroad.Hejerkshisthumboverhisshoulder.
“IcalledinCaleb.BecauseIunderstandtheimportanceofprotocolandsupport.”Whew,shotsfired.I’mprettysureifDanecouldgetawaywithslappingmeinhandcuffsandstowingmeinthebackseatofhiscarforanindeterminateperiodoftime,hewould.HesetshisfiststohishipsasCaleb’scruiserrumblestoastopnexttohiscar.“Whichdirectiondidtheyrun?”
“Westpasture,”Ioffer.Daneturnsonhisheel.“Waitasec.”
Ihopoffthestepsandstrideovertohim,wrappingbotharmsaroundhischest.Isqueezetight,Vixen/Cometmeowinghappilyfromherplace
smooshedbetweenus.“Thankyouforcoming,”ImutterintohisSheriff’sbadge.“I’msorryIdidn’tlisten.”
Onehandbrieflypressesbetweenmyshoulderblades,hischintappingatthetopofmyhead.HesighsandIsqueezetighter.“Justgladyou’resafe,”herumbles.Hepullsawayfrommeandroundsthefrontofhiscar.
Calebisjustclimbingoutofhis,alittlebitsleeprumpled,hisuniformshirtuntuckedandhisdeputybadgeclippedupsidedown.“StayherewithCaleb.I’llgogettheboys.”
CalebandDaneconferathisbumper.Danepointstomeandthenpointsatthehouse,threetimesinrapidsuccession.Itseemslikehe’sjustsayingkeepherinthehouse,keepherinthehouse,keepherinthehouseoverandoveragain,butCalebnodslikeit’sdayoneatthepoliceacademy,eagertotakeinstruction.
Calebisagoodguy.WewenttohighschooltogetherhereinInglewild.
Irememberhimasshyandalittlebitawkward,tallandlankywithglassestoobigforhisface.He’scertainlyshedthatimagewithage.He’sdownrighthandsomenow,withbrightblueeyesandawidesmile.Adimplethatwinkstolifeinhisleftcheekeverytimehelaughs.Beautifuloliveskin.Histhinframehasfilledoutwithmuscle,andhekeepshisdarkhaircroppedclosetothesidesandalittlebitlongerontop.It’sstickingupabitinthebackrightnowandIwonderifhe’sannoyedhehadtocomeallthewayouthereinthemiddleofthenight.
IheardBeckyGardenertalkingatthegrocerystoreonceabouthowit’sacryingshamehehasn’tdatedseriouslyinallthetimehe’sbeendeputy.
DaneclimbsintohiscarandbacksdownthedrivewayandCalebgivesmealittlewave.
“Hiya,Ms.Bloom,”henodstothekittencurledinthecrookofmyelbowwhiledoinghisbesttohideayawn.Heshakesitoffandtuckshishandsintohispockets.“Evening,Ms.Kitten.”
Thekittenstretchesinmyarmsandkneadsherpawsintomyshouldertwicebeforeresettling.MustbeComet,then.“You’veknownmeforyears,Caleb.IthinkStellaisfine,”Ismileathim,shiveringabitinmywoolcoat.
Hemustbefreezinginjusthisbutton-up.Ijerkanodbacktowardsmyhouse.“Comeoninside.I’llputsomecoffeeonwhilewewait.”
It’shardnottoworry.EventhoughI’mconvincedit’saboredrotationofteenagersterrorizingthefarm,I’mstillnervousthatLukaandBeckettareouttherealone.Itrytoreassuremyselfthatthey’retogether,that
Daneisonhisway,butmyheartishavingtroublesettlinginmychest.Itsunlikelycaffeinewillhelp,butIneedtodosomethingwithmyhands.
CalebfollowsmeintothehouseandIgesturetowardsthetable.MygazedriftstothecouchandIblushfuriously,rememberinghowIstraddledLukaonitjusthoursago,hisbodywarmandsolidbeneathme.Howhishandstracedunderthehemofmysweatertothebareskinofmyback,fingertipsdragginguntilIshiveredandrolledmyhipsagainsthishardness.
IclearmythroatanddepositCometonthelittlepillowfortofblanketsIstillhavesetupinthecorner.
“Thanksforcomingallthewayout,Caleb.Iappreciatethehelp.”
Henodsandlingersinthedoorwayofthekitchen,studyingthecollectionofartwork,greetingcards,andphotosIhavepinnedtothewall.
HesmilesatapictureofmeandLayla,thetwoofusatabarbecuewithourarmswrappedaroundoneanother,half-collapsedinlaughter.Hestraightensitwithhispinky.“It’snotrouble.Partofthejob.”
“Still,”Icollectmugsoutofthedishwasherwhilethecoffeepotgetstowork.“Iimagineyoudon’tgetmanylate-nightcalls.”
Hefindsaseatatthetableandstretchesouthislonglegs,palmspressedflatagainstthetabletop.Hisgazekeepsdartingtotheplateofbakedgoodsinthemiddleofthekitchenisland,acollectionofdifferentthingsLaylahasbeenworkingonfortheholidayseason.“Notmany,”heagrees.“ThoughIfeellikethehighschoolershavebeenfindingallsortsofmischiefthisyear.
DanesaysMercurymustbeinpermanentretrogradeatthispoint.”
“Oh,yeah?Anythinginteresting?”
He’slookingatthepeppermintbearclawwithsuchnakedlongingIhavetohidemysmileinthecollarofmysweater.“Just,ah–“Heshakeshimselfoutofhissugar-relatedfantasies.“Withoutnamingnames,wefoundacouple’akidsskinnydippinginthefountaininthemiddleoftown.
Anotherpairofkidsparkedbehindthecafeandweremissingtheirshirts.
Ms.Beatricehadsomethingtosayaboutthatwhenshesawthemonhersecuritycamera.”
Ilaugh.“I’msureshedid.”
Hegivesmeashysmile,cuppinghishandstogetherandsittingupstraighterinthechair.“Shewastryingtoputupwantedpostersinhershop,rightbehindthecounter.Ithinkshehadthemprintedspecial,you
knowthosesandwichboardposters?Ittookmealmosttwohourstoconvincehernotto.”
Nowthathe’smentionedit,IhaveseenJennyBowersandthatStillmankidworkingthereontheweekends.Ireachforthepotofcoffee.
“IsthathowMs.Beatriceisstaffingthecafenow?”
“Withblackmailandthreats?”Calebgrins.“Yes,ma’am.”
Isnortandwelapseintosilence.Ipeekoutthewindowthatlooksoutoverthefields.Nothingbuttheusual;stringlightsovertheexpanseofdarktrees,windingtoBeckett’shouseandoverthefoothills.IwishIhadbeenabletoputcamerasallovertheproperty.I’dbeabletoseewhat’sgoingonoutthere.
“You’vebeenhavingsometrouble?”
Ishrug.“Notmuch,really.Nothingserious,atleast.ThisisthefirsttimeI’vefelt-”Afraid?Maybe.Concerned,Ithink,ismorelikely.Worriedthatsomeoneisactivelytryingtohurtmybusiness.“Well,IsupposethisisthefirsttimeI’vethoughtit’sintentional.”
“Danesaidsomethingaboutsmashedpumpkins.Somebrokenfenceposts?”
Ipourtwomugsofcoffeeandsnagtheplateofbakedgoods,meetinghimatthetable.HisprettyeyeslightuplikeI’vejusthandedhimawinninglotteryticket.HehelpshimselftothebearclawandIpickamuffinformyself,pickingatthetop.
“Thatandsomemissingshipments,acoupleofotheroddthingsthatdon’tmakesense.Itfeltlikeastringofverybadluck,butnow,Idon’tknow.”Ithinkofthetreesinthesouthpasturethathavegonerottenfornogoodreason.Theflattiresonallthetractorsthreemonthsago.Thebrokenbarndoor.“LukaandBeckettthinkit’sallconnected.”
“You’renotsosure?”
“IguessIdon’tknow,”Isay,playingwiththeedgeoftheplasticwrap.
IthaslittleChristmastreesdottedalloverit,aspecialorderfromacateringcompanyinCalifornia.IboughtaboutahundredrollsforLaylalastseason.“WhowouldwanttobringdownaChristmastreefarm?”
“Isupposethat’strue,”hemuses.“ThoughifI’velearnedanythingdoingthisjob,it’sthatpeoplealwayshaveareason.Evenifit’sastrangeone.”
“Youthinkthere’sareasonsomeoneknockedoutmycamera?”
“Ithinkit’slikelythatpersondidn’twantyoutoseewhattheywereplanningondoingtonight.Youdidn’tseeanythingoddoroutofplace?”
Ishakemyhead.Justthebrokencamera.“Lukasaysthedoortothebarnwaswedgedopenlastweek.”
“Danewillfigureoutwhat’sgoingon.Nothinggetspasthim,”Calebsaysandtakesamonstrousbiteoutofhispastry,hisfacethepictureofbliss.Whenheblinksopenhiseyes,heblushesabit,colorrisinghighonhischeeks.
“Laylamakesthebeststuff,”hesaysbashfullyaroundamouthfulofcrumbs.Heswallowsandchasesitwithasipofcoffee.“IwasprettyjealouswhenDanecamebacktothestationwithabasketofgoodiestheotherday.”
“Hedidn’tshare?”
CaleblooksatmelikeI’vegotfourheadsandoneofthemjustaskedforatissue.“Youdon’tshareLayla’sbearclaws.”
Ilookpointedlyatthehalfofabearclawthat’sstillclutchedinhishand.Hecurlsitclosertohischest.“I’llletherknowyousendyourcompliments.”
Atthat,theblushonhischeeksintensifiestoabright,fieryred.
Interesting.Hefidgetsinhischair,crossinganduncrossinghislegsbeneaththetable.“She’s–ah–noproblemsoveratthebakehouse?”
Ismiledownintomycoffeecup,amused.“Shefoundawindowopenwhenshecameinaboutamonthago,butnothingwasstolenordamaged.
Ithinkabirdflewin,buthefoundhiswayrightoutagainwhensheunlockedthedoors.”
“JustlikeSnowWhite,”hesighsandohboy,IthinkCalebhasacrush.
It’sprettyobviousCalebhasacrushasIwatchhimbouncehiskneeunderthetable,aquestiononthetipofhistongue.Ilethimsweatitout.
Hemanagestolastaboutthirtyseconds
“Um,isshe-”Heforciblystillshislegunderthetable.“IsshestillseeingthatJacobguy?”
Iraiseaneyebrow.“Isthatpartoftheinvestigation,deputy?”
Athisflusteredandslightlyembarrassedlook,abrightlaughburstsoutofme.Hepeelsabitofpeppermintoffhisbearclawandlobsitatme,thatblushstillburningoverhischeeks,downlowertohisneck.It’sadelighttoseesomeonesobuttoned-upgetalittleruffled.Ihearthestompofboots
ontheporchstairsandpushmychairback,asmilestilltuggingatthecornersofmymouth.
“Sheis.ButbetweenyouandI,Ithinkshedeservesbetter.”SIXTEEN
LUKAWON’TSTOPGLARINGatme.
Well,morespecifically,Lukawon’tstopglaringatCaleb.He’ssavinghisspecialbrandofannoyedlooksforme,anarrow-eyedglanceeveryminuteorso.Hethinkshe’sbeingsneakyaboutit,butBecketthasrolledhiseyesnolessthanfourteentimessincetheycamebackintothehouse,inexplicablycakedwithmud,mypinkbataspristineaswhentheyleft.Noonehasevenstartedtoexplainwhathappenedoutinthefields,distractedbybakedgoodsandwarmcoffee.
Ipropmyhandsonmyhips.“So?Anyonewanttostepawayfrombreakfastforasecondandtellmewhat’sgoingon?”
Calebbeamsatmefromwherehe’slordingoverabriochebunstuffedwithmaplewalnutcream.“Itoldyou,”hechews,oblivioustothemanglaringathimfromnexttotherefrigerator.“They’rethebest.”
Okay,clearlyCalebneedsamomentalonewithhispastries.AndLukaisn’tfeelingverytalkativeatthemoment.IturntoDaneandraisebotheyebrows.Hetakeshistimeworkingthroughamouthfulofcinnamonappledanish.
“Didn’tfindthetrespasser,”heoffers,succinctasever.“Didfindthesetwomudwrestling,though.”
Beckettsighs,weary.Theearlymorninganticshavebeentoomuchforhim.HescoopsupCometfromwhereshe’sdozinganddropsherlightlybackintohisfrontpocket.“I’mgoinghome,”heannounces,swipingacinnamonrolloffthequicklydiminishingpileofbakedgoods.“I’llcatchupwithyoulater,Stella.”
Hedisappearsoutthefront,thequietsnickofthedoorbehindhim.MygazetripsovertoLuka.
“Mudwrestling?”
Lukahuffs,abitofhisfrustrationeasingwiththesmilethatwinkstolifeinhiseyes.It’sarelief.I’mnotusedtogrumpyLuka.“Beckettfellwhilewewererunning.AndthenIfelloverBeckett.”
Iimagineit,thepairofthemtangledupinamuddyheap.Irollmylipstocontainmysmile.
“That’swhenDanefoundus.”
“Didyougetalookatwhoyouwerechasing?”
Lukashakeshishead,disappointmentclearintheharshslantofhisbrows.Heslouchesbackagainstthekitchencounter,legscrossedattheankles.Heleavesasmudgeofmudatthebaseboardofmycabinetsthathe’llprobablyscruboutbythistimetomorrow.“Justaglimpse.Theyhadtoomuchofaleadonusandwewerebothwearingboots.”
“Buttheyhadtogetoutheresomehow,right?”IturntolookatCalebandDane.“Wasthereacarparkedalongtheroadwhenyouguyscamein?”
Theybothshaketheirheads.“We’lldosomepokingaroundonourwaybackintotown.ButStella,I’dlikeitifyoufilledoutaformalreport.Listallthethingswetalkedthroughtheotherday.”
Itwistmyhandstogetherinmylapwithafrown.“Youthinkthat’snecessary?”
Danenods.“Ido.Thispersonwasobviouslyplanningondoingsomethingmore,ontheaccountofbreakingthecamera.Youprobablyinterruptedthembeforetheycouldgetstarted.”
“Besttobeoverlycautious,”CalebagreesandLukaisbacktoscowlingoverhiscoffee.Ishoothimaquestioningglancethatheignores.“We’llmakeanoteofitaswell,butit’sbestifthecomplaintcomesfromyoudirectly.”
“Alright,”Isay.It’sallabitoverwhelming.Evelynarrivesinacoupleofdaysanditfeelslikeallmycarefullylaidplansarespinningoutofcontrol.
It’shardenoughmaintainingthecharadeofafakerelationship,nowIhavesomemysterytrespasserwreakinghavoc.Sensingmyunease,Lukacatchesmyhandinhisandbrushesakissonmyknuckles.Isqueezehishandgratefully.IlooktoDane.“I’llstopbylatertoday.”
IwalkDaneandCalebouttothedriveway,wavingfromthefrontporchastheyrumblebackdowntheroad.Thesunisjuststartingtoriseoverthehorizon,adullglowfrombehindtheclouds.Isighandscratch
betweenmyeyebrows,pullmyphonefrommypocketandflicktheswitchoff.Allofthelightsblinkoutatonce.
IsthiswhatinstantKarmafeelslike?IsthiswhatIgetforlyingaboutLuka?
LukaisrummagingthroughthecabinetswhenIstepbackintothekitchen,shoulderstense.I’daskwhat’sbotheringhim,butfrankly,I’mtootired.Isitandwait,pickingattheremnantsofmyblueberrymuffin,thesilencestrainedandawkwardbetweenus.Iwanttogobacktowhenwewerecurledtogetheronthecouch,Luka’sarmstightaroundme.“Whydidn’tyouaskCalebtobeyourfakeboyfriend?”
“Um,what?”
“Caleb,”Lukaslamsacabinetdoorshutandopensanother.“Youtwolookedcozy.Whydidn’tyouaskhim?”
Ifbycozy,hemeansweweresittingatthetabletalkingcordiallylikenormaladultsthenyes.Wewerecozy,Iguess.Istareathimacrossthekitchen.Thegrumpyglares,thetenselineofhisbody,thewayhe’spracticallyrippingmycabinetdoorsoffthehinges.Luka’sjealous.Hewalkedin,sawusatthetablelaughing,andgotjealous.
It’samazing.Irestmychininmyhand,amused.
“Ihadn’tthoughtaboutit,”Ireplyslowly.It’snottheanswerLukaislookingfor,hisfrowndeepeninguntillittlelinesarebracketingthesidesofhismouth.Iwanttopressmythumbintothem,smooththemout.“Isn’ttherearuleaboutpoliceofficerslyingorsomething?”
Hedoesn’tlaughatmyjoke.Isighandreachforhonestyinstead.
“Luka,”Isay.Hemutterssomethingaboutmissingbiscottiandignoresme.“Ididn’taskCalebbecausetherewasonlyonepersonIwanted.”
LukaglancesatmefromoverhisshoulderandIfeelitagain,theheavythumpofmyheartbangingaroundinmychest.It’sbothwonderfulandterribletofeellikethiseverytimehelooksatme.Idon’tknowhowI’vemanagedtosurviveitthislong.
“ItwasClint,wasn’tit?”
Ibarkalaughandliftmyselffrommychair.“YouknowIloveamanwhoappreciatesahoagie.”
“Jesse?”
“I’dprobablygetadiscountatthebar.”
Lukasighsandtiltshisheadbacktotheceiling,eyesclosedinagony.
“ItwasBilly,Iknowit.”
Billyworkspart-timeatthefuneralhometwotownsover.It’shonorablework,sure,butIthinkhe’salittletooenthusiasticabouthisjob.
Hestartedsleepingduringtheday.Hecallshimselfanightwalker.IsawhiminablackleathertrenchcoatinAugust.
IstepbetweenLuka’slegsandwrapmyarmsaroundhiswaist.Hetiltshisheadbackdownuntilwe’renosetonose.Hissmileisdevastating,honestinitsownway.
“ItwasnotBilly,”Itellhim.“Itwasyou,yougreatbigmoron.”
Hesobers,hissmilesettlingintosomethinggentleandwarm.Hetracesthecurveofmycheek,thesharpangleofmychin,mychappedbottomlip.
Hebrushesoveritonce,twice,andthencurlshishandaroundthenapeofmyneck.HisthumbrubsatthetopofmyspineandIshiver,foreheadagainsthischin.Itightenmyarmsaroundhim.
“I’mgladyouwantedmetobeyourfakeboyfriend.”
“Metoo,”Iagree.“Wereyoujealous,fakeboyfriend?”
Hescoffs,handspreadingwidetotracebetweenmyshoulderblades.
HeworksoutaparticularlystubbornknotonmyleftsideandImeltintohim.Iexpecthimtodenyit,tochangethesubject,buthesurprisesmeagain.
“OfcourseIwas.Youwereholdingaplateofdonuts.Andyou’rewearingyoursleepshortsthathavedancingnutcrackersonthem.”Webothsnickerandlookdownatmyshorts.“Andyoulookedhappy,LaLa.
Youwerelaughingwhenwecamein.”Hetipsmychinupwithhishand,eyessearching.“Thatwas–”Heswallowsroughly.“Thatwasmysmile.”
It’saheadyfeeling,toknowthatI’mnottheonlyonewhowantstopossesseverymomentofhappiness.Collecteverylaughandpocketit,hoardthemliketinytreasures.Ibeamathim.Hisgreedhasmeburstingattheseams.
“Okay,”Isay.Italkahalf-stepbackandreacharoundhimtotheflourjar,moveittotheleftandhandhimtheboxofleftoverbiscottibehindit.
Heblinksdownatthebox,andthenbacktome.“Okay?”
“Okay,youcanhavethem,”Inodatthecookiesinhishands.“Mycookiesandmysmiles.”
Heswallowsagain,aheavybobofhisthroatthathasmewantingtopressmyselfbackagainsthim,dragmyteethupthelengthofhisneck.
Instead,Itakeanotherstepback.Andthenanother.
“Careful,LaLa.”He’slookingatmelikeI’mapeppermintmochabearclawwithextrawalnutcreamcheesefrosting.“Youcan’ttakethatback.”
“There’snothingtotakeback,”Ipromisehim,butIdon’ttellhimtheotherthings.Thatmysmileshavealwaysbelongedtohim.Abigchunkofmyheart,too.Allmybestmemories.
AndthetoasterovenIstolefromhisapartmentsixyearsagoandhavehiddeninthepantrybeneathtwoleatherjacketsandatennisracket.
Irubmyfingersovermylips.Mybestkissnow,too.Lukahasprettymucheverythingcuppedinhishandsandhedoesn’tevenknowit.Thethoughtmakesmesad.
“Idon’tthinkIcangobacktosleep,”Isay.ThehopeofthatdisappearedassoonasIwokeupandsawsomeoneslingingrocksatmycamera.Iglanceoutthewindow,upthefoothills.“IthinkI’mgoingtogooutandgetatreeforthelivingroom.Iwantittobefestivehere,too.”
Icouldusethefreshairanddistancefromflatsurfaces.IseeLukanodoutofthecornerofmyeye,cookietintuckedunderhisarm.“I’lljoinyou.”
“YOUNEEDTORELAX.”
Letitbeknownthattellingawomantorelaxhasneveronceresultedinsaidrelaxation.Isuckinalungfulofairandpressitoutagainthroughclenchedteeth.Likeadragon.Lukalaughsfromhisrelaxedpositioninthecornerofthecouch.Ipullthetinseldownfromaroundthetreeandstartagain.Ican’tgetthedamnthingtohangright.
“Iamrelaxed,”Imutter.“Yourelax.”
“Asyoucansee,Iamveryrelaxed.”
IlookoveratLuka.Hishandsaretuckedbehindhisheadandhiseyesarehalf-lidded,asmirkatthecornersofhislips.He’sgothislittleducklingsocksontonight,onefootproppedonthearmofthecouch,theotherflatonthefloorwithhiskneebent.There’sabookfoldedopenacrosshischest,someancientsciencefictionnovelhefound
Helooksobscene.
Irollmyeyesandgobacktothetree,attemptingtothreadthegoldtinselthroughthebottombranchesatexactlytherightangle.HowisEvelyngoingtotakemeseriouslyasaChristmasexpertifmytinselisamess?Shewon’t.She’llseethecrookedtinsel,she’llknowI’mafraud,andwe’lllosethecontest.I’llhavetoshutthisplacedownandworklatenightsatthefuneralhomewithBilly.
Lukasighsfromthecouch.“You’respiraling.”“Iamnotspiraling,”Ireply,absolutelyspiraling.
“Comehere,please.”
Ithrowthetinselintoaheapandshuffleovertohim.Heshiftshisheadtolookatmeandpatshislegonce.Iarchaneyebrow.
“What?”
“Whatdoyoumean,what?Comehere.”
Ilookdownathimdubiously.He’stakingupallthespaceonthecouch.
Theonlyplacetogowouldbeontopofhim.Hepatshislegagain.
“I’mnotadog,”Igrumble.Ipressonekneeintothecouchandswingtheotheroverhiships.Myhandsfindhisshoulders.Isitthere,awkwardlyperched,mybodyhoveringoverhis.Ifrown.“Youwereright,thisisgreat.
Iamsorelaxed,”Imonotone.
“Sit,”Lukasayswithalaugh.Hishandsfindmyhipsandhepullsonce,asharptugthatsendsmeoffbalanceandhasmetumblingintohim.
“Stay.”Mychestsmashesintohis,mylegsfanoutuntilourhipsareflushandmynosedigsintohiscollarbone.Hesighs,happy,andwigglesdownfurtherintothecouch,bothofhisarmswrappingaroundmelikeaboaconstrictor.
“That’sbetter.”
Ihuffandrearrangemylegssotheystillreceivecirculation.Ituckmyelbowsundermeandrestmypalmsflatonhischest.Itellmyselftorelax,butmybraincan’tletgoofthethousandthingsIstillhavetodobeforeEvelynarrives.
Typicallyduringtheholidayseason,I’meitherinmyofficeoroutonthefarmfromdawntodusk.ButLukahadappearedinmyofficedoorwaytwohoursagowithacandycanehangingoutofhismouthandapromiseofhomemadebologneseandIfollowedafterhimwithoutabackwardglance.
Now,though,Ifeelallmyresponsibilitiespilingup.Myshoulderspulltightwithit,mybreathingshallow.Nowisn’tthetimeformetogetdistractedwithwhateveritisLukaandIaredoing.Ihavetobefocused.Ihavetobeflawless.
AfterIwenttothepolicestationtofilemyreportabouttheweekend’sexcitement,IstoppedbythebedandbreakfasttomakesureeverythingwasinorderforEvelyn’sarrival.Cozyflannelsheets,awreathfromMabelonthedoor,dailycoffeedelivered–evenaboxofLayla’ssugarcookiestogowithherkeyuponcheck-in.Ifeltsomeofmyanxietysettleatthat.Attheveryleast,she’dbecomfortable.
Andfullyintheholidayspirit,judgingbythedecorationscoveringeverysquareinchofourlittledowntown.Thickrowsofgarlandwrappedintwinklinglightstwistingaroundthestreetlights.Heavywreathsanchoredwithcherryredbowsoneverydoor.Overthefountain,ahandwrittensignwishingeveryoneahappyholidayseason,ashimmeringsnowflakehanginglikemagicfromthecenter.AgiantChristmastreedecoratedwithhandmadeornamentsfromtheschool,asmallwoodenplaquedeclaringithomegrownatInglewild’sownLovelightFarms.
Aheavypalmsweepsupmybacktothatmagicspotonmyneck,Luka’sfingertipsgrazinginsteadofpressing.Istillshiverintoit,burrowingmyselffurtherintohischest.“Whatdoyouneed?”
Isighintothewarmskinofhisneck.Hesmellsdelicioushere.Likepeppermintandbasilandthefancygrapefruitbodyscrubhekeepsstealingfrommyshower.“Foreverythingtogoperfect,”Iwhisper.Icurlmyhandsintohist-shirtandthenrelaxthemagain.“Formybraintoslowdown.”
“Thefirstisagiven,”hesays,andnowhisthumbpressesdeep.Mylegsgocompletelylimponeithersideofhimandhemakesapleasedsounddeepinhischest.Ifeelitrumblebeneathme.“ThesecondIcanhelpwith.”
Imakeavaguelyinquisitivesound,stillfocusedonthatperfectbitofpressureatthenapeofmyneck.Heslideshishanddownbetweenmyshoulderbladesandthenbackup.
“Whatdoyouknowaboutcausalanalysis?”
It’ssafetosayIknowabsolutelynothingaboutcausalanalysis.Igrumblesomethingintohiscollarboneandfocusonhishandonmyneck
instead,hispalmcuppinggentlyunderallmyhair.Hecombsittoonesideandwrapsitaroundhisfist.Releasesandletsitslipthroughhisfingers.
“It’susedtodeterminecauseandeffect,”hebrushesakissundermyearandmywholebodyshivers.“Therearefourelementsyouneedtoestablish,butthemostimportantonesarecorrelationandsequenceintime.Doesthatmakesense?”
“Sure.”Itmakesnosense.I’mmoreinterestedinhisgentletouchguidingmyheadfurthertotheside,histeethgrazingmyneck.Icurlmyfingersintohishairandgriptight.
Helaughsintomyskin.“Holdon,thisisimportant.I’mteachingyousomething.Situpforasec.”
Igroanbutdoasheasks,sittinguponhislap.Helaughswhenheseesmypout,shufflinguponhiselbowsandfanninghishandsoutontopofmythighs,fingersdrumming.“Todeterminetheeffectofaspecificcause,”hishandsglideupandthenbackdownagain,thumbsagainsttheinseamofmycomfypants.“Youneedtocorrelatetwoactionswithsequencing.Thecausehastocomebeforetheeffect.”
“Okay.”I’mfranklytoofocusedonhishandsonmythighstofurthercontributetothisconversation.
Nowonderhe’salwaystheonetopresenttoclients.Ihavenoideawhathe’stalkingabout,buthe’shotwhenhetalksaboutdata.IwanttoaskhimtopullupanExcelsheet,maybesortbyascendingvalue.Heleansupfurtheragainstmeuntilhishandsaregrippingmyhips,ourchestspressedtogether.Withonequickmove,heflipsmebackward,flatagainstthecouch.
“Gooddistractionsofar,”Isay,eyeswide.Heloosenshisgripatmywaistandslipshishandsupovermyribs,palmsteasingatthesidesofmybreasts.Heurgesmyarmsupandgathersmywristsinhishands,holdingthemlightlyagainstthearmofthecouch.
“Forinstance,”hiseyesaredark,histongueatthecornerofhismouth.
“IfIkissyouhere,”heduckshisheaddownandpresseshislipsgentlytothelineofmycollarbone.Mylegsshiftbeneathhim,myanklecurlingoverthebackofhisknee.Hepullsbackandholdsmyarmout,pullingmysleeveuptomyelbow.“Yougetgoosebumpshere.”
There’sasharpstillnessbetweenus,thebothofuswatchingtoseewhattheotherwilldo.Hestudiesmewithmyarmsabovemyhead,thewaymysweaterhastuggeddownlowononeside.Hetrailshisfingers
backupmyarmsinasweetcaress,thumbhookinginthecollarofmyshirt.
Hepullsitdownlowuntilhecanseethecutofmyplainwhitecottonbra,hiseyesdarkeningfurther,histeethholdinghisbottomlip.Mybreathcatchesandthenreleases,Luka’sthumbgrazingmyribs
“IfIdothis,”hisvoiceissmokeandspiceasleansforward,teethgrippingtheedgeofmybra,pullingbackandsnappingitagainstmyskin.
Hewhispersalaughintomewhenmyfingerscurlintothecouch.“Thathappens.”
Hepushesuponbothhandsandsmilesdownatme,brightandboyish.
I’mpanting,anachelowinmybelly,betweenmythighs.HepatsthetopofmylegsandIalmostgrowl.
“Thesearegooddatapoints,LaLa.”
Frustrated,Iarchupbeneathhimandreachmyhandbehindmyback.
Withatwistofmyfingers,mybraunhooks,thesnapofitwipingthesmuglookrightoffhisface.ThematerialslipsabitunderhisthumbuntilI’mbarelycoveredbysoftcottonandacozyknit.Judgingbythewayhisjawhasgonealittleslack,IthinkLukalikesthatmorethanbareskin.Thehintofsomethingmore.Theteaseofwhat’sbeneath
“Weshouldprobablyfindsomemore,”Ibreathe.“Youknow.Forscience.”
Hekissesmethen,hishandthreadingthroughmyhairandanglingmymouthtohisuntilourlipsmeet.Ourlittlegamehasofficiallyturnedfromateasetoanultimatum.It’spossessioninakiss,Lukabracedonhiselbowsaboveme,hismouthaggressive,hungry.Itfeelslikeallofouralmostmomentsarebalancedonthetipofmytongueandhe’s
Amillionlittlealmostmomentsspillingfree.
“WhenIdothis,”hepullshismouthfromminewithagaspandstartstopressdeep,suckingkissestomyneck.Ishiftmylegswideraroundhimandwrapmyhandsaroundhisshoulders.“WhenIdothishere,doyougetwethere?”
Hepresseshishandbetweenmylegsovermyleggingsandblackspotsappearattheedgesofmyvision.Igrabhisforearmandholdhishandthere,rollingmyhips,seekingfriction.It’sadeliciousfrustration,tokeepfindingourselveshere.WekeepworkingourselvesupwithnoreliefandIfeelthepullofiteverywhere.Myskinistootight,theplacebetweenmylegsaching.IstrainupintoLukaandhedropshisforeheadtomyshoulder,handmovingwithmebetweenmylegs.
“CanI-”heswallowsaroundtherestofhisquestion,voicerough,distractedwiththelengthofmycollarboneandhisteethagainstit.“CanItouchyou?”I’mnoddingbeforethelastwordleaveshislips.Idon’tcarethatitmakesmeseemeager.ThisisLuka.He’salreadyseenallthemessypartsofme.
Exceptforthisone.Thispieceofmyselfthatisflushedandpantingashisbighandsfindthewaistbandofmyleggings.Henosesbetweenmybreastsasheslipshishandsdowninsidethestretchysoftfabric,cuppingthecurveofmyass.Hesqueezesoncewithapainedmoan,likethisishurtinghim,likethisistorture.Ilaughintohishairandtiltmyhead,brushingakisstohistemple,theshellofhisear.Ipullitbetweenmyteethandbite,andthelengthofhisbodypushesmedeeperintothecouch,hishipsagainstmythigh.Ifeelhimthere,hardbeneathhisjeans.
“Fuck,”hewhispers.Onehandmoves,slippingaroundmyhipanddippingdown,themovementclumsywithhiswristtrappedbythefabricofmypants.ButwhereIexpectedhesitation,thereisnone.Hisfingersfanoutovermyskinlikeabrand,histhumbbrushingonceatthesoftskinbelowmybellybutton.Iexhaleintohisneck.It’sbarelyatouch,aglanceofhisfingertips,andI’mshiveringbeneathhim,bodystrungtight.
“WhenItouchyouhere,”hemoveshishandlowerandhookshisthumbjustright,asinglefirmtouchwhereIneedhimthemost.Imakeagaspingsound,awhimpercaughtinthebackofmythroat.Henodsintomeandmakesaroughcirclethathasmeholdingontohimfordearlife.
“Yeah,youmakethatsound.”
Idon’tknowwhatsoundsI’mmaking.Idon’tknowwhereIam.AllIknowisLuka’shandgrindingintome,myhipschasinghistouch,hisbottomlipcaughtbetweenhisteethashewatchesmewithheavyeyes.Idon’tthinkI’veeverbeentouchedsocarefully.Idon’tthinkI’veeverbeensoclosetotheedgewithallmyclothesstillon.
ThethoughthasmehuffingadisbelievinglaughintoLuka’swarmskin,myforeheadtuckedagainsthisshouldersoIcanlookbetweenus.Hestartsasmoothrhythm,arollingmotionwithhispalmandfingersthatspinsthetensioninmybellytighter.Ichaseitwithmyhipsandwatchaswemovetogether,hishandbeneathmyleggings,hishipspressingintomythigh.EverytimeIthrustup,hepushesintome,hisforeheadagainstmychest.I
wanthistouchthere,too.Hismouthwarmandteethbiting.
Lukanudgesatmychinwithhisnose,hisfingersplayingmehigher.Heslipstwoinsidemeandmyhandscloseintofistsagainsthisshirt,tryingtoripthesoftmaterialfromhisbody.It’sawonderIdon’tstranglehim.
“What’ssofunny?”hebreathes,anditsoundslikehe’sinthemiddleofamarathon.Milemarkertwenty-three.He’sstartedtomovehishipsagainstme,tinystiltedmovementsthatarealmostunconscious,hisbodychasingfriction.It’sacomforttoknowhefeelsittoo.Thispull.Thisneed.
“Nothing,just–“Iflexmyhipsdownintohistouchandheanswerswithasharpthrustthathasmyheadfallingbackagainstthecouch,eyesclosed.EverythingwithinmesharpensuntilI’mbalancedontheveryprecipice.“Oh,god.”
HestopsthemotionofhishandandImakeadesperatenoise,embarrassingifthiswereanyonebuthim.Ihavehalfamindtoslipmyhandnexttohisandfinishthejobmyself,butIwanttoseewherehetakesme.Ipeekopenoneeyetoglaredownathim.He’sgrinningatme,cheeksflushed,hairamessfrommyhands.“What’ssofunny?”herepeats
Irollmyhips,forcinghistouch,andhegetsaglazedlookinhisprettyambereyes.
“It’sneverfeltlikethis,”Iwhisper,feelingthosesparksstartupagain
“It’sjust–it’sneverfeltthisgood.”
Thatdoesitforhim.Myconfessionhashimfrantic,thehandthat’sbeensqueezingmyassandguidingmeagainsthimsuddenlyupandoutofmyleggings.Hepullsatthecollarofmysweater,draggingitdownovermyshoulderuntilthecottonofmybraistheonlythingkeepinghimfrommyskin.Hegroansatthesightofit,mutteringsomethingunderhisbreath,thehandbetweenmylegspressing,shifting,rollingwithme.It’soverwhelming,thesuddenchangeinpaceandpressure,especiallywhenhelicksthesoftskinjustabovemybra,catchesitinhisteethanddragsitdown.
Hismouthfindsthetipofmybreastatthesamemomenthisfingersspeedupagainstme,thumbrubbinghard,perfectcircles,andthat’sit.It’safracturelowinmybellythatrollshotthroughtherestofme,spreadingslowandsweetlikehoney.HeholdsmetightandguidesmethroughitasIshakeandunspoolbeneathhim,onehandclenchedtightinhisshirt,theotherfranticallypullingitupuntilIfindbareskin.He’sstickywithsweat,butthensoamI.DeliciousheatunfurlsfrombetweenmylegsandsingsthroughmyblooduntilI’mlimpbelowhim,pantingagainsthisneck.
Ipantupathim,chestheaving.Ifhe’satmilemarkertwenty-three,I’mcollapsedatthefinishline,beggingforelectrolytes.Heshiftsagainstmeandgrins,slippinghishandfrombetweenus.
“Thatwasnice,”hisvoicescratchesagainsttheedgesofthewords,ahuskinesstomatchtheheatinhiseyes.Hishipspressintomeonce.“Youlookprettywhenyoucome.”
MystomachswoopslikeI’vejustwalkedoffthesideofabuilding.Iblinktwice.He’ssaiditlikeThat’sanicesweaterorYoumakeagreatcupofcoffee.Idon’tknowwhattosay.
Instead,Ireachbetweenus,mythumbtracingthebuttonofhisjeans.
Hemakesapainedgruntandcatchesmywristinhishand.HisfingersarestillwetandIblush.Hismouthhitchesupinagrin;asecret,dirtysmilethathasthatblushspreadinglower.Hewatchesitsprogresswithfascination,nosechasingitdownoverthebreastthat’sstillexposedbymytwistedbra.
“I’mokay,”heraspssomewhereintomyskin.HenudgesatmybreastwithhisnoseandexhalesashakysighwhenIarchintohim.
Thetentinhispantswoulddisagree.Itwistmyhandinhisgripandstrokemypalmoverthelengthofhimbeneathdenimandhedropshisheadagainstthearmofthecouchwithagroan.“Doesn’tfeellikeit,”Ireply.
“Idon’twantto-”Ipausemymotionatthat.Idon’teverwanttomakehimdosomethinghedoesn’twanttodo.Ouragreementisaweekwherewechasewhatfeelsright.Andifthisdoesn’tfeelrighttohim,thenIdon’twantiteither.Ipullmyhandbackandwait,patient.Hepickshisheadup,thesmiletuggingathismouthsheepish.“Itwon’ttakemuch,”heexplains,twinspotsofpinkbloomingonhischeeks.
Liketheideathathegotclosefromdoingthattome,watchingme,issomethingheneedstobeembarrassedabout.Likethethoughtofhim
gettingpleasurefromgivingmepleasureisn’t–isn’tenoughtohaveheattugginglowinmybellyagain.
“Holdon,IwanttoseeifIunderstoodthelesson,”Ibiteatmybottomlipandslipopenthebuttonofhisjeans.“IfIdothis,”Idragdownhisflyandcurlmyhandaroundhim.He’sheavyandhotinmyhand,awiggleinhishipswhenItrytopullhisjeanslower.Impatient,Istrokehimonceandhebraceshishandsonthearmrestaboveme.Istrokeagainandhegroansoutmyname,abrokenLaLathatIwanttorecordandsetasmyringtone.
I’veneverseenhimsodisheveled,soperfectlyundone.
“Thenyousaymynamelikethat,”Ismilewithmyhandaroundhim.
“AmIgettingitright?”
Hedoesn’tanswer.Hetipshisheadback,thelonglineofhisthroatandthesharplineofhisjawlaidoutlikeabuffet.Istartathiscollarboneandkissthereonce,themotionofmywristsmoothandeasyoverhim.
“You’regonnakillme,”hewhisperswithabreathlesslittlelaughandIthinkIlikethatbest,evenmorethanthewayhemovesaboveme,greedyformytouch.Ilikehoweasyitistolaughwithhim,evenaswedothis.Idon’tthinkI’veeversmiledduringsex,everdoneanythingmorethanclosemyeyesandtrytogetmyselfthere.ButwithLukait’seasy.Thewaywetoucheachother,thewaywebreatheandmovetogether.It’ssoeasy.
Ilickandbitemywayuphisneckuntilmyteethcatchthelobeofhisear.Hegroansthen,longandloud,andIsmileintohisskin.
“You’repretty,too,”Iwhisper.Igrinandtwistmywrist,earningacatchinhisbreath.Ihumwithapprovalandbiteattheplacewherehisshouldermeetshisneck,hisskinwarm.
Heletslooseasteadystreamofcurses,hishandcurlingaroundmywristandholdingmetightagainsthimasherockshiships,fastandmessy.
Hisorgasmisquiet–bodyshaking,browfurrowed,warmthacrossmystomachashechaseshishigh.IwaituntilhishipsstopmovingbeforeIpullmyhandbackandrestitonhisstomach,scratchingoncewithmynailsatthetrailofdarkhairbelowhisbellybutton.HishipsjumpandIgrin.
Heblinksatme,gazeheavy,shirthalfpulleduponhistorsofrommyfrantichandsandjeanslowonhiships.Hehasadarklineofhairdownthecenterofhisabdomen,astackofsurprisingmusclethatItracewithmyfingers,walkingmyfingersupuntilIcanpressmypalmstohischest.Therearefreckleshere,too,dottedacrosshisskininclustersandbursts.I’m
nevergoingtobeabletositonthiscouchagainwithoutthinkingofexactlythismoment.Hissmilesaysheknowsit
“Andthat,”hewhistlesabreaththroughhisteethandcollapsesatmyside,wedgedbetweenmeandthebackofthecouch.“Iseverythingyouneedtoknowaboutcausalanalysis.”SEVENTEEN
IAMSUFFICIENTLYcalmandhappilydistractedthroughtherestoftheweekend.Lukaisadorablyaffectionateandalittlesmugafteroursharedmomentonthecouch,buryinghisnoseinmyhaireverytimeIstandatthesinktowashdishes,threadinghisfingersthroughmybeltloopasIbendtohangornamentsonthetree.
Ithoughtmaybeitwouldbelikescratchinganitch,thatmaybethetensionbetweenuswouldpoplikeaballoon.InsteaditjustfeelslikeI’veturnedtheheatfromsimmertofullblast.Ican’tstoplookingathim.Hispermanentlyruffledhair,thespreadofhisfingersaroundmyknee,thelinesbythecornersofhiseyeswhenhelaughs.Andforallmylooking,hecan’tstoptouching.Histhumbatthebaseofmyneck,hislipsagainstmytemple.
It’slikeinsteadofeasingsomething,weunleasheditinstead.Amplifiedit.Ijustwantmore.
IhaveafeelingI’monlyevergoingtowantmorewhereLukaisconcerned.
TheafternoonofEvelyn’sarrivalsneaksuponme,theskyaperfectcrispblueasIwaitinmyoffice.LukaisoutinthefieldswithLayla,helpingtrimthetreesinthefarfieldforthepre-selectedtreelot.Beckettisinthebarnwiththegroupwebringonforseasonalhelp,walkingthemthroughtheirtraining.AndIamhere,readytowelcomeEvelynwithamugofhotchocolatetoppedwithwhippedcreamandapeppermintstick.ButwhatI’mreallydoingisstaringblanklyatvariousspotsaroundtheofficeasIrememberwhatLuka’shandsfeltlikeonmybareskin,hisstubblebrushingbetweenmybreasts,hishairticklingmyneckashepantedaboveme.
Ishakemyselfoutofit,carefullytokeepthehotchocolatefromspillingoverontomyhand.Allofourworkisrestingonthis.Evelynlovingusenoughtoawardusone-hundredthousanddollarsinprizemoney,andhermillionsoffollowerslovingusenoughtovisit.
Iwatchalittlecarrumbleitswaydowntheentrancepath,acloudofdirtkickedupbehindit.Iknowit’sherassoonassheturnsintothelot,herwidesmilevisibleeventhroughthetintedwindows.Iexhaleadeepbreathandshakemyhairoutbehindmyshoulders.Icandothis.
Evelynisjustasbeautifulinpersonassheisonline.
Impossiblylonglegs,flawlesshoney-coloredskin,dark,shinyhairthathangsdowntothemiddleofherback.Sheclimbsoutofhercarinfrontoftheofficeandtipsherheadback,smilingasshelooksatthewoodenlicoriceIpaintedatmidnighttwonightsagotomakethisplacelooklikeagingerbreadhouse.Lukahadbegrudginglyhelpedmehammerthewoodengumdropsapproximatelyseveninchesapartacrosstheporchhangover,evenscalingtherooftodrapefakewhiteicingaroundthechimney.
Imeetheronthefrontporchandhersmilespreadstoagrin,bouncingontheballsofherfeet.Shereallyisstunning,tallerthanIimaginedhertobe.
“Hi,”Isay,andsmilethroughmynerves.“WelcometoLovelightFarms.”
“Holyshit,”shesaysback,andjustlikethatmyanxietyfades.MybrittlesmilemeltsintoalaughandIstepdowntowhereshe’sgazingoutatthefieldswithherhandshieldinghereyesagainstthesettingsun.Iaskedhertomeetmeatthistimeforareason.There’snothinglikethefarmjustasthesunbeginstodipinthesky,brightbluefadingtodeepcobalt,pinkjuststartingtobloomfrombehindtheclouds.Istandnexttoherandtrytoseeitthewayshedoesasafirst-timevisitor;theendlessrowsoffull,greentrees.Thelightsthatstringthroughout,juststartingtoblinkawakeintheearlyevening.Thebigredbarnbytheroadwithhand-paintedarches.Theclimbingtowersforthekidsandtheopenhayloft,linedwithlightsandfilledwithold,brokendowntractorspaintedlikereindeer.Theiceskatingrinkinthemiddleofitall,BingCrosbycrooningoverthespeakers.
Ihandherthehotchocolateandshecurlsherhandsarounditwithahappysigh.“Thisplaceisamazing.”
Igrin.“Waituntilyouseetherest.”
FOURBROWNIESlaterandEvelynlookslikeshe’sreadytosinkintotheboothandsleepthroughtherestofthistrip.We’resetupinmyfavoritespotinthebakehouse,acozylittlenookinthecornernexttothestonefireplace.It’sahighbackboothwithvelvetgreenseatsandamountainofplaidpillows,adarkstainedwoodtableinthemiddle.Evelyngrabsapillowandnuzzlesintothecorner,anindulgentsoundasshelooksoutthewindowstothetreesbeyond.
She’seasytolike,easytotalkto,andIsupposethat’swhyshe’ssuchacaptivatingpersonalityonline.I’malittlesurprisedIhaven’tseenherphoneinherhandyet,andIsayasmuchduringalullinourconversation.
Shewavesherhandbetweenus,eyeballingthestillhalf-fullplateofbrowniesattheedgeofthetable.“IliketoexperiencetheplacesIvisitfirst,”shesays,rubbingatherbottomlip.“WhichsoundssuperpretentiousIknow,but–IrealizeI’mapersonwhomakestheirlivingonsocialmedia,butIhatehowitrobsusofthatsometimes,youknow?
Peoplegettoocaughtupinhowthingslookinsteadofhowthingsfeel,”
sheshrugs.“I’llstartcontenttomorrow.We’lldolivecoverage,ofcourse,andthenafullhighlightthatwillbepublishedinacoupleofweeks.You’llhaveamentionontheblog,allofthestuffmyteamtalkedtoyouabout.”
Amentionontheblog,anofficiallistingasacontestparticipantonherwebsite,andahighlightoneachofhersocialchannels.Evenwithoutthecashprizethatwillbeannouncedattheendofhertrips,it’senoughtomakeaseriousdifferenceinourfuture.
Shedragsthebrownieplatecloserandthenpushesitawayagainwithagroan.“ThoughImightbeinachocolatecomabythen.”
“Laylahasagift.”
Evelyn’sdarkeyeslightup.“That’sright.Yourbusinesspartners,LaylaandBeckett.”
Inod.“Layladoesallthebakinghereon-sitewithherteam.Weserveduringfarmhours,andshedoessomecateringforthetowntoo.”
“Whichisthecutest,bytheway.”
I’msogladshethinksso.Ourlittletownisn’teveryone’scupoftea.
Thepostalsystemhastroubledeliveringhere,andwedon’thavethebigdepartmentstoreswhereyoucangeteverythingfromdecortomascaratoaboxofwineinonetrip.YouwouldhavetomakeatleastthreeseparatestopsforthosethingsinInglewild.Everyoneisineveryoneelse’sbusiness
andyoucan’tleaveyourhousewithoutrunningintoatleastfourpeopleyouknow.Butthere’salwayssomeonetoaskmehowI’mdoing.AndahelpinghandwhenIneedit.
We’reafamily.Astrangeonethatyousometimeswantanextendedvacationfrom,butafamilynonetheless.IglanceatthetableinthecornerwhereGus,Clint,andMontyaredestroyingaboxoffrenchcrullers.
Apparently,thisistheirtimeslotonthefarmvisitationschedule.BaileyandSandrawerehereyesterday,runningaroundthehayloftlikeacoupleofteenagers.
“Becketthandlesallofourfarmoperationsandoverseeshisownstaff.
Mainlycropsandmaintenance,buthedabblesinotherthingstoo.”Likefosteringafamilyofcats,apparently.
Shenods,hereyesstilldartingbetweenmeandthebrownies.Ishifttheplateclosertoherandshetakesanotherwithalaugh.“Thankyou.
AndLuka,yourboyfriend.”Mystomachdropsandmysmilefaltersattheliespokenaloud.Itellmyselfit’sforthefarm,thatit’sharmlessintheschemeofthings,butIstillfeelthatwiggleofdoubtinthebackofmymind.“What’sitlikeworkingwithyourpartner?I’mnotsuremanypeoplecoulddoit.”
IthinkofLukaflatonhisstomachontheofficeroof,anailbetweenhisteethashehammeredfakelicoriceacrosstheshingles.HowlaterthatnightherestedhischinonmyshoulderasIlookedatexpensereports,aquartoficecreaminhishandasheadjustedmyExcelequationstomakedatainputeasier.
“It’sperfect,”Isay,becauseitis.Tooperfect.Iwantitforever,notjustthisweek.Thefakerelationshiphangoverisgoingtokickmerightintheteeth.Howdoyougobacktoboundarieswhenyourbestfriendhashadhishanddownyourpants?Ihavenoidea.Iclearmythroat.“We’reagoodteam.”
IglanceattheclockabovethecounterandbanishallthoughtsofLukaandthatcouchfrommymind.“Theyshouldbeheresoon,actually.Itoldthemtomeetusaroundnow.”
Excitementlightsupherdarkeyes.“Good.IwanttokissLaylaonthefaceforthesebrownies.”
“Who’rewekissing?”BeckettappearsattheedgeoftheboothwithaSantamug,afrownonhisfaceandakittenonhisshoulder.Irecognize
Cupid,thelittleblackheart-shapedspotonherfrontpawgivingheraway.
Ireachmyhandsoutforherandcuddleherclosewhenshehappilyleapsintomyarms.
“Layla,onaccountofthebrownies,”Iexplain.HegruntsinwhatIassumeisagreement.“Beckett,letmeintroduceyouto-”
IturnintheboothtolookatEvelynandI’msurprisedtoseethelookofshockonherface,hermouthhingedopen.ShesnapsitclosedquicklywhenIraisebotheyebrowsandimmediatelylooksdownatthetable.IlookbacktoBeckettinquestionandhe’sfrozenwithhismughalfwaytohismouth,gazegluedontheprettywomansittingoppositeme
“Um,”Isay,eloquentasever.Ifeelmyfacepinchinconfusion.Becketthasn’tlookedawayfromEvelynandEvelynhasn’tlookedawayfromthetabletop.Cupidmeowsfromthecradleofmyarms.“Uh,Beckett,thisisEvelyn.Evelyn,thisisBeckett.”Silence.
“Uh,”IstartagainanddesperatelytrytogetBeckett’sattention.Ikickhimonceintheshinandheflinches.Iraisebotheyebrowsathimmeaningfully.
“Niceto,”heclearshisthroatandputshismugonthetable,rubbingathisjaw.“It’snicetomeetyou.”
Evelynnodsquicklyanddartshereyesuponceonlytoshootthembackdowntothetable.Herknucklesarewhitewhereshe’sgrippingtheedgeofit.Ifrownandurgethebrownieplatecloser.
Beckettslidesintotheboothnexttomeafteranotherlengthyhesitationandthethreeofussitinsilence.IpeerdownatCupid.
“Uh,werescuedthesecats,”Ioffer,hopingtodispeltheweirdtensionthat’ssettledoverus.Ihavenoideawhat’sgoingon,noideawhathappenedwhenBeckettarrived.Coulditbethatshefindshimattractive?Imean,sure,Beckettisnicetolookat.Objectivelyspeaking.I’veseenhimflusterthewomenwhocometothefarmmorethanonce.ButIcan’timaginethathewouldrendersomeonelikeEvelynmute.IstrokeCupid’ssoftlittlehead.“TheywerelivingintheSantabarn.Ithoughttheywereraccoons.”
“She’sacutie,”Evelynmutters,withoutasingleounceofenthusiasm.Ifrown.Shelooksupatme,alittlefissionofanxietyintheplacebetweenherperfectbrows.“Listen,Stella,Ihavetorunbacktothehotelrealquick,okay?”
Ifrown.“Iwasgoingto–“
Butshe’salreadymoving,scootingoutoftheboothandsendingpillowstumblingineverydirection.“I’llbebackinthemorningandwe’llgetafreshstart.”
Shestridesoutofthebakehousewithoutanotherword.Istareatthedoor,thewreathhangingonthefrontswingingbackandforthwiththeforceofherretreat.Becketttakesabrownienexttomewithalongsufferingsigh.
“Estelle.”
Inarrowmyeyes.Beckettonlycallsmebymyfullnamewhenwehaveaproblem.CupidslipsoutofmygripandrubsherselfagainstBeckett’sforearm.I’mgoingtohavetotalktohimabouthavingthecatsinthebakehouse.Helooksatmeandtakesagiantbiteofbrownie.
“Pleaseexplaintomewhatjusthappened.”
Heswallowsandlooksupattheceilingthendownathishands.“Well,”
heshiftsintheboothandputshiselbowonthetableandthenpicksitupagain.Idon’tthinkI’veeverseenBeckettatsuchalossforwords.“Ah,well.Isleptwiththatwoman.”
“Beckett,”Idothemath.“She’sbeenintownforsixhours.”
Herollshiseyes.“Nottoday.”Hemesseswiththecuffofhissleeve.
“DoyourememberwhenIwenttothatconferenceinMaine?Theoneaboutorganicfarming?”
“Youdidn’tstoptalkingabouthowsyntheticfertilizersaretheworstforclosetoamonth.You’retellingmeyousleptwithEvelynonthattrip,andsyntheticfertilizersiswhatIheardabout?”
HescratchesroughlyatthebackofhisheadandsendsCupidskitteringacrossthetable.Hescoopsherbackupandplacesherinhislap.“Idon’twedon’ttalkaboutstufflikethat.Anditwasaone-timething.”Hiseyesgohazy,asmallsmilekickingupontherightsideofhismouth.Iwanttopunchhimintheface.“Morelikeathree-timething,Iguess.ShewasstayingatthesamebedandbreakfastIwas.Wemetatabar.”
IrememberseeingherpicturesfromatinybedandbreakfastinMaine.
Herphotosofthewildflowerbedspreadandthefresh-cutherbsonthewindowsill.It’smind-bogglingtomethatBeckettwasthere.Hewasunderthatbedspread.
“Diditendbadly?Whydidshehavethatreaction?”
Heshrugsandtakesanotherbiteofbrownie.
“Beckett.”Hechewsandkeepshiseyesfirmlyonthetabletop.Thislittleboothhasneverbeeninspectedsothoroughly.“Explainthistome.”
Heshrugsagain.“Idon’tknowStella,Ican’tevenexplainthisonetomyself.”Hefinisheshisbrownieandreclinesbackinthebooth.Ihavenoideawhatthismeansforthecontest,forhertriphere.Willsheleaveearly?Arewedisqualified?“Shewasprobablyjustsurprised.Wedidn’t–
wedidn’texactlytalkmuch.”Afuriousblushlightsupthebackofhisneckanddespiteeverything,Ifeelabubblingburstoflaughtercatchinmychest.Thiswholesituationisunreal.
IinventedafakeboyfriendsoEvelynwouldfindthisplaceromantic.
BeckettunknowinglysleptwithheronaweekendtriptoMaine.Wehaveamysterioustrespasserdeadsetondisruptingthefarm.
Itwouldbecomicalifitwasn’tsuchamess.
“Shewastheonewholeftfirst.Wewere,um,wespentthenighttogetherandwhenIwokeupinthemorningshewasgone.Allofherstuffwasgone,too.”
“Younevertriedtofindher?Neversawheronsocialmedia?”
Hescowlsatme.“YouknowIdon’tdoanythingonsocialmedia.Ifiguredshehadareasonforleavingthewayshedid.Idon’tchaseafterpeoplewhodon’twanttobechased.”
“That’sfair,”Isay.Wefallintosilence.IsurveyBeckettandcatalogthetensioninhisshoulders,thewayhehasn’tstoppedmovingsinceEvelynleft.Hisfingersagainstthetabletop.Hiskneebouncingbeneathit.Ashiftofhishipseveryfewsecondsintheboothseat.Inmysurprise,Iforgotthemostimportantthing.
“Hey,”Icurlmyhandjustabovehiselbowandtugonce.“Youokay?”
Henods,duckinghisheadjustabit.“M’fine.Embarrassed,mostly.Idon’twanttomessanythingupforus.Iknowhowimportantthisis.”
Iflinch.HehasnoideahowimportantthisisbecauseIhaven’tbeenhonestwithhim.Aflashofredinthewindowcatchesmyattention,Layla’sbrightjacketassheandLukatrudgetowardstheentranceofthebakehouse.Shelaughsatsomethinghesays,bothoftheircheeksflushedpinkwiththecold.Imakeadecision.
“Aboutthat.IneedtotalktoyouandLayla.Luka,too.”
Iwaituntileveryoneissituatedinthebooth,warmdrinksforLaylaandLukaaftertheirmorninginthefields.Layla’sbeentalkingaboutpropersawingtechniquessincetheycamein,abemusedLukatrailingafterherfromthedoortothebackkitchentoourcozyboothinthecorner.ButshecutsoffabruptlywhenshenoticeshowtenseBeckettisattheedgeofthewoodenbench,thefrownonmyface.
“Weirdvibes,”shesaysandIfeelLuka’sbootedfootnudgemineunderthetable,asilentareyouokaywiththearchofhiseyebrow.He’swearinghistreehuntingboots,theoneswiththeflannel.
“Wehavesome-”IshootaglanceatBeckettwholookslikehewantstomeltintothefloor.Ipathisbackonceinsolidarity.“Wehavesomeupdates.”
“IsleptwithEvelyn,”Beckettoffers,withoutanounceoflead-uporcontext.Laylabobblesherhotchocolateandspillshalfofitonthetablebetweenus.Lukajuststaresathim,browsfurrowed.ItossLaylaastackofnapkins.
“I’mconfused,”Lukalooksatme,thenBeckett,thenmeagain.“Didn’tshejustgethere?”
Beckettsharesthesamelimiteddetailswiththemashedidwithme.
Bedandbreakfast.Maine.Sixmonthsago.Farmerconference.Hesoundslikehe’srecountingatriptothedentist,notawild,sexy,weekendadventure.Layla’seyesgrowbiggerateverystaccatosentenceuntilshe’spracticallydrapedacrossthetable,enraptured.Beckettconcludeshisstoryandslumpsbackintohisseat.Cupidnudgesonceathischinwithhertinypaw.
“Beckett,”Laylabreathes.“Ididn’tthinkyouhadsex.”
Heshiftsandgrumpilycrosseshisarms.“OfcourseIhavesex.”
“Clearly.”
“I’mjustprivateaboutit.”
“Obviously.”
“Okay.”Irubatmyforehead.“That’senoughof…that.”Beckettlookslikehewantsthefloortoopenbeneathhim.“IhavesomethingIneedtotellyouguys.”Threepairsofeyesfocustheirattentiononme,Luka’snarrowedinconcern.Imustermycourageandstraightenmyspine.Iowethemanexplanation.I’veowedthemanexplanationforalongtimenow.
“I’vebeenprettyvaguewithhowthefarmisdoingfinancially.Thetruthisit’snotgreat.”
Beckettnarrowshiseyes.“Thatisanequallyvaguestatement.”
“Eventhoughwehadanamazingyearlastyear,westillaren’tturningahugeprofit.”MaybeifIsayitfaster,itwillbeeasier.Luka’sbootisstillbetweenmineandhetapsmyfootonce.“WhichIexpected,andaccountedfor.WhatIdidn’tbudgetforwasalltheextrarepairswehadthislastyear,thelossofthesouthpasture,themissingshipments,andthedebtsweowetoacoupleofdifferentsuppliers–“
“Excuseme,what?”
IignoreBeckettandcontinue.“Allthattosay,wearesortofhemorrhagingmoneyrightnow.I’mhopingthisseasonwillhelpournumbers,especiallywiththeaddedattentionofhavingEvelynhere.ButI’mreallybankingonthatgrandprizemoney.”
“Idon’tunderstand,”Laylastartsslowly.“Howarewehavingmoneyproblems?Istillgetmypaycheckeveryotherweek.Sodoesmyteam.
Theyhaven’tbeenlateorshortonce.”
Beckettbreathesoutsharplythroughhisnose.“Same.”Giventhethunderousexpressiononhisface,heknowsexactlywhythatis.
“Stella,”Luka’svoiceisquiet,pained.Iguesshefigureditout,too.Ikeepmyeyesonthewetnapkinsclumpedtogetherinthecenterofthetable.
“I’mnotevergoingtocutbackthepaychecksofanyonewhoworkshere.Imadeyoubothapromisewhenyoudecidedtojointhefarm,andI’mgoingtokeepit.”
Iwasafraid,Iwanttosay.Ididn’twantyoutothinkIwasafailure.Ididn’twanttoletyoudown.Ididn’twantyoutoleave.
“Andwhataboutyourpaychecks?”
Mypantryischockfulloframennoodles.Lukastuffsproteinbarsinmygloveboxeverytimehecomeshome.Thecottagecamewiththefarmandmycarhasbeenfullypaidoffforyears.Idon’tneedaconsistentpaycheck,notlikeBeckettandLaylado.
WhenI’msilent,Beckettstandswithahufffromthetable.“I’mleaving,”heannounces,succinctasever.Iexpectedthis,butIstillwinceattheheavythudofhisbootsagainstthetileofthebakery.Hestridestothedoor,changeshismindhalfway,andcomeswalkingback.Thefirefighters
inthecornerdotheirbesttolooklikethey’reoccupied,studyingthelastfrenchcrullerontheirplatelikeit’sinventedelectricity.
Beckettreturnstotheedgeoftheboothandstaresatme.Hisdisappointmentistheworstofit,thesadnessandhurtthatlingersinthefirmpressofhismouth.Heswallowsonce.
“Thisisn’twhatpartnersdo,”hesaysquietly.IwatchedBeckettarguewithtwoofhissistersonce.Hehadbeenquietwhiletheyyelled,armscrossedoverhischest,lettingthemcarryonwhilehejuststoodthere.Atthetime,Ithoughtitwasamusing.Lookatthemwastingalltheirenergyjusttofaceabrickwall.Nowthough,Icansympathize.Quiet,disappointedBeckettisathousandtimesworsethananyshowofanger.Inodonce.
ThisdayhasgonenothingasI’veplanned.
Heleavestothemerryjingleofsilverbellsabovethedoor.Iwishhewouldhaveslammeditinstead.
Laylareachesacrossthetableandgrabsmyhand.“WhileIamjustasangryasBeckettatyouhidingthisfromus,IwanttoaddthatIloveyou.”
Shestandsfromthetableandpullsherjacketbackon,flippingthehoodupandoverherhead.Shelookslikeagrumpyarcticexplorer.“We’lltalkaboutthislater.I’vegotanordertodeliverintown.”
“You’llbeback?”
Shegivesmeasadsmile.“Yeah,honey.I’llbeback.”
Iwatchherleavewithathousandapologiesonmytongue,butIbitethemback.Shoutingafterherisn’tgoingtochangeanything.IslumpintheboothandavoidLuka’seyes,collectingthemessfromthespilledhotchocolate.Iknowthere’salessonhereintellingthetruth,butIcan’tbringmyselftoapplyittooursituation.MaybewhenIseeEvelyntomorrow–ifIseeEvelyntomorrow,mybrainhelpfullyremindsme–Icanbehonestwithher.ThatLukaisn’tmyboyfriend,thatthishasallbeenamisunderstanding.“Wannawalkhome?”
Inodatthetabletopandtakeadeepbreaththatwobblesaroundtheedges.Lukahearsitandsighs,hishandcuppingmyelbowandpullingmeintohimassoonasI’moutofthebenchseat.Iholdawadofwetpapertowelsoverhisshouldersandtrynottogethisjacketwet.
“It’llbefine,”hesayssomewhereabovemyhead.Hisarmssqueezetight,buthedoesn’tdohisone-two-three.Itellmyselfnottoreadintoit.
“We’llfigureitout.”
FIGURINGitoutapparentlymeansgoingoverallmyinvoicesandbudgetspreadsheetsinexcruciatingdetailwhileLukahumsunderhisbreathandmakesvariousothersoundsthatdonothingtosoothemyfrayednerves.AcoughintohishandwhenIshowhimthespreadsheetwithourmissingshipments.AlowgrumbleunderhisbreathwhenIpulluptheinvoiceswithamountsdueinred.Asighwhenwelookovertheestimateforthetreesinthesouthpastureandhowitimpactsourbottomline.
HerubshisfingertipsalonghisjawandclicksaroundonmycomputerwhileIresisttheurgetoripthelaptopoutofhishands.Goingfromsharingthiswithnoone,tosharingitwitheveryone,hasmeagitatedandoff-kilter.
Lukadoesn’tsparemeaglanceasIstompmywayintothekitchen.
“Youcouldchargeadmission,”heoffersasIwrestlewithmywinebottle.Iamaboutthreesecondsawayfrombreakingtheneckoffontheedgeofthecounter.“Thatwouldhelpyououtmovingforward.”
“Ifyoulookatspreadsheetthreeatthebottom,”thecorkfinallygiveswithasatisfyingpop.“Iprojectedoutthosenumbers.Idon’twanttochargeadmissionifIcanhelpit.Itmakesitmorecost-prohibitivetofamilies.We’retheonlyfarminthestatethatdoesn’tchargeatthegatesandI’dlikeittostaythatwayforaslongaspossible.”
Lukaclicksovertothespreadsheetinquestionwithahummingnoise.Idrinkdirectlyfromthebottle.
“Youcouldchargeanyoneovertheageoftwenty.Thatwaythere’sstillanappealforfamilieswithkidsandteens.Youcouldevenlumpticketsintoafullpackage.Includehotchocolate,theiceskatingrink,andtwentypercentoffafresh-cuttree.”
Thatis…agoodidea.I’mannoyedIdidn’tthinkofitmyself.ItakeanotherpullfromthebottleasLukastandsfromthecouch,placingmylaptoponthekitchentableonhiswaytome.Iofferhimthebottle,butheshakeshishead,collectingthattooandputtingitwithmylaptop.
Heholdsouthisarms.“C’mere.”
Hischeeksarestillflushedpinkfromhistimeoutsidetoday,twinspotsofcoloragainsthisgoldenskin.Istareathim,hisopenarms,thesoft,fadedmaterialofhisthermalshirt.ItclingstightaroundhisbicepsandIgetdistractedthereforasecond,teethsawingovermybottomlip.
“Why?”
Hehuffsalaughthroughhisnoseandstepscloser,hishandsovermyshoulders.Hetugsonceandslipshisgriptomywrists,adjustingmyhandsuntilthey’reloopedaroundhisneck.Hespinsustotherefrigeratorintwosmoothsteps,mykneesknockingagainsthisthewholeway.“What’shappeninghere?”
Heignoresme,reachingabovethefridgefortheoldradioIkeepupthere.There’saburstofstaticwhenheturnsiton,twistingtheknobtofindaclearstation.Itwasmymom’s.Everyplacewelivedsheputitupontopofthefridge.ShelikedtodancetoBruceSpringsteenduringdinner.
AC/DCduringclean-up.We’dwashdishesandshe’dswingherhipsandshakeherhair.Sheusedtosayshecouldhavebeenoneofthosegirlsclimbingontopofthecarsinthemusicvideos.Teenagemehadbeenhorrified.
“Iwanttotalktoyou,”hesays.Istarepointedlyatmyhandscurledaroundhisneck,mychestpressedtohis.
“Andthisistalking?”
Hefindswhathe’slookingfor,thesmoothsoundofLouisArmstrongcrooningaboutasilentnightthroughtheoldspeakers.It’salittletinnyandcracklingwithstatic,theoldradionotthebestinaudioquality.ButIloveit.
Lukatugsmecloseandspinsmeintothecenterofthekitchen,onehandatmyhip,theotherbetweenmyshoulderblades.“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouwerehavingtrouble?”
“Um.”It’shardformetothinkwhenhe’sholdingmelikethis.Slowlyswayingaroundmykitchenwithhisnoseatmytemple.“Whyareweslowdancing?”
Lukarestshischinontopofmyhead.“Thisishowmyparentsargued,”
heconfessesquietly,agrininhisvoice.“OrIguess,thisishowtheyhadbigconversations.Mydadsaidhelikedtokeepmymomclose,butIreallythinkhewantedawaytopolitelyrestrainher.”
Ihuffalaughandrelaxintohishold,lettinghimspinmeslowly.It’snicetohearhimtalkabouthisdad,tohaveagoodmemory.ItrytopictureayoungerLuka,rollinghiseyesathisparentsdancinginthekitchen.Itmakesmesmile.Hisgriptightenswhenhefeelsmesofteninhishold,palmslippingdownfrombetweenmyshoulderstothecenterofmyback.
“So,whydidn’tyoutellme?”
There’sathinthreadofhurtinthequietquestion,alingeringsadnessaroundtheedgesthathasmetuckingcloser,restingmyforeheadagainsthiscollarbone.Hesmellslikepinehere,anotherremnantofhistimeinthefields.ThereasonIdidn’ttellLukaisthesamereasonIdidn’ttellanyone.
“BecauseIthoughtIwashandlingit,”Itellhim,alickoffrustrationslippingthrough.“Iamhandlingit.”
Myplanisagoodone.GetthroughthistripwithEvelyn.Charmhersenseless.Winthecontestandsettleourdebtswiththesuppliers.Fromthereweshouldbesolidenoughtomakeitthroughtospring.Atthispoint,evenifwedon’twintheprizemoney,Ithinkwe’llbeokay.TheaddedinfluxofcustomersfromthefeatureonEvelyn’schannelsshouldbeenoughtopullusout.I’lljust–havetoeatramenforalittlebitlonger.
“Youstillcouldhavetoldme,”hesays,tippinghischinbackuntilhe’slookingdownatme.Helooksyoungerlikethis,tiredfromadayinthefields,ayawncreakingathisjaw.
“Ididn’twant–“IthinkaboutthoseearlydayswhenIrealizedhowdeepinitwewere,thenumbersonmycomputerscreennotmakingsensenomatterhowmanytimesIsortedandrearrangedthecolumns.IhadwantedtocallLukasobadly,askhimtotakealook,reassureme.ButIalsowantedtodothismyself.Thisfarm,thisbusiness,it’sthefirstthingthat’severbeenmineandminealone.“Ididn’twantyoutorescueme.”
Hiseyebrowsjumpinsurprise.“Helpingfriendsisofflimitsnow?”
“It’snotlikethat.It’sjust–doyourememberthatyearIdecidedIwantedtolearnhowtorideaskateboard?Andyousaidyou’dhelp?”
Hesmilesatthememory.“Yeah,youboughtthatredhelmetwiththeflamesontheside.Kneepadstomatch.Youweresocute.”
Irollmyeyes.Iwasn’ttryingtobecute.Iwastryingtobesafeandalittlebadass.Ididlikethathelmet,though.“Wellasyouremember,thosekneepadspaidoff.Iwashorrible.”
Thetugofagrinspreadsuntilhe’slaughing,nodoubtrecallingmytumbleintothefountaininthemiddleoftown.“Youweretragicallyhorrible,”heagrees.
“Right,andwhatdidyoudo?Howdidyouhelpmeachievemydreamofcoastingdownthestreetonaskateboard?”
Hislaughtersettlesintoawarmrumbleofachuckle.“Igaveyouapiggyback,”hesmiles.“IhoppedontheskateboardwithyouonmybackandweflewdownMainStreet.”
It’sagoodmemory.IcanstillrememberthewayIclutchedtightathisshoulders,everybumpinthesidewalkaswerocketedpastthebookstore,thegreenhouse,thelittleparkwithdaffodilsattheentrance.Inod.“Yeah,youhelpedmedothethingIwantedtodobyliterallyputtingmeonyourback.”Ismileandrunmyfingersthroughhishair,helplessnottotouchhim.Notwhilehelookssohappyandsosadatthesametime.“Youhavedonethatcountlesstimesinourfriendship,andI’msograteful.ButthistimeIwanted–Iwantedtobemyownhero.Iwantedtodoitmyself.”
Hepusheshisheadintomyhand,closinghiseyes.“Leaningonotherpeopledoesn’tmakeyourachievementsanylessyours,LaLa.”Heopenshiseyes,darklikemeltedchocolate.“DoyourememberwhenIconvincedmyselfIwantedtorunahalf-marathon?Whatdidyoudo?”
Ihatedthatidea.Iwokeupeverymorningbeforethesunandgrumbledallthewaythroughputtingonmytennisshoesandpullingonmysportsbra,Lukagruntingontheotherendoftheline.Wehadentireconversationsthroughsoundsalonethosemornings.
“Youwokeupeverymorningwithmeformyrunanddidanequaldistancehere,atthesametime.SoI’dfeellessalone.”
“Aboutthat,”Imumble.“ImayhavejustrantoMs.B’sandgotaplateofcinnamonrolls.”
Heblinksatme.“What?ButyourGPS–“
“Ipaidoneofthehighschoolkidstorunmyroute.He’dmeetmeoutfrontofthebakeryandwe’ddotheexchange.Hewastryingtomakethecrosscountryteam,soitworkedout.”
Lukalaughs,eyescrinklingatthecorners.Henuzzlesonceatmytempleandspinsusbackacrossthekitchen,overtothefridge.
“Regardless,”hehums.“Youwokeupwithme.Yousentmehealthysnacks.Youbelievedinmeandencouragedme.Youevenmadeasignfortherace.”
AbrightpinksignwithgoldglitterthatsaidYOUTHINKYOU’RETIRED?
I’VEBEENHOLDINGTHISSIGNSINCE9:00
Ontheotherside:I’MSOPROUDOFYOU,LUKA.
“WhatI’mtryingtosayisthatyoucantrustme.Youcantrustmetohelpyoucarrytheload.Youdon’thavetodoallofthisalone.”Hecatchesanerrantcurl,rubbingitgentlybetweenthumbandforefinger.Hetwistsitlightlyandtugsonce.“Iknowyoucantakecareofyourself.You’vebeendoingthataslongasI’veknownyou.Butletmeholdyourhandwhileyoudoit,okay?”
Inod,ahotpressurebehindmyeyes.ThemusicswitchestoNatKingColeandIpracticallymeltintoLuka’sarms,anotherturnaroundmykitchen.
“Alright,”Isay.
Hebrushesakissagainstmytempleandwhispersback.“Alright.”EIGHTEEN
EVELYNFINDSmeinmyofficethenextmorning,bundledupinabeautifulwhitejacketwithathicksashatthemiddle,darkhairbraidedoveroneshoulder.Igetawhiffofhazelnutandstarelonginglyatthetake-outcupinherhand,mylukewarmcoffeebalancedattheedgeofmydesk.It’snicetoknowMs.Beatricecanbekindwhenshewantsto.
Itrytosurreptitiouslystackthechaosofpaperworkonmydeskintoaneaterpile,brushawaythecrumbsfromaleftovermuffin.Iwasn’texactlyexpectingcompany.I’vebeenwaitingforacallfromthebedandbreakfastallmorning.Theowner,Jenny,lettingmeknowthatEvelynhasdecidedtocheckoutearly.
Evelynsmilesandtakestheseatacrossfrommydesk,perchedontheveryedge.I’mgladatleastIdecidedtosewupthetearsontheupholsteryinafitofprocrastination.Herpostureisimmaculate,herlegscrossedgracefully.Idon’tthinkI’veeverlookedthatputtogetherinmylife.
“Youlooksurprised,”shesaysandtakesalongdrinkfromherlatte.“Itoldyouwe’dgetafreshstarttoday.”
“Ithoughtyoumighthaveleft,”Ifiddlewithoneofthepinetreessittingontheedgeofmydesk,wrappingthestringaroundmythumb.“Iwasworriedyou’dbeuncomfortablehere.”
“Ioweyouanapology,”shesays,andmyelbowknocksastackofpaperworktothefloor.Somuchforlookingorganized.
AquietumisaboutallIcanmanageinresponse.
“Beckettcametotalktomelastnight,”sheoffers.Myfacemustdosomethingstrangeatthatbecausesheflushespinkandducksherhead.
“Ohjeez,notlikethat.Hejust–heexplainedhowmuchthefarmmeanstoyou,tohim,toyourtown.HeaskedifI’dconsiderstaying.Hesaidhe’dmakehimselfscarceifI–ifIwantedhimto.”
AballoonofaffectionforBeckettrisesinmychest.“Anddoyou?”it’snotthequestionIshouldbeasking,butI’mcurious.“Wanthimto?”
Evelynshrugs.“Idon’tthinkthat’snecessary.We’rebothgrown-upsandwhathappenedbetweenusis–”thatflushonhercheeksburnsdarkerandshewavesherhandbetweenus,shooingthethoughtsaway.Ihidemysmileinthelipofmycoffeemug.“Well,itdoesn’tmatter.Thatwasthen,thisisnow.I’mresolvedtobeprofessionalandseethistripthrough.Youdeserveit.”
Iprobablydon’t.Thetruthsticksinthebackofmythroat,theconfessionthatmyrelationshipwithLukaisn’ttheromantictaleI’veledhertobelieve.Ipressmypalmsflattomydeskandtracemythumboverthewoodgrain.“Listen,Ishouldtellyou–“
Mysentenceisabruptlycutoffbymyofficedoorswingingopen,Lukaontheothersidewiththatdamnpoofballhatandtwotakeoutcups.He’swearingascarftodaytoo,athickevergreenI’mprettysurehisgrandmothermadehim.
“LaLa,Ithinkthisisstilldecaf,butMs.Beatricedidgiveyouhazelnut,sothat’s–oh,shoot.”HetucksoneofthecupsintothecradleofhiselbowandextendsoneglovedhandtoEvelyn,asmilealreadylightinguphiseyes,goldeninthemorninglight.Itreallyisunfairhowprettyheis.“Hey.
YoumustbeEvelyn.”
Evelynsmilesandstandsfromherchair,takinghishandinashakeandthentippinghercuptohisinaminicheers.Ifeelmyresolvewitheraway.
“Luka,I’msoexcitedtomeetyou.”
“IwasjustswingingbytodropoffacoffeebeforeIheadouttotheiceskatingrink.”Hisambereyesfindmine,asmileliftingthecornersofhismouth.Ilefthimthismorningbeforethesunwasup,buriedbeneaththepillowsonmybed.Hehadcurledhishandaroundmyelbowwithasleepy
grumble,amuffledrequesttocomebackandcuddle.Itwasatemptingoffer.
“Becktextedaboutsomeofthepanelsonthefarendbeingloose.”Inoticeahammerhangingoutofhisjeanspocket,afolded-uppieceofcanvastuckedunderhisarm.Heseesmyquestioningglanceandgrins.
“Momgaveittome,”heexplains.“Someofthekidsmadeasign.Ithinkit’lllookniceoverthepanels.Sortoflikethoseadsyouseeathockeygames.”
“Aslongasnooneischeckingeachotherintotheboards,that’sfine.
What’sthesignsay?”
“Wouldn’tyouliketoknow?”herumbleswithalaugh.Hedropsmycoffeeontheedgeofmydeskandpresseshispalmflattothewoodentop,leaningforwardtobrushakissacrossmylips.Asfarasdistractionsgo,it’sagoodone.Isighintoitandhesmiles,anotherquickkissbeforeheleansback.IseeEvelyngrinningatusfromthecornerofmyeye.
“CanIjoinyou?”sheasks.“Ididn’tgettoseemuchyesterday.I’dliketoseetherink.”
“Yeah,noproblem.I’llgiveyoutheunofficialtourandStellawillgiveyouthemoreprofessionalversionlater.”
Sheclapsherhandstogetheronce,backtotheenergetic,excitedwomanshewaswhenshefirstarrived.“That’sperfect.”
Itellmyselfthatit’sfine,thatwe’renotreallylyingtoher.We’remore
–bendingthetruth,Iguess.I’mnotexactlysurewhatLukaandIaretooneanotherrightnow.Sure,we’refriends,butafterthatnightonmycouch,we’realsosomethingmore.I’veconvincedmyselfit’snotsomuchalieanymoreasitis–anembellishment.
Iswallowaroundtheunease.“I’llmeetyououtthereinalittlebit.”
IBARELYMANAGEtomakeadentinmyemailbeforeIhaveanothersetofvisitors.
Beckettstridesintomyofficewithadeterminedlookonhisface,astackofpaperswedgedunderhisarm.HeslapsthebookletdownonmydeskandthencollapsesintothesamechairEvelynwassittinginanhourago,armscrossedoverhischest.Laylahustlesinbehindhim,outofbreath,agiantpieceofposterboardinherhands.
“Youwouldnotbelievehowthisthingcatchesthewind,”shesays,placingthehugeboardintheunoccupiedchair,cornerdown.Shetearsoffherjacketandgesturestowardsthestackonmydesk.“Beckettbroughtyoutheappendix.Good.”
“Didn’thavetimetolaminate,”hesays,stillglaringatme.“Don’tyouhaveyourownmachine?”“Broken,”hegrunts.
ItriedcallingbothofthemlastnightafterLukaandIhadslowdancedaroundmykitchenenoughformyhearttosettle.Allofmycallshadgonestraighttovoicemail.IflipthestackofpapersaroundonmydesksoIcanreadthetoppage:LOVELIGHTFARMSBUSINESSPLANinboldface.
NowIseewhynoonewasansweringtheirphones.
“ShouldIsit?”
BeckettandLaylanodinunisonandthenproceedtowalkmethroughaforty-fiveminutepresentation.Therearecolor-codedsectionsinthebookletonnewsuppliers,referencestolocalordinancesabouttaxbreaksandcredits,andevenabudgetspreadsheetthatlookssuspiciouslyliketheoneIshowedLukalastnight,acolumnhighlightedinyellowwithourbaselinenumbersifwestartedchargingadmissionrates.
Iflipthepageandlookatsalaryprojections,myeyebrowsknittinginconfusionwhenIseethenumbers.“Thesearewrong,”Isay,interruptingLaylamid-sentenceandwincinginapology.“Sorry,just.I’mlookingatthepaychecksectionandyournumbersarewrong.”
Beckettrubsathischinwiththeheelofhishand,legskickedout.Laylahasledmostofthispresentation,buthedidgetprettypassionatewhentalkingaboutfertilizers.Asperusual.Heflipstothecorrespondingpageinhisbookletandarchesaneyebrow.“They’renotwrong.”
“Theyareoffbyaboutthirtypercent.”Isquintmyeyes.“Mmm,actually.About–“
“It’safortypercentpaycutforBeckettandme,”Laylasayswithoutalickofhesitation.“Withbackpaybuilt-inforwhatyou’vecutforyourself.”
“It’safiftypercentcutforme,”Beckettgrumbles.“Idon’tpayanyrentonmyhouse.Thatshouldbeincludedinmycompensationpackage.”
Iswallowandkeepmyeyesonthenumbers.“Andeveryoneelse?”Iclearmythroatuntilmyvoicedoesn’twobble.“Theseasonalhelpandyourstaff?Theirnumbersdon’tchange?”
“Everyoneelsestayswheretheyare.Thepaycutforjustthethreeofusshouldbeabletogetusthroughanothercoupleofmonths,evenwithouttheprizemoney.”
Ipressundermyeyesandkeepmygazefirmlyonthespreadsheet.I’mafraidifIlookup,Imightburstintotears.“Ican’tletyoudothat.”
“Well,we’redoingit,so.”Laylapropsherhandsonherhips.Shegesturestotheposterboardwhereshe’sdrawnachartwithredandwhitestripedlines,outlinedinglitter.Financialprojectionsthroughthenextthreeyears.“Andthere’sanotherthing.BeckettandIdiscussedit.Wewanttobefull-onpartners.We’dliketosplitownershipandallfinancialobligationsthreeways.”
Beckettjumpsin.“We’llneedtoseeyourstart-upcosts,afullbreakdownofwhatthelandcostyouandalltherenovations.We’llevaluateitandsplitit.There’ssomelegalpaperworktobedone,too.Ontheaccountofownership.Butifyou’rewillingtoletusbeapartofthis,we’rein.”
Laylanodsinagreement.“We’resuperin.Allthewayin.Itshouldhavebeenthiswayfromthestart,Stella.Thisfeelsright.”
IsuckinalungfulofairandlookupatLayla.Herfaceisopen,noneofthehurtresignationfromyesterday.Nowshejustlooksdetermined.Shegivesmeatinynod,barelyatiltofherchin.
Beckettisdifferent.He’sallharshlinesandfurrowedbrows,armsstillcrossedoverhischest,thesleevesofhisflannelrolledtohiselbows.Thecolorfulinkpaintedacrosshisskinisafinedistractionfromthewaymyheartispoundinginmychest.Istareattheivyvinethatloopsaroundhiswrist.Thecrescentmoonontheinsideofhiselbow.
“Beck?You’resure?”Iblinkbackuptohisfaceandsomethingthereshifts.Arecognition.Arealignment.
“This,”hesaysquietly.“Thisiswhatpartnersdo.”
BYTHETIMEImakeitouttotheiceskatingrinktocatchupwithLukaandEvelyn,I’mjitteryfromtoomuchcaffeineandthereliefofrenewedhope.ImadeBeckettandLaylagooverthenumberswithmeanotherthreetimes,linebyline.Ieventuallytalkedthemdowntoathirtypercentpaycut,with
onlyhalfthebackpaytheyprojected.Withthoseadjustments,weshouldbeabletorunsmoothlyforawhileyet.
I’mstillhesitantaboutstartingadmissionprices.NothavingtopaytogetintothefarmwasabigreasonwhymymomandIcameheresooftenwhenIwasakid.Itwasfreeforustowanderaroundthetrees,sippingonhotchocolatewesmuggledinwithourbags.Iftherewasanentrancefee,I’mnotsuremymomwouldhaveeverbroughtmehere.Thethoughtmakesmesad.Iboughtthisplacesoeveryonecouldexperiencethesamemagic.Nooneshouldfeelleftout.
Iturnthecorneronthestonewalkwaythatleadsfromtheofficetothemainentrancearea,MariahCareyoverthespeakers.There’sachillintheairtoday,abriskwindthat’strippingthroughthetrees.Iwatchthemswayanddanceonthefoothills,theirbranchesswayinginthesun.Bytheendoftheseason,thesehillswillbegoldenbrowninsteadofrichgreen,allofthetreessittinghappilyintheirnewhomes.Iliketothinkofthatsometimes,wheremytreesendup.Strungwithlightsandtinselandornaments.
Presentsstackedneatlybeneath,justbeggingtobeopened.ApieceofLovelightFarmsinsomeone’shome,helpingmaketheirholidayspecial.
TheiceskatingrinkisfullwhenIarrive,agroupofhighschoolerswhippingaroundinfigureeights,laughingandholdinghandsandchasingoneanother.IseeCindyCroswellofftotheside,usingoneoftheskaterhelpersshapedlikeapenguinthatwespecificallyboughtforchildren.
BaileyandSandraMcGivensskateslowlyalong,handinhand,whisperingtooneanother,pausingforakissbeneaththemistletoeeverytimetheypassundertheentrancearch.Igrinandletmygazemovealongthesiding,thereinforcedpiecesofwoodandthebannerstrungneatlyovertop.
Redandgreenpaint,alittlebitsloppyattheedgeslikewhoeverwaspaintingitwasinarush.MERRYCHRISTMAS,LOVELIGHTFARMS.FROM
INGLEWILDHIGHTHEJOLLIESTBUNCHOFA-HOLESTHISSIDEOFTHE
NUTHOUSE.They’vedrawnatinycityscapebeneath,lightsstrungoverInglewild’srooftops.Ileanmyelbowsupagainstthearmrailwithalaughandsnapapicturewithmyphone.
“Doyoulikeit,Ms.Bloom?”Oneofthehighschoolers–Jeremy,Ithink
–comestoasudden,forcefulstopagainstthewoodenboardsrightnexttome,hisskatesslamminginfirstasashoweroficeshepherdshisarrival.Heshakeshishairoutofhisfaceandleansrightnexttome.
“It’sverycreative,”Isaydiplomatically.We’llprobablyhavetocoverupthatlastpartifweleaveitup,butitmakesmelaugh.“ChristmasVacationisoneofmyfavoriteholidaymovies.”
“Metoo,”heagreesandhedoesthathairflipthingagain.Idon’tknowhowhemanagestostayconsciouswithsuchanaggressiveheadjerkeverythirtyseconds.“Wehavesomuchincommon.”
“Um,sure.”
“Youknow,you’reprettyhotforanolderwoman,”Jeremytellsme,flippinghishairtwiceinthespaceoffifteenseconds.DoesthisworkonthegirlsatInglewildHigh?Isurehopenot.Iletthatcommentsitforamoment.He’sstaringatmewithacockygrinkickinguphismouth.Oh,tohavetheconfidenceofayoungwhiteman.
“Wantatip?”
“Fromyou,baby?Iwantmorethanthetip.”
Ugh,gross.Whendidhighschoolersbecomesoterrible?ImakeamentalnotetoletMrs.PetersknowthatJeremysucks,thoughI’msuregivenhisless-than-subtleapproachtolife,shehasanidea.“Don’tcallwomenold,”Itellhim.“Infact,don’tcallwomenanything.Ithinkyou’dbenefitfromprobablynottalkingtowomeningeneralforfivetosevenyears.”
Helooksdownathisskates,shoulderscurlingin.“Sorry,”hemumbles.
“It’salright,just–youcan’tsayvulgarthingslikethat.Usethisasalearningmoment.”
Heblinksupatme.“WhatsortofthingsshouldIsay?”
Iconsiderthat.“Maybe,ifyoulikesomeone,tellthemwhatyoulikeaboutthem.”HeopenshismouthandIgivehimalook.“Anotphysicalthing.”
Helooksconfused.
“Theirpersonality,”Ioffer.“Likethey’refunny,orsmart,orespeciallykind.Youcouldsaysomethingnot-”Iconsidermywords.“Notgrossabouttheirappearance.Maybetheireyes,theirhair,thewaytheysmile.”
Henods,stillconfused.Helooksdubious.“Andthatwillwork?”
“Itwillonlyworkifyoutrulymeanwhatyou’resaying,andyou’rerespectfulofwhattheysayinreturn.Gotit?”
“Ithinkso,”heshiftsonhisskates.Ifeelanarmsliparoundmywaist,abroadchestatmyback.Lukarestshischinontopofmyhead.
“Jeremy,youbetternotbecreepingonmywoman.”
Jeremygrinsandtakesofftotheotherendoftheiceskatingrinkwithoutaword,anothersprayoficebehindhim.I’llhavetogetaZamboniifthehighschoolerskeepcoming.
IturninLuka’sarms,myhandsclaspedatthesmallofhisback.Ilikedthewaythatsounded,hiswoman.Alittlebittoomuch.Heglancesdownatmewithagrin,browneyessearchingmyface.“Everythingokay?”
Inod.“BeckettandLaylacametoseeme.”
Hehums,hissmiletwitchingatthecornerofhismouth.“Oh?”
“Yeah,”Isqueezehimharder,fingersdiggingintothethickmaterialofhisjacket.Irestmyforeheadagainsthischestandhispalmsmoothesfromthesmallofmybackupbetweenmyshoulderblades.Herocksusbackandforthonce.“Thankyou,”Iwhisper.
“Nothingtothankmefor.It’sallyou,”hesays.Hehumsagain,alowrumbleagainstmyear.“Ijustwannaholdyourhand,Stella.”
Irestmychinonhischestandlookup.“IthinkI’llletyou.”
“Gladtohearit.”Hissmiletipsintosomethingsofter,thumbtracingtheappleofmycheek.“Listen,wehaven’treallyhadachancetotalk.
Aboutabouttheothernight.”
“Oh.Okay.”
“Wasit-”Ifeelhishandstwitchatmysides.“Wasitweird?”
“Weirdthatitwasn’tweird,”Itellhim,alaughatthetipofmytongue.
Nopartofmeregretswhathappenedbetweenustheothernight,eventhoughitfeelslikeIshould.We’rewellbeyondblurringthelinesofourrelationship.“Whataboutyou?”
Hisshouldersrelax.“Ican’tstopthinkingaboutyou,”hewhispers,thumbtracingdownfrommycheektomybottomlip.Hiseyesgohazy,unfocused.Ashivercurlsovermyshouldersandslipsdownmyspine.“Thesoundsyoumade,LaLa,I-”
Thegroupofhighschoolerswhipsbyusagain,screamingandlaughing.
Lukablinksandclearshisthroat,squeezesmyhipstight.
“Weirdthatitwasn’tweird,”heagreesfaintly,gazemeetingmine.Hiseyesaredark,sharpwithintent,andIlookoverhisshouldertothebarn.
Wecouldprobablymakeittherewithoutanyonenoticing.Findaniceanddarkcozycornertohidein.
“IleftEvelynatthebakehousewithPeter,”LukaremindsmeofwhatIshouldbefocusingon.Ishakemyhead.“Sheseemedintentongettingherhandsonmorebrownies.”
“Isshehavingagoodtime?”
“Sheseemstobe.Itookherouttothefieldsandshowedheraround.
Shereallylikedthesleigh.Shewassnappingallsortsofpicturesonherphone.”
Thesleighisanold,beat-up1954Chevy3100truck,leftinthefieldsbyHank–ormaybeeventheownerbeforeHank.WhenBeckettfoundit,itwasrustedoutandhometoanentirecolonyofbirds.Itstillishometothebirdswhentheymigratebackinthespring,butnowit’spaintedcherryred,multi-colorChristmaslightsstrungoverthecab.Wekeepabigcanvassackinthebedofthetruckstuffedwithboxes,Santa’smagicbagleftbehind.
Thekidsgetakickoutofit.
“Thatwasagoodideatotakeherthere.”
“Tobehonest,Iforgotaboutit,”herubsthebackofhisneck.“Imighthavegotturnedaroundwithallthetrees.Ispotteditandjustsortofmadeitseemlikethatwasthegoal.”
Ilaugh.LeaveittoLuka.“Eitherway,thanksforthat.”
MyphonebeginstoringinmyfrontpocketandIstepoutofthecradleofhisarmstosearchforitamongthecrumpledcandywrappersandoldreceiptscurrentlyoccupyingmyjacket.Ifindafoil-coveredpeppermintchocolatebarandhanditovertoLuka.Hisattentionisquicklydivertedbythegroupofhighschoolersastheymakeanotherraucouslapoftheiceskatingrink,hiseyesnarrowedonJeremy.
Ianswerthephonewithasmile,notbotheringtocheckwhoitisfirst.
“Hello?”
“Hey,Stella.”
“Dane.”Lukaturnsbacktomeandarchesaneyebrowinsilentquestion.Ishrug.Ihaven’theardfromhimsincetheearly-morningchasethroughthefieldsovertheweekend.“WhatcanIdoforyou?”
Hesighs.“I’vegotsomenews.Canyoucomedowntothestation?”
NINETEEN
WHENDANESAYSSOMENEWS,hemeanshecaughtthepersonthrowingrocksatmysecuritycamera.HetellsmethisinplaceofpolitesmalltalkandIlaunchmyselfoutofthechairacrossfromhisdesk,knockingoveracupfilledwithpensandaminiaturemodelairplane.
“Youwhat?”Iglancearoundmelikethesuspectisabouttopopoutfrombehindhiscurtains.“Whoisit?Whydidtheydoit?”Isquintthroughtheglasswallofhisofficetothesmallkitchenette,theholdingcell,andthereceivingareaforwalk-ins.Ipointtowardsadoorinthebackcorner.“Doyouhavethemininterrogation?”
Danerubshisfingertipsbetweenhiseyebrowsandgesturestothechair,aquietcommandtosit.“That’sautilitycloset,cinnamonstick.”Isitbackdown,balancedontheveryedge.“Didtheyconfess?”Henods.Iwanttopunchtheairinvictory.
“Doyouneedaninterrogationpartner?”Allmybinge-watchingofLaw
&Orderisabouttopayoff.IfeellikeIshouldgohomeandchangeintoasmartpantsuit,grababriefcase.“Wanttodogoodcop,badcop?”
“Thatisnotathingthathappens,Estelle.”
“Saysyou.”
“Saysliterallyeverylawenforcementprofessionalinthecountry.
Listen,”helevelsmewithalook,afrowntuggingathislips.“There’snoneedforaninterrogation.He’salreadytolduseverythinghe’sdone.I’mhavingtroublewiththisonebecauseI’malittlemiffedonyourbehalfandI’mnotembracingmyusual-”herubsathisjawashesearchesfortheword.“Impartiality,Isupposeyoucouldsay.”
“Didyoupunchhimintheface?”
Daneshakeshisheadwithafaintsmile.“Ididnotpunchhimintheface.”Itlookslikehewantedtopunchhimintheface.
“ThenIdon’tseetheproblem.Youdon’thavetobeimpartialifhe’salreadyconfessed.”Mymindraceswiththepossibilitiesofwhoitcouldbe,
theirmotive.Lukahadwantedtocomewithme,butIforcedhimtostayatthefarmincaseEvelynneededanything.IcaughtaglimpseofherjustbeforeIleft,hotchocolateinhand.InterestinglyenoughBeckettwasn’ttoofarbehind.
“They’reherenow–“Iopenmymouthtoask.“–notintheinterrogationroomthatdoesnotexist.”Heisexhaustedbyme.Hegrabsastressballoutofhistopdrawerandstartstosqueezeit.“Howwouldyouliketohandlethis?”
“IguessIwanttoknowmyoptions.”I’dliketothrowsomerocksatthisperson,forstarters.Aneyeforaneyeandallthat.ButIdon’tthinkthat’sgoingtoflywithDane.
“They’refacingseveralcountsofmaliciousdestructionofprivateproperty.That’samisdemeanorinthestateofMaryland.Becauseitwasdonewillfullyandresultedinthousandsofdollarsworthofdamage,hecouldfacejailtime.”
“Jailtime?”I’mupsetaboutthecameraandthemissingshipmentsandthebrokenfenceposts,butI’mnotsureIwantsomeonetogotojailoverit.
Ifrownandsettlebackinthechair.“Isthattheonlyoption?”
“It’suptoyouifyouwanttopresschargesornot.”Hestartstosqueezetheballagain,harderthistime.“Heaskedifhecould–heaskedifhecouldtalktoyou.Apologize.”
Iblink.“Isupposethat’sprobablyagoodstart,yeah?”Itwouldbeniceifwecouldhandlethiscivilly.
Dane’smustachetwitches.“Sure.”
“Alright,thenleadthewaytointerrogation.”
“It’snot–“Danesighsandgivesup.“Thisway.”
Idon’tknowwhoIwasexpectingittobe.Somegrungygargoyleofahuman,maybe.Ithinkpartofmehopeditwassomeonedoingallofthisinapleaforhelp.Maybetheywerethrowingrocksatmycamerabecausetheyneededtofeedtheirfamily…orsomething.Maybetheyjustranbecausetheywerescared,andthishasallbeenonebigmisunderstanding.
Icertainlydon’texpectWillHewettsittingattheconferencetableinhistweedjacketandtortoiseshellglasses,nursingacupofteainastyrofoamcup
“Where’dyougetthetea?”DanegruntsingreetingasIstandmotionlessandconfusedinthedoorway.
“DeputyAlvarez,”Mr.Hewettresponds,lookingupatmebrieflyandthenbackdownathiscup.IfeellikeI’mpartofanelaboratepracticaljoke.
Calebslipsquietlyintotheroombehindus,notebookwedgedunderhisarm.Danegiveshimalook.
“We’reservingteatocriminalsnow?”
Calebblinksandlooksatthetinystyrofoamcupoftea.“Wantmetotakeitawayfromhim?”
“Obviously.”
CalebreachesforthecupandIwavehimoff,takingtheemptychairacrossfromMr.Hewett.Hedoesn’tlookupatmeagainandIfighttheurgetowhisperwhatthefuck
“I’mconfused,”Imanage.IlookupatDane,standingovermyshoulderwithathunderousexpression,armscrossedoverhischest.IturnandfrownatCaleb,recliningagainstthedoor.IsettleandglancebackatMr.
Hewett.
Nooneinthisroomisbeingparticularlyeffusive.“Isthisajoke?”Allthreemenshaketheirheadswithvaryingdegreesofenthusiasm.
“Okay,well,”I’dlikesometeatoo.Withahealthydoseofwhiskey.
“Cansomeoneexplaintomewhat’sgoingon?I’mhavingtroubleunderstanding.Mr.Hewett,youdestroyedmycamera?”
“Whydon’tyoustartfromthetop,William.”
Itbeginswiththesaleofthefarm,longbeforeIdrovepastandsawtheFORSALEsign.Mr.Hewettexplainsthathehadagentleman’sagreementwithHanktobuytheland,butheneededmoretimetogetthemoneytogether.Whilehewastryingtoliquidatesomeofhisassetsandfreeupthecash,Iswoopedinandboughtthefarmfromunderhisnose.
IvaguelyrememberHankmentioningtherewasanotherinterestedbuyerwhenIputinmyoffer,butnothingevercameofit.Ihadbeentuckingmoneyawayforyearsinthehopesofopeningmyownplace,thepayoutfrommymom’sinsurancepolicysittinguntouchedinmybankaccount.Ihadbeensavingitforsomethingspecial,somethingmeaningful.
Isawthesign,madetheoffer,andthenextweekHankwasinCostaRicaandIhadthekeystotheplace.
“Youwanteda…what?”
Mr.Hewettpicksapieceofstyrofoamofftheedgeofhiscup,disdaininthecurlofhislip.Whateveraltruismthatledhimtoconfesshasn’timpactedhisoverallperceptionofme.“Analpacafarm,”hemutters.
“Analpacafarm.”
“It’smydream,”hereplieswiththinly-veiledimpatience.Danesnortsbehindme.Clearly,therehavebeensomethoughtssharedbetweenthemeninthisroomontheconceptofanalpacafarm.
Iholdupmyhands.“AndyouwereupsetwithmebecauseyouthoughtItookthelandfromyou,”Ireason.Iduckmyheadandtrytomeethiseyes.“Butyouhavetoknow,Ihadnoideayouwereinterested.Hanknever
saidanythingtomeaboutyouragreement.”
Henods.“Irealizethatnow.”
“Okay,well,”Ishrug.“Istillhavesomequestions.”Hegivesmeajerkofanodandshiftsinhischair,clearlyuncomfortable.Hiseyesglanceovermyshouldertotheroombeyondwithawistfullittlesigh.“WhydidyoutellDanethetruthabouteverything?”
“ThatnightwhenIbrokeyourcameraandBeckettchasedmethroughthefields,healmostcaughtme.Iendeduplyinginaditchforthreehours,coveredinpineneedlesinanattempttohide.Irealizedthenitwastimetotakeahardlookatmychoices.”
Okay,fair.I’dimagineanyonemightreconsidertheiractionsafterlyinginafreezingcolddirtditchinanattempttoevadeapissed-offfarmer.
“Andwhatwereyoudoing?”
Hesighs.“Istartedwithsmall,inconvenientthings.Ijustwantedyoutofeellikethefarmwasaburdenandmaybethinkaboutselling.Tome.Butnothinggaveyoupause.Ibrokesomefenceposts,calledyourvendorsandcanceledsomeorders.Itooksomeofyourdecorationsfromlastyearthey’reinthebasementofthelibraryifyou’dlikethemback.”
Inearlysnort.“Iwould,thankyou.”
“Andnothingseemedtofrustrateyou.Itwasmaddening.Yourlackoffrustrationwas…frustrating.IknewIhadtodosomethingbigger,soI–“
heswallowsandglancesatDanebeforelookingbackdownatthetable.“Itinkeredwiththedrainagesysteminthesouthpasture.I,well,there’squiteabitofliteratureonFraserfirsinthelibrary,youknow.”
Daneclearshisthroat,notinterestedinwhatevereducationalresourcesthelibraryoffersonFraserfirs.EvensweetCaleblooksdisappointed.Thesouthpasture.Thetwistedanddead-lookingtrees.Mystomachsinks.
“Whatdidyoudotomytrees?”
“Ifyouoversaturatethesoil,therootsbecomeoverwhelmedandcan’tpulloxygenfromtheground.Idisabledyoursoilmoisturesensorandgaveyourtreesrootrot.”
PoorBeckettspenthoursoutinthosefieldsonhishandsandkneescheckingeachindividualtreeforclues.Herantheequipmentthroughcountlesstestsandaudits,madehimselfpracticallycrazytryingtofigureitout.
“Butthosetreesdon’tlooktheyhaverootrot,theylook–“
“-likesomethingfromanalternaterealm,yes.I’mnot–I’mnotentirelysurehowthathappened.Irepairedyourdrainagesystemafteracoupleofweeks,justaftertherottookhold,soyouwouldn’tnoticethecause.Andthingsjustsortofdeterioratedfromthere.IbetthelocalUniversityhorticulturedepartmentwouldbeinterestedintakingalook–“Danecoughsagain,soundingmorelikeagrumblingbearthananything,andMr.
Hewettshrinksinhischair.“ButIsupposethat’suptoyou.”
Icollapsebackinmychair,winded.Mr.Hewetthascausedthousandsofdollarsindamagetomyfarmoverthecourseofayearinanefforttogetmetosellsohecouldestablishhisveryownalpacafarm.Thetruthcancertainlybewild.
Irubmyfingersovermylips.“Idon’tknowwhattothink,”Isayfaintly
It’sarelieftoknowthatallofourtroublescanbeexplainedaway.Thatthechallengeswe’vehadwilllikelydisappearnowthathe’sconfessed.Butthesaddestthingtome,theabsoluteheartbreakofitallis–
“Mr.Hewett,Iwouldhavehappilygivenyouspaceforyouralpacas,”Itellhim.“Ifonlyyouaskedme.”
Wecouldhavegiventhemreindeerheadbandsinthewinter.SoldChristmassweatersmadeofalpacawoolinthegiftshop.Itwouldhavebeenadorable.
Somethinginhisfaceshuttersandbreaksatthat,hiseyebrowsslantinglowashelooksdownatthetableinfrontofhim.Heplaceshismangled
cupofftothesideandtakesoffhisglasses,rubbingfuriouslyathiseyeswithhisknuckles.
“I’lldowhateveryouwanttomakeituptoyou,Estelle,”helooksupatme,meetingmygazesteadilyforthefirsttimesinceI’vesteppedintothiscrampednon-interrogationroom.“I’lldothetime.”
Idon’tknowwhatIwanttodoyet,butIdoknowthatthismangoingtojailforwantingtohaveanalpacafarmseemsalittleridiculous.Ipushbackfromthetableandstand.“CouldIhavesometimetothinkaboutit?”
IlooktoDane.“Thecharges?”
Henods.“Ithinkso,butnottoolong,yeah?”HeshiftshisglancetoMr.
Hewett.“AndifyouevenstepafootdowntheroadthatleadstoLovelightFarms,Iwillpersonallykeepyoulockedupinourdrunktankfortheforeseeablefuture.Doyouunderstand?”
Mr.Hewettnodsfrantically.AtleastIcanresteasythatnoonewillbesmashingsecuritycameraswhileEvelynishere.
IfonlyIwasasconfidentwiththerestofit.
“I’MSORRY,HEWHAT?”
ImanagetocorralLuka,Layla,andBeckettintomyofficeassoonasI’mbackonthefarm,Beckettpacingfuriouslyinfrontofmydesk.Hehasn’tstoppedmovingsinceItoldhimhisdrainagesystemandmoisturesensorsweredisabled.Mr.HewettisluckyBeckettwasn’twithmeatthestation.
Asitis,Ikindoffearformyflooring.
Hestompsoneway,pivots,andstompsbacktotheothersideoftheoffice.Ineedtoexpandthisroombyaboutthreefootballfields.Laylawatcheshimwithathoughtfulfrownonherface.
“Washetheonewhounpluggedmyrefrigeratorovernight?Ilosttwoweeks’worthofingredientsfromthat.”
Inod.DanehadgivenmeawrittenlistofallofWillHewett’sactionsagainstthefarmbeforeIleftthestation.It’stwopageslong,single-spaced.
Ihadn’tevenrealizedoneofthetractorswasmissingatire.
“Thecrookedmailboxattheedgeoftheroad?”
IrollmyeyesatLukaandhistoo-innocentexpression.“Nicetry.Iknowthatwasyou.Youalwaystakethatturntoosharply.”
“Filthy,soiltamperingmotherfucker,”Beckettfumes.Heturnstofacemydeskwithhiseyesblazing,gruntsandcontinueshisritualhatestomparoundmyoffice.Myheadisstartingtopoundtothesamebeat.
“Weneedtofigureoutwhatwe’regoingtodoaboutit.Ithoughtsincewe’repartnersnow,”IglanceatLaylaandBeckett.“Weoughttomakethedecisiontogether.”
“Isexileathing?CanweshiphimtoPeru?Hisalpaca-lovingheartwouldfinallybesatisfied.”
“Beckett,beseriousplease.”
“You’reright.He’dbetoohappythere.Let’sshiphimsomeplacemiserable.LikeFlorida.”
“Alright,sowe’llcomebacktoyouwhenyoufeellikecontributingsomethinguseful.”IlookovertoLayla.“Whatdoyouthink?”
“ImeanI’mupset,obviously.”HereyesflickerovertoBecketttryingtostrangleoneofmychairswithhisbarehands.Theywideninanexpressionthatclearlysaysnotquitethatupset.“Butalsorelieved.It’skindofnicetoknowthatallofthisinsanitywillstopnow.Iwasgettingtiredofconstantlywaitingfortheothershoetodrop.OrIguess,arefrigeratortorandomlyunplug.”
Inodmyhead.Iamfamiliarwiththefeeling.“Danesayswecanpresschargesifwewantto,potentiallyfileacivilsuitfordamagesincurred.Buthesaidthatchargeswouldprobablyincludejailtime,especiallysincelosingthesouthpastureisworththousandsofdollars.”
“Lockhimup,”Beckettmuttersfromthecorner.He’sbackedhimselfintothespacenexttomyofficetree,cloakedhalfinshadow.Helookslikethegrinch,soundslikehimtoo.“Throwawaythekey.”
“Don’tyouthinkit’sridiculoustoputamaninjailforanalpacafarm?”
“Idon’tknow,LaLa,”I’msurprisedtohearthisfromLuka,silentupuntilnow.Heshrugsatmewhenmyattentionwhipsovertohim,hislonglegsstretchedoutinfrontofhim.“Thisisyourdreamandhetriedtotakeitawayfromyou.Shouldn’thepayforthat?”
Nowthere’sanidea.Iwouldverymuchlikeforhimtopayforit.Allofit,downtothepenny.Lukaarchesaneyebrowatmeandreachesfortheold-schoolcalculatorIhavesittingontheedgeofmydesk,thepacketofpapersDanegavemedetailingthedamages.Hestartstotip-tapawayasIlookatLaylaandBeckett.“We’lltakeavote.”
INASHOCKTONOONE,Beckettvotesforjailtime.LaylaandIagreetoholdMr.Hewettfinanciallyresponsibleforallofourlosseswithnoadditionalchargespressedagainsthim.Allthreeofusagreeonarestrainingorder,tokeephimoffthefarmindefinitely.
Iglanceattheclockabovemydoorandwince,standingandbrushingmyhandsovermyjeans.“I’msupposedtomeetEvelynforatour,”IlookovertoLuka,oneofmypensheldbetweenhisteethashecontinuestopokeawayatthecalculator.Itshouldn’tbeashotasitis.Somethingaboutthewayhe’spushedhishatbackonhisheadsojustatuftofhischestnuthairpokesthroughthefront,wildasusual,nosescrunchedinthoughtashedragshisthumbdownthepage,checkinghisnumbers.Iclearmythroat.“I’mgoingtoinviteEvelynovertohavedinnerwithusifthat’salrightwithyou.”
“Yeah,ofcourse,”heblinksupatmefromthepaperwork,tryingtoclearhiseyesafterstaringatnumbersforsolong.I’vetoldhimamilliontimesheshouldwearreadingglasses,somethingtohelphimsohedoesn’thavetosquintwhenlookingatsmallprint.I’malmostgladhedidn’tagree.
Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithLukainglasses.“I’llmakeravioli.”
Thesimpledomesticityofthemomenthitsmerightinthechest.ThisiswhatI’llmissthemost,Ithink,whenourweekisup.Notthetouchesandthekissesandthewayhemakesmeforgetmynamewithhishandsinmyhairandhismouthonmyneck,butthis.WanderingdownthelittlepathwaytomycottageandroundingthebendbythebigoaktreeandseeingLukathroughthewindow,standingatthestoveinthekitchen,oneofmysillytowelsoverhisshoulder.Steppinginthefrontdoorandhavinghimbrushhislipstomine,theradioturnedlowinthekitchen.Thesmellofbasilandtomatoandgarlic.Somethingsizzlingonthestovetop.
Idon’tknowhowI’mgoingtogivethatup.
“Whatkindofravioli?”Laylaasksfromhercorneroftheroom.Beckettmusthaveslippedoutatsomepointafterourvote,offtotakeouthisfrustrationonatractorengineormaybecheckthedrainagesystemsinthesouthpasture.Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifIfindhimattheiceskatingrink.
He’sactuallyprettygood.SomemorningsIcomeouttocheckonthingsearlybeforethesunisfullyup,andBeckettisquietlydoinglaps,wearingtheoldbeat-uphockeyskatesheusedasateenager.
“Butternutsquash,probably.IthinkmygrandmaputsomeinStella’sfreezer.”
That’sanotherthingI’llmiss.TheamountofhomemadeItalianfoodstockpiledinmyrefrigerator.Willhisfamilystillfeedmewhenwefakebreakup?
“Bringmeleftoverstomorrow?”
“You’rewelcometojoinus,youknow.”
“GotathingwithJacob,”sheexplains.Lukamakesafaceatthementionofherapatheticandchronicallyboringboyfriend.“Plusthiswillbegoodone-on-onetimewithEvelyn.Youtwoarecharmingtogether.”
Heatrushestomycheeks.BythetimeI’vemanagedmyemotionsoveranymentionofLukaandmetogether,thisweekwillbeover.
“Almostadecadeofpractice,”Lukaquips.Hestandsanddepositsthecalculatorandstackofpapersneatlyontheedgeofmydesk,makingsuretheedgesareparalleltooneanother.Iappreciatetheefforttotrytokeepmydeskclean.Iwanttonudgeitoutofplacewithmypinky,justtoseewhathedoes.
Hegripsthearmsofmychairandducksdown,brushingaquickkisstomylips.“Seeyouathome,”hemurmurs,casualascanbe.“I’llgetdinnerstarted.”
HenodstoLaylaasheleavesbutshe’stoobusystaringatmewithasmuglittlegrintonotice.Ifidgetinmychair,puttingrandompapersinrandomfoldersinanefforttolookbusy.Iwaitforhertoleave,butshejustsettlesdownfurtherinherseat.
“What?”Iask,notbotheringtolookup.There’sareceiptinthetopdrawerofmydeskforsixhashbrownsfromthedrive-thru.Thatmusthavebeenabadday.
Laylasnickers.“Youknowwhat.”
“I’msureIdon’t.”
Hersnickerturnsintoafull-blownlaugh,brightandloudinmytinyoffice.ShestandstofollowLukaoutthedoor.“Oh,Stellahoney.You’reindeep.”
Don’tIknowit.
IFINDEvelynintheSantabarn,leaningupagainstoneofthepostsasshewatcheslittleEvanBarnestellClintwhathewantsfromSantaClausethisyear.We’vekeptthebarnfairlysimpleontheinside.Awide-openspace
forthequeueonourbusiestdays,markedwithadeepredvelvetrope.
Cozyarmchairsandloveseatsinlushgreensandmidnightbluesforpeopletositwhiletheywait.Awidehearthonthewallandanoversizedrockingchairrightnexttoit.Astackofboardgamescloseby.Mismatched,fadedrugscrisscrossedoveroneanotheronthefloorforkidstorunandjumpandtumble.It’soneofmyfavoriteplacesonthefarm.SometimesIcomeouthereatnightwhenthefarmisclosedandjustlieinthecenteroftheroomandstareupatthewhitelightsandbarnwood,asliverofthenightskyvisiblethroughtheslatsoftheroof.ThesamewayIdidwhenIwasakidbeneaththeChristmastree.
Clint,forhispart,istakinghisjobveryseriously.He’ssittinginthebigrockingchairwithanotepadinhand,tonguebetweenhisteethinconcentration.
“That’stheLEGOCityMarsSpaceship?”Clintasks.He’swearinghisfullfirefighteruniformwithabigcherryredbadgeovertheleftbreastthatsaysOFFICIALNORTHPOLEREPRESENTATIVE.Laylamadethemforallofourvolunteerslastyearandgotalittleoverzealouswiththeglitterglue.
Evannods,pushinghisglassesbackuphisnose.“Yes,theresearchshuttlewiththerover.That’simportant.”
“Researchshuttlewithrover,”Clintnotes,writingslowlyandcarefully.
Helooksupwhenhe’sdoneandclapsEvanontheshoulder.“Noted,kiddo.Thiswillgodirectlytothebigmaninred.”HepeeksoveratEvan’smomandshegiveshimasubtlethumbsup.“Ihaveafeelingyou’regoingtogeteverythingyou’reaskingfor,buddy.”
Evan’sfacelightsup.“Eventhepony?”
Evan’smomwincesandsheshakesherhead.Clintlaughs.“Youdidn’tmentionaponyonthislist,bigguy.Maybenextyear,okay?”
“Thisisacuteidea,”Evelynwhisperstome,nudgingmewithhershoulder.“It’sanicetwistonanoldtradition.Andnochildrenhavetositonastranger’slap.”
Ilaugh.“WetriedtogetaSantaherelastyear,butthey’resurprisinglyhardtobook.InglewildsteppedupandIGLOOwasborn:InglewildGiftListOperationOperation.Theyreallywantedtomakeitanacronymsotheylistedoperationtwice.”ThathadbeenDane’sideaandIdidn’thavethehearttotellhimInglewildGiftListOrnamentalOperationwouldhavedoneinapinch…orhundredsofotheroptions.“Wehavearotatingfleetof
volunteersthatsitwiththekidsandlistentotheirlists.TheywritethemupandputthemintheofficialNorthPolepostoverthere.”Inodtowardsthebigmetalmailboxinthecorner,paintedredwithNorthPolestenciledingold.“Wedeliverthelistsbacktotheparentsorcaregivers,justincasetheyhaven’tgottheirshoppingdoneyet.”
“That’sbrilliant,”Evelynbreathes.IfeelaflushofprideforbothmyselfandwhatI’vemanagedtocreatehere,andthetownforcomingtogethertodosomethingniceforthekids.Evanrunsofftodrophislistinthepost,makingsuretostampitthreetimeswiththespecialreindeerstampwehaveontheside.
“Also,Beckettrefusedtowearthecostume.”
“I’msurethekidswouldhavehadquestionsaboutallthetattoos.”
“Andthereprobablywouldhavebeenawholelotofwomeninlinewiththechildren.”Iwince,rememberingtoolateEvelyn’shistorywithBeckett.“Shoot,I’msorry.”
ShewavesmeoffandwewatchasalittlegirlwithpigtailsskipsherwayovertoClint.“Don’tworryaboutit.Hegetsalotofattention,whetherhelikestoadmititornot.”
IguessshesawCindyCroswellwithhercellphoneoutwhilehewasflatonhisbackunderatractorearlier.Andthegaggleofmiddleschoolmomspretendingtobeinterestedinthespecificsofthecoarsemulchthatcoverstheherbgardeninthewinter,justtohavesomethingtotalktohimabout.
“Idon’t–“Evelyneyesmewarily.“Toaddresstheelephantintheroom,IjustwanttomakeitclearthatI’mnot–Idon’t-”Shepuffsoutafrustratedbreath,mouthinafirmline.“Idon’ttypicallydothings…likethat.AndIcertainlydidn’texpecttoseehimagain.”
Thatwasmadeabundantlyclear,onaccountofhersprintingfromthebakehouse
“Oh,youdon’thaveto–“
“Itwasjust,”sheshrugs,gazefarawaylikeshe’srememberingsomething.“Itjusthappened.Hedidn’tknowwhoIwasand–thatwasnice.Anicechange.”
IsometimesforgettheextentofEvelyn’sinfluence.Shehasover1.7
millionfollowersonInstagramalone.Iwonderwhatit’slikeforsomeone
torecognizeyoueverywhereyougo.Forpeopletothinkthattheyknowyou.
Exhausting,I’dimagine.
“He’sagoodguy,”Ibeginslowlybecauseaboveallthings,IwantBecketttobeokay.Idon’twantanyonecominghereandmakingthingsmoredifficultforhim.Hurtinghim.“Thebestguy.”
Evelynnodsandgivesmeasmallersmile,moretimid.Shetucksalockofdarkhairbehindherear,brightrednailsglintinginthetwinklinglightsthatlinetheheavybeamsattheceiling.“I’mnotinthebusinessofhurtingpeople,Stella.Icanpromiseyouthat.”
Irelax,notrealizinghowtenseI’dbecomeduringthatconversation.
Wewatchthelittlegirlleanoverthearmoftherockingchair,pointingtosomethingonClint’slist.Helaughsandscratcheswithhispencil,thenwritesagain.
“Ibetshewantsapony,too.”
Iglanceatthelittlegirlwithpigtails.“NotlikelywithRoma.”Isawheratthesummeroutdoorgamesinthemiddleoftown.Sheevisceratedthecompetitioninthesackraceandalmostknockedalittleboyunconsciousduringtugofwar.“She’sprobablyaskingforarocketlauncher.”
TWENTY
WEDON’TTALKaboutBeckettagain.Butwedowalkwhatfeelslikeeverysquareinchofthefarm.Westrollthroughthefieldswithhotchocolatefromthebakehouse,pastTheSleigh,andthroughthehiddenGumDropForest.Evelynlaughswhensheseestheclusteroftreesdeckedoutinbright,colorfullights.It’sanothersurpriseforfamiliestostumbleover,withatunnelinthemiddleconstructedoutofoldbarrelsforthekidstoclimbthrough.LaylacallsitourtinyLincolnTunnel.Evelyntwirlsaroundthetrees,fingertipsglancingoverred,blue,andyellowlights.
“Thisplacemakesmefeellikeakidagain,”shesays.
“Everyoneshouldgettofeellikeakidthistimeofyear.”
It’snicespendingsomuchtimeinthefields.Oncewinterhits,I’musuallychainedtomydesk,answeringemailsandhandlingthepaperwork.
Ilikethequiet,thestillness,thecoldbrushofwinteraironmycheeks.Imakeapromisetomyselftodothismoreoften.Losemyselfinthetrees.
Aswewalk,wetalk.Aninformalinterview,Iguess.Evelynasksmeaboutthefarm,aboutwhyIboughtit.AllthechangesImadelastyear,andhowIbroughtonBeckettandLayla.Lukaismentionedoften,notinanysortofwaytoconvinceherofourromanticstory,butbecausehe’sbeenwithmethroughitall.ItellherhowhebroughtmeabottleofchampagnethefirstnightIownedtheplaceandwewanderedouttothefurthestpastures,laidflatonourbacksbeneaththestarsanddrankourselvessilly.Hetoldmethatnighthewasproudofme,thathecouldn’timagineanythingbetterthanmehere,doingthis.
“Hewasright,”shetellsme.“You’vethoughtofeverything.IknowI’vesaiditalready,butthisplaceisincredible.Ican’tbelieveit’sonlybeenopenayear.”
Pridewarmsmetothecore.AllI’veeverwantedtodoismakealittlemagic
TalkingtoEvelynisliketalkingtoanoldfriend.It’scomfortableandeasy,quicktodissolveintolaughter.Wewanderthroughthepasturesuntilourfeetarenumbwithcold,belliesgrumblingwiththepromiseofawarmdinner.IcanseesmokerisingfromthechimneyasEvelynloopsherarmthroughmineandwetrudgedownthelasthillbeforethecottage.
“Ineverwanttoleavethisplace,”shesaysonasigh,burrowingherfaceintothecollarofherjacket.
“You’rewelcometostayaslongasyou’dlike,”Isay,chintilteduptothesky.Thesun’slongsinceset,shorterdayswellandtrulyuponus.
Tonight’sskylooksheavywithclouds,adifferentkindofstillnesssettlingoverthetrees.“Openinvitation.”
“IthinkthefinalistsI’msupposedtovisitnextweekmighthaveaproblemwiththat,”shelaughs.
“Doyoulikewhatyoudo?Thetraveling?”
“Youknow,Ithinkyou’rethefirstpersoninawhiletoaskmethat,”
shesmilesatme,hereyescrinklingatthecornerswheretheypeekoutfrombehindherscarf.Thethoughtmakesmesad,andIwonderhowmanypeoplearoundherareclosetoherjustforatasteofherinfluence.“Idolikeit.Iliketellingstories.That’swhyIstartedallofthis.”
I’vebeenfollowingEvelynforawhile.ShestartedonInstagrampostingphotosofordinarypeoplewithnofilters,noediting.Sharingtheirstoriesandthoughtsanddreams,evenwhenitwasuncomfortable.Thatslowlymorphedintohighlightingsmallbusinessesandthentransitionedintowhatshehastoday.Sheshowcasesthehiddenbeautyupanddownthecoast,revealingplacesthatpeoplemightnotknowexist.Smalltowncoffeeshops,independentbookstores,nonprofitsthathelpfamiliesputfoodonthetable.ThosearethestoriesIlovethemost,theoneswhereacommunitycomestogethertosupporttheirown.
“Butlately,Idon’tknow.ItfeelslikesomeofmystoriesarewrittenbeforeIeventakealook.”Iknowwhatshemeans.Mostofherstuffthesedaysissponsoredbycompaniestryingtotapintothesocialinfluencermarket.“ItrytobediscriminatoryinwhoIworkwith,butsocialmediaisitkindofdrivesmecrazymostdays.”
“Youmeanyoudidn’tdreamofbeingasocialmediainfluencer?”
Shelaughsandshakesherhead.“Iwantedtobeajournalist.Forawhile,Ithoughtsocialmediawasthebestwaytodothat.Butnow,Idon’t
know.IfeellikeIhaven’ttoldarealstoryinawhile.Ijustwanttohelppeople,”sheknockshershoulderintomine.“Peoplelikeyou,justtryingtogettheirdreamofftheground.”
“You’rehelpingme,”Itellher.Alreadyourfollowershavetripled,morebookinginquiriesforreservedtimeslotsthanwe’veeverseenbefore.AndEvelynhasn’tpostedabulkofhercontent.“Ican’ttellyouhowgratefulIam.”
“Everyonedeservestoexperiencethisplace,”shesays.Agustofwindliftsherhairandshesmiles,brightanddisbelieving.“Oh,you’vegottobekiddingme.”
Ilookuptowhereshe’slooking,headtiltedup.Alightsnowhasbeguntofall,fatsnowflakesdriftingsilentlyfromtheheavycloudsabove.Thefirstsnowoftheyear.
“Areal-lifeNorthPole,”shemuttersfaintly,ahintofaweinhervoice.
Ismileandlookupatthesky.Aperfectmomentofholidaymagic.
WEWALKinthedoorofthecottagetoablastofChristmasjazzfromthekitchen,thesmellofwarmbutterandgarlicandsomethingstickysweet.
Lukaappearsinthehallwaywithanapronon,awoodenspoontuckedinthefrontpocket.Ihavenoideawherehefoundthatthing,adarkmidnightbluecanvasprintwithSANTA’SLITTLEHELPERprintedoverthechest.
Helooksridiculous.
“Hey,goodtiming.”
Hedoesn’tbudgefromtheentrancetothekitchenasIwanderover,rubbingmyhandstochasesomeofthechillaway.WhenIarchaneyebrowathisblockade,hepointssilentlyaboveourheads,asprigofmistletoethatdefinitelywasn’ttherethismorning.Isnortalaughandliftuponmytoes,peckingakissonhischeek.
“Cheater,”hechucklesandcatchesmyhipswithhishandsbeforeIcanslipaway,duckingdownandpressinghismouthtomineinashort,sweet,scorchingkiss.Hesucksbrieflyonmybottomlipandthendepositsmebackonmyfeet,browneyesamusedwhenIwobbleonunsteadylegs.
Thelinedefiningfictionandrealityisobliterated.IhavenoideaifthatwasbecauseEvelynisbehindme,orbecauseit’ssomethinghewantedtodo.
Hegivesmeawink,andIfindIdon’treallycare.
Enjoyit,avoicethatsoundssuspiciouslylikeLaylawhispersinthebackofmymind.Don’toverthinkit.
“Isthatbutternutsquash?”Evelynexclaimsfromherspothoveringoverthestove.She’skickedoffhershoesandherjacket,anoversizedsweaterwithawideneckartfullydrapedoveroneshoulder.“Ohmygod,isthispumpkinpie?”
Shesoundssuspiciouslyclosetotears.
“Garlicbreadisintheoven,”Lukaadds.“Shouldbeoutinafew.Go.
Sit.Havewine.”Henodstowardsthetablewheretwobottlesofredarewaiting.He’sturnedonallthedecorationsinthecottage,thesmall,cozyspacefilledtothebrimwithfreshpineandlightsandhandspungarlandmadefromoldtartan.Candlesineverywindowandafullbalsamfirinthelivingroom,burstingwithlightsandornamentsandtinselthathangsjustright.IwatchasEvelyntakesitallin,wideeyeslingeringontherowofminiaturehousesabovethecabinets,litupinanalmostperfectreplicaofInglewild.
Shegrabsthebottleofwineandpoursherselfaheftyglass.“Fuck,thisplaceisperfect.”
Dinnerisadream,mytinyhousefilledwithlaughterforthefirsttimeinalongtime.Lukaischarmingandkind,tellingsillystoriesaboutthekidsinhismom’sclass,thattimeheandBeckettcrouchedinthefieldsforclosetofourhourswhentheyweretryingtocatchtheteenagershavingillegalragers.HowIhaddarkgreenfacepaintonmyhandtowelsformonthsafter.
Noneofthisfeelslikefakingorpretend.Idon’thavetoactatallwhenLukawinksatmeoverhiswineglass,footnudgingminebeneaththetable.
Idon’tfeeldishonestatallwhenIcleartheplatesfromthetableanddropakissonLuka’sheadasIpassby,hisfingerscatchingminewithagentlesqueeze.
“Howdidyouguysstartdating?”
It’sthefirstquestionshe’saskedaboutourrelationshipandIfumbleoneoftheservingdishes,thespoonclatteringtothefloor.LukatakestheleadwhileIcollectmyself.
“Mymommovedhereabouttenyearsago.IthinkInglewildhadatourismcampaignatonepoint,somethinglikeLittleFlorence,Idon’t
know.Ithinkshesawanadinthepaperanddecidedtomovehere.ShemissesItaly.”
Ilaughatthesink.Ihadnoideathat’swhyhismomandallhersistersmovedhere.ItmusthavebeenashockwhentheyarrivedandnotasinglethingresembledthepicturesqueItaliancity.“Stellahadlivedhereawhile.
Weranintoeachotherwhenshewasleavingthehardwarestore.”Iknowthisstorywell.ButLukasurprisesmewithadetour.
“Ithoughtshewassobeautiful.Shewas–shewaswearingabrightyellowdresswithlittledaisiesatthebottomedge.Icouldn’tstoplookingatthosedaisies.IthoughtaboutthatyellowdressfordaysafterIleft.
EverywomanIsawinayellowdressinNewYork…”Hetrailsoffandclearshisthroat.“AndwhenIcamebacktovisitmymomagain,Iwent–“Hiseyesglanceovertomeatthesink,standingwithmybacktothefaucet,dirtydishesforgotten.“Itooksomanylongwalksaroundtown,justtryingtorunintoheragain,”helaughs.“MymomthoughtIwasinsane.ButIeventuallyranintoher,comingoutofthebookstorethistime.Idon’trememberwhatshewaswearing,butIdoremembershesmiledatme.Abig,full,Stellasmile.”
Thatwasmysmile,hehadsaidwhenCalebwasinmykitchen.EvelynandLukasharealaughbutI’mbusyhavingamedicaleventatthesink.Iturnoffthewateranddrymyhandsonatowel.
Evelynscootsaroundinherchair,loopingherarmaroundthebackofitandeyeingmewithagrin.“AndwhatdidyouthinkofLuka?Whenyoufirstmet?”
IstillrememberthemomentIslammedintohischestwithstartlingclarity,eventhoughIwasburiedinafogofgriefsodenseIcouldhardlymanagetoputonefootinfrontoftheother.
“Lukaisn’tjustusingafigureofspeechwhenhesaysIranintohimoutsideofthehardwarestore.Ipracticallytackledhimtotheground,”IfoldupthekitchentowelandlookoveratLuka,hislonglegskickedoutunderthetable,aglassofredwineinhishand.“MymomhadjustdiedandIwas–sortoffloatingalong.Istumbledoffthatstepandhecaughtme,madesureIhadmyfooting.He’ssortofbeenholdingmesteadyeversince.”
IwonderiftheycanhearallthethingsI’mnotsaying.ThatIdon’trememberwhathewaswearing,butIdorememberhesmelledlikefresh
orangeslicesandbasil.ThatIcouldhardlycatchmybreaththewholetimeweweresittinginthetinybakery,eatingourgrilledcheese.ThatI’velikedhimforever,andlovedhimjustaslong
“I’venevertoldyouthis,”IsaytoLukadirectlynow.“ButIhadnoreasontobeinthathardwarestore.Iwasjust–Iwasjustsortofwanderingaround.Tryingtoconvincemyselftobeproductive.AndwhenIranintoyou–“Isuckinasharpbreathandblinkupattheceiling.It’snosurprisethattheladywhoownsaChristmastreefarmissentimental.Lukaputshiswineglassdownonthetableandsitsupstraight,concerned.“Idon’tknow,I’vealwayssortofthoughtmymomdeliveredyoutome.Idon’tthinkIhadeversteppedintoahardwarestorebeforeinmylifeand–
Idon’tknow.
IguessIjustliketothinkthat.”Ishrug.“It’ssilly.”
Idon’tbelieveinfate,orkismet,oranyruleorreasontotheuniverseandallitsrandom,wonderful,terriblehappenings.ButIdobelieveIfoundLukawhenIneededhimthemost,andIliketothinkmymomplayedapartinthat.It’sacomfort.Likeshe’sstilllookingoutforme.Stillholdingmyhand.Lukastandsfromhischairandtakesthreelongstridesacrossthekitchen.Hewrapsmeinhisarms,myhandsclingingtighttohissides.
“LaLa,”hesays,rockingmebackandforth.HepressesakisstothesideofmyheadandIclenchmyfistsintothebackofhisbutton-up.ThismightnotlastbeyondthisweekandImightnevertellhimhowIreallyfeel,buthedeservestoknowthis.
Everythinghe’sgivenbacktome.
THERE’Saheightenedawarenessbetweenusafterthat.Luka’seyeslingeronmeasIfinishwashingthedishes,hisgazediscoveringnewinchesofme.Theskinjustabovemywrist,thehollowbetweenmycollarbones,thesmallofmybackwhenIreachtoputaplateawayononeofthetopshelves.HesmileswhenIrollmyeyesathimovermyshoulder,tonguepeekingbetweenhisteeth,handsclenchingandunclenchingonthearmsofhischair.
Evelynleavesshortlyafteranotherroundofwineandpumpkinpie,callingourtown’ssingleLyftdriver.Lukasnoopsoverhershoulderatherphone,laughingwhenheseeswhereGusiscomingfrom.
“IguesshimandMabelarestillathing.”
Ijoinhimandwewatchthelittlecaranimationleavefromthedirectionofthegreenhouse.Lukasettleshispalmatthesmallofmyback,histhumbslippinglowtoslideunderthehemofmysweater.Ishiver.
“SohedrivestheambulanceanddoesLyft?”Shepocketsherphonewithanamusedgrin.“Smalltownsaresofunny.”Shetiltsherheadtothesideandthegrinslipsfromherface.“Wait,he’snotpickingmeupintheambulance,right?”
Gusdoesnotpickherupintheambulance.HepicksherupinhisverysensibleToyotaCamry,honkingtwiceatLukaandmeastheydisappearbackdowntheroad.Westayontheporchtogetherastheyrumbledownthedriveway,watchingasthesnowcontinuestofallinbig,fatflakes.Itmeltsassoonasittouchestheground,everythingtoowarmforittoproperlystick.Butthere’safinelayeronthetrees,alittledustingofwhite.
Likesomeone’sshakenupasnowglobeandlefteverythingtosettle.
IturntoheadbackintothehousebutLukastillsmewithhishand.HetugsonceuntilIturntofacehim,andthenagaintogetmedownonthetopstepoftheporch.Ilaughandcurlmyhandsaroundhis,headtiltedtowardsthesky.Likethis,withtheglowofthelightfrominsideburningwarmthroughthewindows,thesnowalmostlooksliketinypiecesofglitter.Ismileasaflakelandsonmynose.
“What’reyoudoing?”Ilaugh,anothersnowflaketanglinginmylashes.
IbrushitawaywiththebackofmyhandandthelaughtercatchesinmythroatwhenIlookatLuka.
Hiseyesglowamberinthelightspillingfromthehouse,asmiletiltinghislips.It’sasecretsmile,thisone.OneIhaven’tseenbefore.Iwanttotraceitwithmyfingersandfeeltheweightofitagainstmyskin.Iwanttoleanupandcatchitonmytonguelikeasnowflake,seewhatittasteslike.
Hissmilegrowsintosomethingbigger,snowflakeslandinginhishair.Helooksdivinelikethis.Utterlymine.
“Iwanttokissyou,”hesays,niceandeasy,likethelookonhisfaceisn’tonestepawayfromabsolutehunger.Heduckshisheadcloseruntilhisnosebrushesmine.“Isn’titmagictokisssomeoneinthefirstsnowoftheyear?”
Ifitisn’t,itshouldbe.BecauseitfeelslikemagicwhenIleanupandcatchLuka’sbottomlipbetweenmine.Hewhispersoutasigh,abreath,andwrapshisarmaroundmyback,pullingmecloser,tuggingmeupand
intohimuntilourhipsknocktogether.Hisknucklesbrushatmycollarbonewhilehekissesmeslowly,hishandskimmingup,histhumbpressingameltingsnowflakeintomyskin.Ifeeleverysinglefingertipashetrailshistouchupmynecktothesoftskinundermyear.I’veneverthoughtthataparticularlysensitivepartofmybody,butLuka’s
“Didyoumeanit?”hewhispersintothesamespacebelowmyearhewasdiscoveringwithhisthumb,myheadcollapsingtomyshouldertogivehimmorespace.Hispalmmapsthebareskinofmybackundermysweater,thematerialbunchedathiswrist.“Whatyousaid?”
Idon’tevenknowmynamerightnow.LukatasteslikeredwineandcinnamonandIdon’twanthimtoeverstopkissingme.“WhatdidIsay?”
Hepeelshimselfawayfrommeandrestshisforeheadagainstminewithheavy,pantingbreaths.Eachoneisasmallcloudofwhitebetweenus,twistingupintothenightskywiththesnowandthestars.“ThatI’vebeenholdingyousteady,”hesays.Hedipshisheadbackdownandnipsatmybottomliponcelikehecan’tquitehelphimself.
“OfcourseImeantit,”Isayandcurlmyfingersthroughhisbeltloops.
“Ican’tbelieveyouneedtoaskthat.”
Heexhales,longandslow,andpullshishandfromthebackofmyshirt.
Ishiveratthelossofhiswarmskinagainstmineandgazeupathim,mychinonhischest.Iwanttorememberthismomentforever,mysnowglobemoment.Lukawithdesireonhisfaceplaintosee,awaywardlockofhairjuststartingtocurlbehindhisear,cheeksflushedwithcoldandwithwanting.
Magic.
“Let’sgoinside.”
Hesaysitlikeapromise,hishandsurgingmeupoverthetoplipoftheporch,tooimpatientformetotaketheactionmyself.Ilethimguidemebackintothecottage,thedoorshuttingfirmlybehindus,thesnickoftheboltlockingintoplace.Halfofmeexpectstobepressedagainstit,lifted
untilourhipscanmatchjustright,butLukajusttoesoutofthebootsheneverbotheredtolace,smilesandmakesasweetsoundwhenIkickmineoffinthesamegeneraldirection.Hebendsandstraightensthemintoaneatline,thebackofhishandskimmingmycalf,myknee,mythigh,ashestraightens.There’sstillChristmasmusicplayinginthekitchen,softernow,aquietcroonfromEllaFitzgeraldaboutamerrylittleChristmas.Iwatchhissilhouetteinthedarknessofthehall,thestronglineofhisjaw,thecurveofhisshoulder.
“Listen,LaLa.I’mgoingtobehonesthere,”hedragshisfingersthroughhishair,caramelbrownstrandsachaoticmess.“I’mhavingtroubleholdingmyselfbackrightnow.”Iswallowandstepcloser,wantingtowatchallthatcarefulcomposureslipoutofhim.IwantmessyLuka,pantingbreathsandhalf-bittencurses.
“AreyoufeelingwhatI’mfeeling?”heasksonawhisperandInod,steppingintohim,myhandaroundthebackofhisneckasItughimdowntome.Foralltheenergylightingmeuplikea–well,likeaChristmastreeit’sagentlekiss.Asweetcaressofhislipsagainstmine.ThenItanglemyhandinhishairandpull,andit’snotsosweet.
Lukagroansoutaroughrumbleofanoiseandbendsattheknees,palmssmoothingfrommywaistdownovermyasstothebacksofmythighs.Hegrabsandlifts,earningasqueakfrommethathesmilesinto,thecurveofhislipsdeliciousonmine.
“That’saninterestingsound,”henotes,wanderingthroughmylivingroomandbumpingintoeverysinglepieceoffurnitureIown.Hegruntswhenhisshinshitthecoffeetable.
“Shutup,”Ilaughintotheskinofhisneck,pepperingsmall,peckingkissesdownthelineofhisthroat.Iundothefirstbuttonofhisflannelshirtashetriestonavigatemycottagelikehe’sneverbeenherebeforeinhislifeandIpressadeep,suckingkisstotheedgeofhiscollarbone,thehollowofhisthroat.Hemakeshisownsetofinterestingsoundsanddropsmeabruptlyontothearmofthecouch,handsunderneathmysweaterandontheclaspofmybrabeforeIevenrealizewe’vestoppedmoving.
“Fuck,Stella,”hewhispers,fillinghishandswiththeswellofme.HisthumbsbrushovermynipplesandIwobbleontheedgeofthecouch,curlingmylegsaroundhishipstoholdmyselfsteady.Ifkissinghiminthesnowwasmagicthenthisis–thisissugarplumfairiesandtoffeebrittlecrunchontopofdarkchocolatecupcakes.Ifumblewiththebuttonsonhis
shirt,abandoningthetoptostartfromthebottominsteadwhenhenosesmyheadtothesideandstartssuckingatmyneck.Histhumbscaress,swirl,andtugandIammindless.
Iloseallpatienceandpullathisshirt,tryingtoripthethingintwo.
“Off,”Isay,wantinghisskinagainstminemorethananything.
“ButI’mbusy,”hesays,tryingtostretchthecollarofmysweaterwideenoughforhimtogethismouthwherehishandsare.Hebitesatmyshoulderinfrustration.
“Luka,”Ilaughandslipanotherteenytinybuttonfreeonhisshirt.
Whendidflannelgetsocomplicated?“C’mon.”
“Asknicely,”heretortsintomyskinwithasmileandIlaughagain,wigglingmybuttonthearmofthecouchandpushinghimbackwithmypalmsflatagainsthischest.Hegivesmeapoutwhenhishandsslipoutfromunderneathmysweater,hisfingerslingeringovertopofmykneesinstead,histhumbsglidingbackandforthatthelineofmyinseam.Ipullmysweaterovermyheadandthepoutdisappears,ahungersettlinginstead,tongueatthecornerofhismouth.
Ireachuptothestrapofmybra,readytotwistoutofitandthrowitinthegeneraldirectionofmybedroombutheshakeshishead,stepsforwardintothecradleofmylegsandslipshisforefingerunderneaththedelicatestrap.It’saplain,softcotton,thesameastheoneIwaswearingthatnightonthecouch,buthelooksatmelikeI’min
“DoyourememberthatmusicfestivalwewenttoinPhiladelphia?TheonewithTheRoots?”
“Um,Iguess,”Isay,distracted.It’shardformetothinkwhenhishandsareonme.Heswitcheshisattentiontotheotherstrap,pluckingatitwithhisfingers.Hepullsitovermyshoulderandback,mychestrisingandfallingwitheverycarefultouch.
“YouwerewearingthispalepinkdresswiththethinneststrapsI’veeverseen,”hetellsme.Irememberthatdress.IthadbeensohotandIlikedthewayitflaredoutaroundmylegswhenIspunaround.
Heswallowshard,Adam’sapplebobbinginthecolumnofhisthroat.
I’mstuckthere,watchinghowhisbodymoveswhenhe’spaintedwithdesire.Histhumbslipsdowntothecupofmybraandhetracestheskinjustaboveit,mesmerized.“Youweredancinginfrontofmeandtheykept
fallingdown.”Helooksbackuptomeandpresseshispalmsagainstmycollarbones,fingersfannedout,pinkiestuckedundereachstrap.Hepusheshishandsdownslowly,takingthematerialwithhimuntilthestrapsarestuckatmyelbows,thecupsofmybrajustbarelycoveringme.Heexhalesashakybreath,half-smilecurlinghislips.“Iwanted
Ishiver.“Isthatallyouwantedtodo?”
Hissmileeasesintoagrin,awickedgleaminthosebrowneyes.“No.”
Hedipstwofingersintothecenterofmybraandpullsthefabricaway,leavingmetoplessonthearmofthecouch.Iresisttheurgetocovermyself,thelightsfromthetreepaintingmyskinintinyhalf-moons.
“Wantedtodothis,”hesays,settlingcloser,handscuppingmybarebreasts.Hismouthfindsmycollarboneandsucks–long,wetpullsagainstmyskin.“Ithoughtaboutslippingmyhandsinthetopofyourdress,”hismouthbrushesovermynipple.“Ithoughtaboutputtingmymouthonyou.”
“Please,”Ibeg.Ihadmeantforittobeteasing,silly,butIheartheneedinmyvoice.Lukadoestoo,ifthewayhestartsfumblingathisshirtisanyindication.It’sabitofarushafterthat,bothofusfranticallydiscardingtherestofourclothes,tryingtogetascloseaspossible.Iwatchashisgoldenskinisrevealedinch-by-inch,myeyeseagerlyfollowingthedarksmatteringofhaironhischestasitnarrowsintoathinlinethatdisappearsbeneathhisbeltbuckle.Ibusymyhandswiththatwhilehetriestopulldownmyjeans,practicallypullingmeoffthecouchwiththeforceofhisgrip.
Ilaughandhopononefoot,holdingontohisshoulderswhilehepullsthemdownwithagrumble,bringinghisfacebacktomineforakiss.HemoansintoitwhenIwrapmyselfaroundhim,warmskinagainstwarmskin.Finally.
Littlehiccupsofreminderskeephittingmeaswestumbleourwaydownthehalltomybedroom,stoppingeveryfewstepstotouchandtease.Islipmyhandintohisboxers,strokinghardandtight,andhavetoremindmyselfthatthisisLukagaspingintomyshoulder,myverybestfriend.It’sLukacurlinghishandsintofistsagainstthesmallofmyback,chasingmytouchwitharollofhiships,agruntlowinhisthroat.Luka
graspingmywristandtuggingmyhandaway,marchingustothebedroomandtossingmeontothebed.
PillowstoppleandIswatthemawayasLukacrawlsovertopofme,hishandsbracingovermyshoulders.I’meagertoseehimlikethis,hisbareskinandflexingarms,thefrecklesonhisskinmutedinthemoonlight.
“Holdon,”hesays,andhetuckshisarmunderme,guidingmeupuntilmyheadisonthepillowsandmykneesaretippedopen,mychestrisingandfallingwitheveryshudderingbreath.Ican’tseemtocatchit,afranticneedburningthroughme.Mylipsfeelswollenfromhiskisses,myskintinglingfromtheroughbrushofhisstubbleagainstmyskin.
“There,”hesaysandthenhedropshisbodyintothecradleofmine,skinscorching,theheavythicknessofhimpressingagainstthewetsoftnessofme.Herollshishipsdownonceandeverythinginmepullstight.Igaspintoapalepinkpillowintheshapeofacrescentmoonandwonderhowit’spossibleI’mhavingthemostintensesexualexperienceofmylifewithmyunderwearstillon.
Lukaslowsthemovementofhishipsuntilhe’sstillaboveme,hisfingerscatchinginmyhairandsiftingthroughthedarkstrands.Hearrangesitcarefullyuntilit’snottrappedbymyshoulders,anartfulhalooftangleddarkcurls.Hisgazetripsovermyface,lingeringIthink,onthecurveofmylips.Hesighsout,alittlewistful,andIsmileatthesweetnessofit.
“What?”Iask.He’slookingatmewithacarefulconsiderationthat’sbeautifulinitshonesty.He’ssayingamillionthingswiththatlook,Ijustcan’thearwhattheyare.
“Nothing,”hesays,andhiseyestraildowntotheheavyswellofmybreasts,thesoftskinbeneath.Theflareofmyhipsandthedipofmybellybutton.Ifeelitlikeafingertipatmysternum.Heleansuponhiskneesbetweenmyspreadthighsandtuckshisthumbsintothematerialatmyhips,draggingmyunderweardownaninchandthenallthewaywhenImovemylegstohelp.HegustsoutadeepbreathwhenI’mbarebeforehim,hishandsskimmingovermyknees.
“Thoughtaboutthistoo,”hesays.“Whenthatprettypinkskirtbrushedupagainstyourthighs.”
HefindstheplacewhereI’malmostembarrassinglywetandIgiveintothepleasureofhistouch,myheadtiltingbackintothepillowsaseverythingwithinmerattlesandgroans.Same,Iwanttosay,alittle
hysterical.I’veimaginedthisahundredways,amilliondifferentpossibilities.
“Fuck,”hesays,andIslitmyeyesopentowatchhimtouchme,onehandmovingbetweenmylegs,theotherslidingovermystomachtotraceoverthebottomcurveofmybreast.HepullsatmynippleandImoan,thickandthroaty.Ihaveneveroncebeentouchedlikethis.
“Fuck,”herepeats,darkerthistime.Hiseyesblinkupfrombetweenmylegstomyface.Hechangestheangleofhishandbetweenmylegs,palmgrindingdown.Imakeanotherwhimperingsound.“Icouldcomejustlikethis,Stella.Justbywatchingyou.Hearingyou.”
Mywholebodytightens.Butit’snotwhatIwant,tofinishlikethis.
Maybelaterwecanexplorethatparticularidea,butrightnowIwanttofeelhimpinningmedownintothemattress,myarmsaroundhisneckandhismouthonmine.Iwanthimdesperateandpantingintomyskin,thebothofusmovingtogether.
Itellhimthisinagarbledbreath,hislaughalittlebreathlessashepullsbackfromme.
“Youdon’tneedtoworryaboutthat,”hemumbles,handspullingdownthewaistofhisboxers.“M’plentydesperate.”
IreachforthedrawerofmynightstandwhereIthrewtheboxofcondomsLayladeliveredlastweek.Shedroppedthemoffatmydoorstepwithanobnoxiousbowandabottleofwine.I’mgratefulnoneofthefarmhandswanderedbymycottagetospottheCostco-sizedboxofTrojansonmywelcomemat.IpulloutawholestripandtossthematLuka,distractedbythesightofhiminthemoonlightfilteringinthroughmywindow.
Longlegs,solidchest,thedipandcutofhishipsharpinthemutedlight.Hisbicepsflexashetearsacondomoffthestripandrollsiton,therestplacedsafelyontheblanketchestatthefootofmybed.
“Forlater,”hesayswithawinkandIlaugh,pullinghimupandoverme.
Isiftmyfingersthroughhishair.“That’spresumptuous,”Itease,likethethoughtofmoredoesn’tsendathrillthroughme.I’mgreedyforhimandhistouches,hissighswhisperedintomyskin.
Hehuffsalaughandsettlesaboveme,akissdroppedbetweenmybreasts,hismouthdistractedbytheswellofsoftskin.HetrailsameanderingpathovermychestuntilI’mgaspingandarchingbeneathhim,
myhandsinhishairguidinghimharderagainstme.He’sdraggingjustrightbetweenmylegs,pressureeverywhereIneedit.IcouldcomelikethisandItellhimso,hisansweringgroanroughandbroken.
“It’sbeenlikenineyearsofforeplay,LaLa,”Lukarisesonhispalmsaboveme,armsflexing.“Idon’tthinkonceisgonnacutit.”
I’mtheonewhoisimpatientnow,myhipsdancingbeneathhis,mymouthtastinganyskinIcanreach.Ibiteathisear,thecurveofhisjaw.Ihungrilykisshisbottomlipandthetipofhisnose.Myhandsgrabathisshoulders,hisforearms.It’slikeeverymomentofbankeddesireisspillingoutofmeinacascadingrush.Ican’tgetenoughofhim,can’tmovefastenoughforeverythingIwant.Everysuppressedthought,everyhesitanttouch,everyhalf-truthanddaydreambuzzesundermyskin,makingmeantsyandfrantic.
“It’sokay,”hesoothesandcupsthebackofmyheadwithhishand,tiltingmychinupuntilhecankissmeslowandsweet,easingthetempoofmyheartwithlonglanguidkisses.“Slowdownasec.”
“Iwant–“
“Iknow.Iwantit,too.”
Hecalmsmewithgentlehands,guidingmylegswideanddragginghispalmsupanddownuntilIrelaxbackintothemattress.Hesmilesatme,eyescrinklingatthecorners,andthenstealsthebreathrightoutofmychestwithaslowpressofthickheatbetweenmylegs.Idon’tknowifit’sbecauseit’sbeenawhileorjustbecausethisis–thisisLuka,butmywholebodycomesalivewiththepressure,thedeliciousfullness.HesettlesinsidemeandIhiccupamoan,highandtightinthebackofmythroat.IfeellikeIcan’tcatchmybreath,theairstolenfrommylungsbyLuka.Mybloodthrumshot,adeliciousshiverworkingitswayfromtheplacewhereLukaisclutchingatmythighswithbruisingfingertipstotheslantofmyshoulderbladesagainstthemattress.Icurlmyhandsaroundhisbicepsandsqueeze,whisperoutabreathwhenhishipsshiftagainstmine.
Hedropshisforeheadtomycollarboneandrockshisheadbackandforthonce.“LaLa,”hesays,nobeginningorendtothethought,justthepleasureofsayingmynameintomyskin.
Ismoothmyhandsacrosshisbackandliftmyhips,ashallowmovementthatdoesn’tdoanythingbutfrustrateme.“Luka.”
Hebrushesachastekisstomytemple,humslowinhisthroat,andthenhebeginstomove.
Hestartsslowly,pickingmeapartpiecebypiece.He’swatchful,learning,everyhitchinmybreathcataloged,puttouse.HesqueezesmythighsandIsigh.HebitesatmyneckandIarchmyback.Hechangestheangleofhishipsuntilmyleftlegtwitchesinhisgrip,myfootkickingoutagainsthisshin.Thelaughterinhiseyesbecomesalowburnofdetermination,hiseyebrowsfurrowing,tonguebetweenhisteeth.Heshakeshisheadonceandrepeatsthesamemotion,aslowdragandcircleofhishipsthatIsqueezemyeyesagainst.
“Don’tdothat,”herasps,handcuppingmyneckgently,thumbstrokingonceoverthehummingbirdflutterofmypulsebeforesettlinginthehollowofmythroat.“Don’thidefromme.”
“Feelssogood,”Imumble,wishingIcouldbemoreeloquent.WishingIhadthewordstotellhimhowitfeelslikeI’mbreakingapartintotinybitsofstardust.Ifeelincandescent,iridescent,everyfuckinglightontheChristmastreeblownout.Buthishipsaremovingfasternowandhe’sangledhimselfslightlyuponhisknees,thehandnotonmyneckreachingbetweenustotouchjustabovewherewe’rejoined.Itonlytakesafewroughstrokesofhisthumb,hishipslosingtheirfinesseinfavorofadesperategrindingmovementthathasmeshiftingupthebed,myhandsbracedabovemeontheheadboardasmorepillowstumblearoundus.
“Luka,”Igaspasthesharpfrustrationofnotenoughturnsintotheperfectpullofexactlyright,aroughshoveofftheedgeintomyrelease.Itstartslowinmybellyandspreadsdownmythighs,settlesinthebacksofmykneesandthepressofmyarmsabovemyhead.ItstealsthebreathfrommylungsasIchaseitwithrockinghips,stretching
Luka’shandonmynecktwitchesandthenslidesabovemetotanglewithmine,hisonehandpressingbothofmywristsintothemattress.Imanagetoopenmyeyesjustashetipsovertheedgetoo,histeethbitingdownintohisfullbottomlip.He’sbeautifullikethis.Anothersecretdiscovered.
Lukacollapsesontopofme,hairdampwithsweat,nosenudgingatmycheek.Iwelcomehisweightandcurlmyselfaroundhim,ankleshookedaroundhis.Hesqueezesatmyhandsandsighs,content.Likeajunglecat.
Orasleepy,sexed-upboy.
“Weshouldhavebeendoingthatforyears,”hemurmurs,voicedrowsy.Headjustshispositionandgroans.“Ormaybenot.I’mnotsureIwould
havesurvivedit.Ithinkyoukilledme.I’mdead.”
“You’llbemyfavoriteghostofChristmaspast,then.”
Itrytostretchbeneathhim,awarmandheavyblanketofLukacoveringmefromheadtotoe.Iwigglemytoesandfeelabrushofcotton,asleepy,amusedhumtuckedintohiscollarbone.
“You’restillwearingyoursocks,”Ipointout.AllIgetinresponseisasnore,Lukacurledpossessivelyaroundme.Igiveintotheweightlesspullofsleep,holdinghimjustastight,andletmydreamstakeme.
Foronce,Ithinkrealitymightbebetter.TWENTY-ONE
IWAKEuptothesmellofbacon,arumpledLukayawningattheedgeofmybedwithamugofsteamingcoffeeineachhand.He’snotwearingashirt,hissweatpantsareonbackward,andthere’sadistractinglineofhickeysthatstartsjustbelowhiscollarboneanddriftsdownthecenterofhischest.Ishiftontomybackandstretchmyarmsabovemyheadwithapleasedlittlesmile.
“Yeah,yeah,”Lukamutters,slidingamugofcoffeeontomynightstandandcurlinghishandaroundmyankle.Hesqueezesupmyleginanewtwistonhisfamiliarone-two-three,thumbjustbelowthecreaseofmythigh.Hestrokesthereonceandmywholebodyshivers,brown-goldeyessmilingdownatme.“Awfullyproudofyourself.”
“Youdidn’tsoundlikeyouwerecomplaininglastnight,”Isay,rememberingthewayhehadpressedhisheadbackintohispillowswithmymouthonhisskin,myhandsathishipsholdinghimsteady.HowhegritoutmynameinthreeseparatesyllableswhenIsuckedthehotskinjustbelowhisbellybutton.Stel-La-La.
“Smugdoesn’tsuityou,”hetellsmearchly,mugathislips.
Isnickerandpatmyhandaroundonthenightstandformycoffee.Isleptwithmybestfriendlastnight.Isleptwithhimtwo…threetimeslastnight.Afterwehadcollapsedinabonelessheapthefirsttime,Iwokeupsometimearoundtwointhemorning,stomachrumbling.Isnuckinthekitchenforabiteofpieoutofthetin,onlyforLukatoshuffleinthekitchenafterme,sleepilystealabitefrommyfork,andthenpropmeuponthekitchencounter.“Wantthis,”hehadmumbledasheduckeddown,teethgrazingmythigh,hismouthhotandwetontheinsideofmyknee.
HehadputhisheadbetweenmythighsuntilIslammedmyheadbackintothecabinetsandthengentlyurgedmedown,turnedmewithmyhipstuckedtighttothecounter,andfuckedintomeuntilIfellapart.I’msurprisedhehadn’tneededtoscrapemeoffthekitchenfloorafterthatone.
Asitis,mybodyissoreintheverybestofwaysandIindulgeinanothergroaningstretch.Lukawatchesthebareskinatmychestwithavidinterestasthesheetslipsdownanotherinch.
“Handmeashirt?”Idon’tliketheideaofcoffeeburnsonmyboobs.
HegrumblesbutdoesasIaskandIslipthewarmfadedmaterialovermyhead.It’sthesamebandshirthewaswearingunderhisjackettheotherdayanditstillsmellslikehim.Heisnevergettingitback.
Iwatchhimsittingontheedgeofmybedaswesipourcoffeeandwonderwhenthisissupposedtofeelweird.IthoughtmaybeafterLukaandIslepttogetherIwouldfeelacombinationofpanicandregret,butinstead,Ijustfeel…settled.It’sareliefandgivesmehopethatattheendofthisweekwhentheambiguityaroundourrelationshipdisappears,whentheconsequencefreemindsetwe’vebothadoptedvanishes,I’llbeabletofitmyselfbacktogetherjustfine.
“Iwasthinking,”Lukakicksbackonmybed,restingononeelbowovermyhips.I’mdistractedbythestretchofskinacrosshistorso,thewayhisfrecklesdustdowntothehemofhissweatpants.“I’vegottomovemystuff
fromNewYorknextweek.MaybeyoucouldcomewithmeifIgoonTuesday.It’llbeslow,yeah?”
Thatshouldbefine.BeckettandLaylacanhandleanon-rushday.I’llhavetocheckourreservationsjusttobesure,butIdon’tseewhyIcan’t.
“Wait.Moveyourstuff?”
Hecurlshishandovermyknee,thethinsheetmutingthefeelofhisskinonmine.Mysevenhundredpillowsarescatteredaroundtheroomlikethey’vesurvivedabombblast.There’sonebalancedprecariouslyonthelampinthecorner.“ItoldyouaboutthejobinDelaware.”
“Youtoldmeyouwerethinkingaboutit,notthatyou’vemadeadecision.”Agiddyfeelingsweepsthroughme.“You’redoingit?You’removingtoDelaware?”
Henods,hisfacelightingupwhenheseesmyexcitement.“Yeah,sorry.
IthoughtIhadtoldyoubutIguessIdidn’twanttodistractyouwithEvelynhere.Foundaplaceandeverything.It’salittlehousejustoffthebeach.
Youcanhearthewaveswhenyouopenallthewindows.”
“That’s–“I’msmilingsoharditfeelslikemyfaceisgoingtosplitrightopen.Luka,atwenty-minutedriveaway.IcandrivetohishouseforacupofflourifIwant.Icandriveoverinthemorning,comebacktomyhouse,andthenseehimagainintheevening.Thepossibilitiesareendless.
“Luka,I’msohappy.”
“Yeah?”Helooksrelieved.“Good.Metoo.”
“Tellmethere’sacustardstandcloseby.”
Hetakesalongsipofhiscoffee,holdingmeinsuspense.“Thereisacustardstandcloseby.”
Lukawithindrivingdistanceandfrozencustardontheway.Lifetrulydoesn’tgetanybetter.
“WecandriveuponTuesdaytoNewYork,packupmystuff,anddrivebackthesameday.Idon’thavetoomuch,andIwasplanningondonatingmostofthefurniture.”Hedropshismugonthenightstandandgathersminetoo,placingitnexttotheopenboxofcondoms.Iblush.Ireallyshouldputthoseaway.
Lukacrawlsovertopmybodyandcagesmewithhisarms,agentlekissonmynose.Gentleistheexactoppositeoftheideasbeinglaserbeamedatmefromhooded,chocolatebrowneyes.Hedropsanotherkisstomyjaw.“YoucouldstaywithmeattheDelawarehouse,”hescrapeshisteethovermyneck.“Wecouldfindacreativewaytobreakintheswingonthebackporch.”
Ittakesasecondformybraintocatchup.IonlyhadtwosipsofcoffeebeforeLukatookmymug,andhistongueisdoingsomethinginteresting
undermyear.Butwhenitclicks,whenIrealizewhathe’sjustsaid,Igorigidunderneathhim.
Oh,hellopanic.Thereyouare.
“Wait.What?”
Lukapressesuponthepalmsofhishands,wincing.Pinklightsupthetipsofhisears.“Sorry,Iwasjokingabouttheswing.Sortof.Toomuch?”
Ishakemyhead,changemymind,andthennod.Ichewonmybottomlipandthenshakemyheadagain.Lukapushesbackuntilhe’sbacktosittingontheedgeofmybed,hispalmnexttomyknee.Hescratchesatthebackofhishead,confused.
“ButTuesday,”Itrytocollectthethoughtszig-zaggingthroughmybrain.“Tuesdayisnextweek.”
Henods,eyebrowsslantedlow.“Yeah,itisnextweek.”
“Ouragreementwasforthisweek.”
“Ouragreement?”
“Ourtrialrun.Yousaidwe’dusethisweekasatrialrun.”
“Oh.”Hisshouldersrelax,theconfusionmeltingfromhisfeatures.I’mgladheunderstands.Wecan’tkeep…doingthis,pastthisweek.Wetriedit,itwasamazing,it’sdoneandover.Outofoursystems.Wecangobacktothewaythingswerewithoutallofthisbubbled-uptensionbetweenus.“I
thinkit’ssafetosaythetrialperiodwasasuccess.”
Yes,absolutely.Itdoesn’tmeanweshouldkeepdoingitthough.
“Right.Butit’scalledatrialbecauseatrialcomestoanend.We’renotLuka,we’renot-”Thewordswitheronmytongue.Ican’tsayit.Whatdoeshethink?ThatI’dbewillingtocontinueafriendswithbenefitstyperelationshipwithhim?Ilookdownatthetwistedbedsheets,theboxofcondomsmockingmefromthecornerofmyeye.Iguessmyactionsdidn’texactlydissuadehim.
Mycheeksburnhot,humiliated.
“Idon’twantthatkindofrelationshipwithyou,”Isayquietly.“Lastnightwasreallyfun,butIcareaboutyoutoomuchfor…forthat.”
Lukaisbasicallyastatueattheedgeofmybed.“Whatisthatsupposedtomean?”
Irefusetolookupfrommybedsheets.“Idon’twanttobefriendswithbenefits.”
“Great.NeitherdoI.”
Ilookupsofast,myneckcracks.“Butyoujustsaid–“
“Iphraseditwrong.I’msorry,Ijust–yourhairisallmussedfrommyhandsandyourbottomlipisswollenandIguessI’mhavingtroublegettingmymindstraight.”Hegrinsatme,gatheringmyhandsinhisandtanglingourfingerstogether.“IwantyoutoseethehouseinDelaware,okay?We’llgetfrozencustard.”
“Okay,”Idragthewordoutuntilit’sfifteensyllableslong.“Thatmeansnosex,right?”IfeellikeIhavetobecrystalclearonthis.
Lukaisbacktoconfused.Hismouthopensandclosesseveraltimes,hishandssqueezingmine.“Well,Imean.Atsomepoint,yes,Iwouldliketohavesexwithyouagain.Butitdoesn’thavetobeTuesdayifyoudon’twantto.”
“Ithoughtyoujustsaidyoudon’twanttobefriendswithbenefits.”
“Idon’t.Stella,”helaughs,probablyamusedthatwe’regoingaroundthisconversationalcircleagain.I’mgladoneofusishavingagoodtime.“Iwanttobeyourboyfriend.”
“Oh.Um.”Notasinglecoherentthoughtentersmybrain.“No,youdon’t.”
Hefrowns.“Yeah,Ido.”
“No,Imean,”Ishakemyhandfreeofhisandsituponthebed.Hedoesn’tknowwhathe’ssaying.He’sconfused.“Youmeanyouwanttofinishoutthisweekasmyfakeboyfriend,right?That’swhatyou’resaying.”
“It’snot,”hesaysslowly,patiently.“Imeanlikeactuallybetogether,youandme,forreal.”Thefrownonhisfacespreadstothatlittlelinebetweenhiseyes,theonethatappearswhenhe’sreadingprinttoosmallorgettingupset.“Ithoughtwewereonthesamepage.”
WhenIshakemyheadthatno,wearenotonthesamepage,Lukarubsatthatlittlelinewithhisthumb.Clearlywearen’tevenreadingthesamebook.
“So,what,”hiseyesdartabovemyheadtomywindow,mynightstand,thefloor.He’slookingforanswersinmywhite,flowycurtainsandcomingupblank.“Whatwaslastnightthen?”
“Ithoughtwehadanagreementtodowhatfeelsrightthisweek.Seewhereittakesus.”
“Andyouthoughtsexwasapartofthatdeal?Youthought–what–thatI’dfuckyouandwe’dgobacktowatchingmoviesonthecouchnextweeklikenothingisdifferent?”
“Ihad–um,Ihadkindofhopedso.”
It’sexactlywhatIwanted,actually.Tohavethisweekwithhimandthenforeverythingtogobackexactlyasitwasbefore.Hescoffs,alittlebitangrynow.“Stella,Iwouldn’t-”Herubsthebridgeofhisnose.“You’remybestfriend.You’renotaone-nightstand.”
Idragmythumboverthequiltofmybed,wrappingmoresheetsaroundmyself.SuddenlyitfeelswrongthatI’mnotwearingunderwearforthisconversation.“You’vehadone-nightstandsbefore.”
“Butnotwithyou,”hesays,andhe’sdefinitelyangrynow,thestronglineofhisshoulderstense.“Whydoyoukeepbringingthatup?Ihaven’thadcasualsexwithsomeoneinalongtime.YoukeepactinglikeI’m–likeI’mbouncingabouttown,fuckinganyoneIsee.”
“Idon’tknow,Luka.Thisisn’t–“
“IthinkIneedtobemoreclear,”hesteamrollsrightoverwhateverIwasgoingtosayandI’mgladforit.Thismorninghasgonetocompleteandtotalshit.Whoknowswhatnonsensewouldhavespilledoutofmymouthnext?LukanudgesmychinupwithhisknuckleandtiltsmyfaceuntilI’mlookingrightintohiseyes,theburstoffrecklesacrosshisnose.
“I’minlovewithyou,”hesays,frustratedandshirtlessinmybed.Heyellsitatme,really,hisdarkeyebrowsangryslashesoverhiseyes.“I’minlovewithyouandIwanttobewithyou.”
Mystomachdrops.Ishutmyeyestightanddigmyfingersintomysheets.
“Youdon’tmeanthat,”Iwhisper.“You’rejustconfused,becauseofourarrangement.”
“WhydoyouthinkIagreedtothisarrangement?”
“Stop.”I’mgettingangrynow.He’spushingtoohard.Hehadnoideawhathe’ssaying.
“Iwantedyoutogivemeachance.Seeifyoucouldseemelikethat.”
Ishakemyhead.“Butyoudon’tloveme.”
“StoptellingmehowIfeel,Stella.”
“Youloveme,butyou’renotinlovewithme.It’sjust-”Igraspforsomethingtoexplainwhyhe’sactinglikethis.Whyhe’sruining
everything.“It’sjustthesex.You’llfeeldifferentlater.”
He’llfeeldifferentandthenhe’llleave.I’llbealoneagain.Ifwejustkeepthingsthewaytheyare,Icansurviveoffthememoriesofthisperfectweekandit’llbeenough.Nothinghastochange.
“Isthatwhatitfeelslikeforyou?”Heswallows.“Justthesex?”
IopenmyeyestoseeLukalookingatmewithsuchadevastatedlookonhisfaceitstealsmybreath.ThebestthingIcandointhissituationiskeepmymouthshut,certainthatanythingIsaywilljustmakeitworse.Ofcourseitdoesn’tfeellikethattome.I’velovedLukaforsolongitfeelslikeit’sapartofme,butI’malsousedtohidingit–suppressingit–andthatfeelslikeapartofmetoo.SoIsaynothingasIblinkawayandstareatthefloorboardsinstead,oneofhissockshalf-hiddenbelowmybed.Christmaslightsonthisone,twistedupandtangledtogether.
“Shit,”hewhispers.HehuffsadarklittlelaughandIwatchashishandliftsfromthebed,fixatedontheimprintheleavesbehind.WillIhavemarkslikethatonmythighs,mywrists,theswellofmyhips?HowlongwillIgettokeepthembeforetheydisappeartoo?
“Ifeellikeanidiot,”hesays,standingfrommybedandpickinguphissock.HestartslookingaroundtheroomfortherestofhisclothesandIsinkfurtherbeneathmysheets.
Lukafindsoneofhisoldsweatshirtshalfhangingoutofmydresserandpullsitoverhishead.Istolethatthreeyearsagoandhadn’tintendedtogiveitback.Heturnstowardsmebutdoesn’tlookup,standingononefootandtryingtosliponhissock.“I’msorryImadeyouuncomfortable,”
hemumbles.
“Luka.”Youdidn’tmakemeuncomfortable,Iwanttosay.You’vejustscaredtheshitoutofme.“Stay,please.Wecan–I’llmakeuswaffles.Wecanclearthisup.”
Thesoundhemakesalmostbreaksmyheartcleanintwo.“Idon’tseeanythingthatneedstobeclearedup,LaLa.I’mjust–“hehookshisthumboverhisshoulderinthegeneraldirectionoftherestofthehouse.Iwatchas
hesearchesforanexcuseandcomesupempty.“I’mgonnago.”
“Willyoubeback?”Ihatehowthinmyvoicesounds.
Henods,stilllookingatthefloor.“Yeah,I’llmeetyoulater.We’resupposedtocutdownatreewithEvelyn,right?”
Idon’tcarewhatwehavetodowithEvelyn.RightnowIonlycareaboutLukaandthatfarawaylookonhisface,howitfeelslikehe’salreadyathousandmilesawayandhe’sstandingrightinfrontofme.
“Yeah,but–“
“I’llseeyouthen.”
Andthenhe’sgone,thedoorclickingshutquietlybehindhim.
IPUTONSOMEUNDERWEAR.Wanderintomykitchen.SeetheplateofbaconandwafflesandChristmascookiesonthecounterandalmoststartcrying.IpickupasugarcookieandnibbleonitasIwanderincircles.I’veofficiallychanneledeverysadpersonineverysadmovieI’veeverwatched.
I’mlistless,hollow.
TherearesignsofLukaeverywhere.Hisglovesonthetablebythedoor.LoosechangefromhispocketintheceramicbluebowlIuseforkeys.
Themughewasusingforcoffeethismorningrinsedanddryingupsidedownbythesink.That’stheonethathurtsmethemost,Ithink.Thateventhoughhe’supsetanddisappointed,he’sstillmanagedtotakecareofme.
LukaandIhavehadfightsbefore.Weoncehadabickeringfightinthedrugstorebelowhisapartment,thebothofusgettingsoheatedtheownerhadtoaskustoleavebeforeIgottheempanadaIwanted.Butwe’vealwaysendedthemwithahugorapeckonthecheek,hisarmsbandedtightacrossmyback.
Thisonefeelsdifferent.Iknowitis.
Ican’tstopthinkingaboutthelookonhisface,thewayhiseyesshutteredandfellwhenIletthesilencebuildbetweenus.Ihadbeenacoward,stupidtothinkthisweekcouldhappenwithoutoneofusgettinghurt.Ithoughtitwouldbeme.Iwouldbeabletohandleitifitwereme.
ButknowingthatLukaishurtingtoo,thathefeltlikeheneededtogetawayfromme,I’m–I’mhavingtroublewiththat.
Igothroughthemotionsofgettingreadyforthedayandpointedlyignorelookingatthetenderskinbetweenmybreasts,theplacewherehisscruffleftmarksonmypaleskin.Iloopascarfaroundmyneckandthenpullonahat.MaybeifIputonenoughlayers,I’llbeabletocoverupthisawfulfeelinginmychest.
Iheadoutintothefields,aimless.Theideaofsittinginmyofficerightnowwithmybottomdrawerfulloftinycardboardpinetreesfillsmewithenoughexistentialdreadtosendmestumblingoverthecobblestonewalkway.I’mnotsupposedtomeetEvelynforacoupleofhoursyetandawalkthroughthecoldfieldsfeelsappropriate.Maybethefreshairwilldomesomegood,butmainlyIwanttowallow.
SoIwander.
Istartinthewestpastureandputtermywaythroughthetrees.Thesnowfromlastnightisalreadygone,thetreesasbrightandvibrantasever,untouchedbytheseason’sfirstburstofwinter.
IammercilessasIrecountourargument.Lukasayshe’sinlovewithme,butIdon’tthinkit’strue.Lastnightwasamazing,butIthink–Ithinkhe’sbeenhomesick,upinNewYork.Thenewjob,themove.He’slookingforthingsthatarecomfortable.Thatfeelgood.IknowLukalovesme,buthe’snot–heisn’tinlovewithme.AndIdon’twanttogivein,givehimallthepiecesofmyselfthatI’vebeenholdingcloseandhavehimfigureoutthedifferenceamonthfromnow.Sixmonthsfromnow.Idon’tthinkI’llbeabletocomebackfromthat.Bettertobealittlebitbrokenbythis,thanirreparablelater.
BecauseIloveLuka.I’vebeenfallinginlovewithhimforclosetonineyears.Everydayalittlebitdeeper.AndifIgiveintohimnowonlyforittobreakapartlater,Iwon’thaveanythingleft.
Istarttogetannoyedbypristinetreeafterpristinetree,soIturnonmyheelandchangedirections.Thedirtbecomesrockierundermyboots,thefieldsopeningupasthetreesbecomelessdense.Iseethefirststumpoftwistedbarkandpeerovermyshoulder.I’vesomehowmanagedtowandertothesouthpasturewiththedeadtrees.Ilookattheoneclosesttomeandthumbatabrittlebranch,alargepieceofblacksnappingoffbetweenmythumbandforefinger.MaybeIshouldcutonedownandputitupinmyhouse.Itsuitsmymood.
IhearthesoundofbootsbehindmeandIturnquickly,hopingforLuka.
Iwanttoapologize,beghimtoforgetthismorningeverhappened.Ijustwantustogobacktothewayitwas.
Butit’snotLuka.It’sEvelyn,staringatourtwistedtreeswithasinglearchedbrow.Anotherpangofregrethitsmeforadifferentsortoflie.“Isthiswheredreamscometodie?”Minedo,apparently.
HowdoIevenbegintoexplainMr.Hewettandthesoilmoisturesystemandhisquestforanalpacafarm?Idecideit’snotworththeeffort.
“Thesetreesgotsickduringthefall.Arootrot,wethink.”IthinkIhaveacaseofrootrot.Onethatstartsinmyheartandburrowsoutward.BynextweekI’llprobablylooklikeoneofthesetrees,hunchedoverandbrittleatmyofficedesk.
Evelynnarrowshereyesatme,zeroinginonmyhat.Ithinkitmightbeonbackward.“Youokay?”
No.IjustmademybestfriendthinkIdon’tlovehimafterheconfessedhisloveformeovercoffee.Oh,andwehadanincrediblenightofpassionate,all-consumingsex.HemadewafflesandthenIkickedhimoutofmyhouse.Iamunwell.
“Yeah,”Isayandtrytofixtheapproximationofasmileonmyface.
JudgingbyEvelyn’swince,I’mnotexactlysuccessful.“AmIlateforourtreeadventure?”
Sheshakesherheadandtakesastepcloser,herhandscurledinherpockets.“No,you’renotlate.Iwasoutherelookingforyou.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,Iwantedtoshowyouthefirstroundoffootageforthefarm.”
Igetthatfeelingagain,thelowsinkinginmygut.IhatethatI’veliedtoher,madeherthinkthatthisfarmandmyrelationshipwithLukaissomethingit’snot.It’snotfairtoher,andit’snotfairtoalloftheotherpeoplecompetinginthiscontest.TheoneswhohavetoldthetruthfromthebeginningandneedthemoneyjustasmuchasIdo.
Isighandmakeadecision.
“Beforeyoudothat,Ishouldtellyousomething.”
Idon’tknowwhattothinkaboutthewaysherollsherlipsandrocksbackonherheels.“What’sup?”
There’snoeasywaytosayIfakedarelationshiptomakemyfarmseemmoreromantic,soIdecidetojustlaunchintoit.“Iliedtoyou.AboutmeandLuka.”
Strangelyenough,hermouthsplitsintoawidesmile.Shenodsonceandtakesherhandsoutofherpockets,slappingherphoneintoherpalm.
“Iamsogladyousaidthat.Iknow.”
“Wearen’tactually–wait–“Iblinkacoupleoftimes,lookdownatmybootsandthenupagain.“Youknow?”
“Yes,Iknow,”shenodsandtucksaloosestrandofdarkhairbehindherear.“Iwashopingyouwouldtellmeyourself.”
“Howdoyouknow?”
“Abigpartofmyjobislisteningtothethingspeoplearen’tsaying.AndStella,that’snothardtodohere.ThepeopleofInglewildtalk…alot.IwasintownformaybehalfanhourwhenIheardaboutthebettingpoolinthecoffeeshop.”
Lukawasright.Thistownismadeupofabunchofbusybodies.
“Ithoughtitwasweirdthatyoujustrecentlygottogetherwiththelongtermpartneryousupposedlyownthefarmwith.”Shegivesmeagentlesmile.“Everyonereallylovesyouguystogether,forwhatit’sworth.”
Thatis…besidethepoint.“YouknewIwaslying?Fromthefirstdayyouwerehere?Whydidn’tyousayanything?”Ididn’tthinkitwaspossibletofeelanyworse,butwondersnevercease.Iammortified.
“Iwasgoingtoaskyouaboutitthatfirstday,butwell.Igotdistracted.”IrememberherfacewhenBeckettwalkedintothebakehouse.
Fairenough.“AndthenImetLukaandsawyouguystogether,andthoughtmaybeIjustmisunderstoodthetowngossip.SoIaskedGuswhenhedrovemehomelastnight.”
“Whatdidhesay?”I’mnotevenupset.Justexhausted.Allthistrouble,andforwhat?Tolosemybestfriendandhumiliatemyselfintheprocess.
“Hetoldmehowgladhewastoseeyoutwotogether,thathewonthetownbettingpool.Iaskedwhatthebettingpoolwasforandputittogetherfromthere.Ishouldtellyounow,officially,thatIhavetodisqualifyyoufromthecontest.”Shesaysitasgentlyasshecan,butIstillfeelthetwistinmystomach,thescratchydiscomfortofembarrassment.
“Youcheckedoffaboxthatsaidalltheinformationinyourapplicationwascorrect,andifanyprovedtobefalseyourapplicationwouldbevoided.”
Inod.Ihadfiguredasmuch.“I’mreallysorryIlied.Iknewitwasamistakefromthestart.”
Ijustwantedtohavemycakeandeatittoo,Iguess.Shenarrowshereyesatme,asecretsmileplayingonherlips.Shetapsherphoneagainstherpalmagain.“Butdidyou?Thinkitwasamistake?”
Thelying?Yes,withoutadoubt.EverynightIwenttobedwithaweightagainstmychest,thinkingaboutthatonelineofcopyinthe
application,mybiggestlie.ButthetimewithLuka?ThatpartI’mlesssureabout.
“Idon’tunderstand.”Howmanytimescanonepersonthinkandsaythesamesentenceinonemorning?Writethisonmytombstone.
“Itdidn’ttakelongformetofigureitout.Ionlyhadtoseeyoutwotogether.Doyouevenrealizethewayyoulookateachother?”WhenIjustblinkather,shewavesherhand.“Forgetaboutit,nevermind.Here’sthedeal.You’redisqualifiedfromthecontestandtheprizemoney,butIstillseeastoryhere.Agoodone.ThekindofstoryIhaven’ttoldinawhile.”
“Youdo?”
“Yeah.Thisplaceisinsanelygorgeous.Stella,pleaseunderstandthatevenifyouweresingleandlivinginatinycaveatthemouthofthefoothillseatingdogfoodoutofacan,Iwouldthinkthisplaceisamazing.
It’sliketheNorthPolehadalovechildwithHogwarts.Iwanttolivehereforever.”
Iopenmymouth,butshewavesherhandagain,cuttingmeoff.
“SoI’mgoingtofeatureyouguysonmyaccount.AndI’dliketoshowyouthevideoImade.”
Sheclosesthedistancebetweenusandhandsmeherphone,avideoalreadypulleduponthescreen.Istareatmytinyfaceinthethumbnail,standinginfrontofmyofficewithanervoussmileandapepperminthotchocolate.Herfirstdayonthefarm.
“Justwatch.It’llmakesense.”
IglanceatEvelynandthenbackatthephone.Itapplaywithashakingfinger.
Itopensonaquickclipofmestandingontheporchoftheoffice,gingerbreaddecorationsbrightandcolorfulagainstwarmbrownwood.
“Lukaputthemup,”Ihearmytinnyvoicesay,laughing.“IthinkImadehimre-dothelicoricefourtimes.Hebarelytoleratesme.”
Itswitchestoanotherclip,Lukashoulderingintomyofficewithtakeoutcoffeeinbothhands,mebehindmydesk.Ihadn’tevenrealizedEvelynhadherphoneoutwhenthishappened.Hedropsthetakeoutcupontheedgeandthenreachesforme,glovedhandcurlingaroundmyelbow,pullingmeclose.It’shardtoseethekiss,butIrememberhowIfelt.
Thelowswoopinmystomach.Hepullsawayandthesmallversionofmyselfonscreenducksherhead.ButLukadoesn’t.It’sjustafractionofa
moment,butIseethelookonhisface.Thewayhiseyespracticallyglowashelooksdownatme.Theslowsmilethatkicksupthesideofhismouth.
ThesurprisewhenheturnsslightlyandcatchesEvelyninthecorner.Hehadn’tevenrealizedshewasthere.
Theiceskatingrinkisnext.Lukashoo-ingJeremyawayandwrappinghimselfaroundme.IwatchasItiltmyheadbackintohischestandlookup,hisbodymovingbackslightlytowelcometheshift.Welook…happytogether,comfortable,mysmallbodytuckedintothesecurityofhis,hischinrestingonmyheadaswewatchthekidscircletherink.
Itsclipafterclip,fasternow.LukaandIwalkinginfrontofEvelynthroughthefields,ourhandsreachingforoneanotheratthesametime.
Lukainthebakehousewithagrinandablush,acandycanehalfhangingoutofhismouthashesays,“She’samazingandshedoesn’tevenknowit.
She’dgiveyouthesweateroffherback.”Thetwoofusinmykitchenjustlastnight,ourbackstothecameraasLukasmoothsahanddownmyarm.
Inalloftheseclips,hedoesnotlooklikeamanwhoisbarelytoleratingme.Helookslike–
Thelastclipisanextendedshotofmeattemptingtore-hangastringofgarlandoutsidetheSantabarn,balancingonastoolandrisingonmytoes.
Thecameradriftstotheleft,awayfromme,andIseeLukaleaningagainstafencepost.Hehasthatdamnedcandycaneagain,tonguetwistingitbackandforthinhismouth.Butit’sthelookonhisfacethathasmeleaningforwarduntilmynoseispracticallypressedupagainstthephone.Softeyeslitupinthewarmsun,alaughcaughtonthetipofhistongueashisgazelingers.Loveandgentleadorationinthecurveofhislips,theslantofhisbrows.
Lukahasn’tbeenfakingforasecond.
“It’sactuallythesecondvideo,”Evelynannounces,andIpracticallyjumpoutofmyskin.Asitis,Idropherphonetotheground.God,Ihopeshehasthatvideosaved.“ThefirstvideoismeexplainingthatI’matLovelightFarmswheretwoidiotsthinkthey’repretendingtobeinlove.”
Shegrinsatme,proudofherself.“Doyouunderstandnow?”
Shescoopsherphoneofftheground.“Youthinkyou’vebeenlyingtome,butyou’vejustbeenlyingtoyourselfthiswholetime.”
TWENTY-TWO
LUKALOVESME.
Lukaisinlovewithme.
Irepeatittomyselfonloopandwaitforittomakesense.Thatlookonhisfaceinthevideo,I’veseenitbefore.I’vecaughthimlookingatmelikethatintheearlymorningwhenI’mstandingatthecoffeemachine,whisperinghelloandbeggingforcaffeine.Whenwe’vegoneoutonthebayonthoselittlepaddleboatsshapedlikedragons,abagofcrumbsinmypocketfortheseagulls.I’veseenitprettymucheverytimeI’veeverseenhim.It’sahardthingtorealizethatmaybeLukahasbeenfallinginlovewithmethiswholetimetoo.I’vebeentoocaughtupinhidingmyownfeelingstonoticehis.
ThebellabovethedoortothebakehousejingleswhenIstepinside,thetablesempty,chairsstillstackedinthecorner.Layladoesn’topenforanotherhouryet,butIknowshe’sheresomewhere,probablygettingreadyintheback.IspotBeckettsittingatthecounter,aplateofdonutsinfrontofhimandanicingbaginhislefthand.Helikestocomeherewhenhe’sstressed,eathisfeelingsandpretendhe’shelpingLaylaoutwhilehedoesit.Laylaemergesfromthesupplycloset,anapronaroundherwaistandastreakofflourinherhair.
Shestopsshortatthesightofme,Beckettturningwithaglanceoverhisshoulder.
“Ifuckedup,”Itellthemquietly.
Neitherofthemsaysanything,completelyfrozenatthecounter.Theylooklikeoneofthoselivingartexhibits.
“Pleasesayit’saboutLuka,”Laylabreathes.
Beckettrollshiseyesandgoesbacktofillinghisdonuts.“Ofcourseit’saboutLuka.Shehasahickeyonherneckandherhatisonbackward.”HeplacesoneperfectdonutontheplatterLaylahassetoutforhimanddrops
atinyicingmistletoeontop.“Plus,Lukahasbeenhidingoutatmyhousesincethismorning.”
I’mrelievedthatLukaisstillhereonthefarm.Despitehispromisethathe’dcomeback,abigpartofmewasworriedhe’ddisappearbacktoNewYork.RefusethejobinDelawareandneverreturn.
Laylawavesmeforwardandclearsspaceformeatthecounter.Sheholdsadonutupinfrontofmyface.“Eatthis,andtellmewhathappened.”
Becketttriestograbthedonutoutofmyhand,butItwistawayfromhim.Ineeditmorethanhedoes.
“You’reamess.”Hegrabshisowndonut,bitingthetinymistletoefondantontopcleaninhalf.Laylafrownsatbothofusandmovestheplattertothebackshelf,outofourgreedyreach.
“I’mgoingtohavenothingleftifyoutwokeeptryingtohelpme.”
Iswallowwarmflakypastryandbuttercreamfillingandmustermycourage.“Lukaisinlovewithme.”
BeckettandLaylastareatme.WhenIsaynothing,Laylaraisesbotheyebrows.“And?”
Idropmyforeheadtothecounterwithagroan.“Dideveryoneknowbutme?”
“Yup,”Beckettanswers.IhearthesmackofahandagainstbareskinandpeekupjustasBeckettrubsathisforehead,aglareaimedatLayla.
“What?Youknowit’strue.Therewasatown-widebettingpoolaboutit.”
Laylaignoreshim.“Didhetellyou?”
Inodandgivethemtheabbreviatedversionofevents.Thathetoldmehelovedme,andItoldhimhewaswrong.MyconversationwithEvelyninthefieldsandthevideosheshowedme.
“Itshouldn’thavetakenavideoforyoutorealize,”Beckettsays,squeezingoutabitofthedonutfillingontohisfinger.Laylasnatchesthatawayfromhimtoo.“He’sbeenshowingyouforyears.”
Ilookdownatthecountertop.“Ididn’tseeit.”
“Youdid,”LayladisagreesgentlyandshootsawarninglookatBeckwhenheopenshismouth.“Yousawit,honey.Youwerejusttooafraidtodoanythingaboutit.You’recomfortableinthefriendzoneandsoyoudecidedtokeepyourselfthere.”
Ishrug,hapless.“HowdoIfixit?”
“Iguessthatdepends,”Laylaturnsandplucksadonutfromthetray,splitsitinhalf,andoffersittome.Beckettmakesapainednoiseunderhisbreath.“Areyouwillingtobehonest?”
IHEADBACKtomycottageafterneedlingLaylaintogivingmeanotherdonut.ImakethelastturnaroundthebigoakandstumblewhenIseeafigureonmyfrontsteps.Lukaissittingonthestoopthatleadstomyporch,hislegsapart,handsclaspedlooselybetweenthem.He’sstaringdownatthegroundbutlooksupwhenmybootssendashowerofgravelacrossmyfrontyard,adonutstillclutchedinmyhand.
“Hey.”
Afterwatchingthevideoandexaminingeverydetailofeveryinteractionwe’vehadoverthelastmonthandahalf,it’salmoststartlingtoseehimsittinginfrontofme.Ihadn’texpectedtoseehimagaintoday.Ihadconstructedalooseoutlineofaplanonmywalkbackhome:Findabottleofwine
Continuetoover-thinkLuka.
Consumesaidbottleofwineandtherestofthepumpkinpie.
ApologizetoLuka.
Begforforgiveness.
TellLukaIlovehim.
Eatsomemorepie.
Thewholethingisaworkinprogress.
“Hi.”
Myheartlodgesinmythroatandmakesitdifficultformetoswallow.
Wewatcheachother,hesitant,andthenLukastands,unfoldinghistallbodyfromthebottomsteptoleanagainsttherailing.Ifumblearoundinmypocketsformykeys,oneofLuka’spinetreesbrushingatmyknuckles.Inevertookitoutafterhekissedmeinthebarn.Thatfeelslikeagesagonow.
Layla’swordsringinmyhead.Areyouwillingtobehonest?
I’mnotsureI’mthatbrave.
“Youhaveakey,”Itellhim,ignoringthepinetreeandurgingmyfeetforward.It’scoldoutthisafternoon,asnapintheairthathasmyfingers
numbtomyknuckles.IwonderhowlongIwasoutinthefields,howlongLukahasbeenonmyfrontporch.Ilookattheruddycoloronhischeeks,thewayhisshouldersshrugupbyhisears.He’snotevenwearingascarf.
“Didn’tfeelrighttouseit,”hesays,gazestilllockedonmedespitetheanxiouslineofhisbody.He’sholdinghimselfstill,tight,awayfromme,andthatmorethananythingmakesmesad.Islippasthimupthestairs,awareofthespacebetweenus.Iwanttothrowhisarmovermyshoulder,curlintohissideandhavehimteasemeaboutnotbeingabletofitthekeyinthelock.
“Youcanalwaysuseit,”Imutter,pushingopenthedoorforus.MygazecatchesontheChristmastreeinthewindowasI’mtoeingoffmyboots,mybrahangingfromoneofthetopbranches.Lukafollowsmyeyesandsnortswhenheseesit,abrushofcoloratthebaseofhisneckwhereheisn’talreadypaintedpinkbythecold.
“Ah,”hescratchesatthebackofhisheadandarrangesmybootsintoaneatline,almostlikehecan’thelphimself.Thatlittlegesturegivesmehopethatthingsaren’tcompletelyruinedbetweenus.Heshakeshisheadanddivertshisattentionfrommynew,creativeornament.IshouldtakethatdownbeforeDanecomesoverwiththepaperworkforHewett.Lukarocksbackonhisheels.“I’mhereforthethingwithEvelyn.”
“Oh.”Mylittlesparkofhopesnuffsout.“Wedecidednottodothatthisafternoon.”There’snopointsincewe’vebeendisqualifiedfromthecontest.IsupposeIshouldprobablytellhim.
“There’s,uh,wedon’thavetopretendtobetogetheranymore,”Iswallowandglancefleetinglyathisfacebeforelosingcourageandlookingdownatoursocksinstead.“ItoldEvelynthetruth.Turnsoutshealreadyknew.”
“Sheknewweweren’ttogether?”
Inod.“Busybodies,”Isay.That’saboutallIcanofferasanexplanationrightnow.Inodmyheadtowardsthecoffeemachineinthekitchen.
“Wanttostickaround,or–“
Idon’twanthimtofeellikehehastostayherewithme,especiallysinceit’sclearheonlycameheretofulfillwhateverresponsibilityhefelthehad.He’sfreetogonow,freetobeclearofmecompletelyifhewants.
Thatsendsasourfeelingrollingthroughmystomach.Hemustseeitonmyfacebecausehereachesahandout,tapsonceatmyelbow.It’savaliantattemptatourpreviousphysicalaffection,andI’mleftwishinghecurled
hisfingersaroundmeinstead,pulledmeintohischestandrestedhischinonmyhead.“I’llstickaround,”hesays,lookingonlymildlymoroseattheideaofit.Hiseyesbouncefromthewindow,tothecurveofmychin,tomyshoulderandthenbackagain.Ihatehowawkwardthisis.Eventhefirsttimeweeverhadlunchtogether,wedidn’tlackforthingstosay.Ihadbeensad,withdrawn,alittlebitlost,butLukahadfilledthespacebetweenuswitheasychatter–datapatternsandhismom’scookingandthelittlepupusastandinthecityhelikedtogotoonSaturdaymornings.
Istartupthecoffeepotinsilence,thesteadydripdripdriplikeametronomedeterminedtodrivemeinsane.Areyouwillingtobehonest?
Lukasetshimselfatoneofthekitchenchairs,eyesfixedoutthewindow.ImaintaincomposurethroughtwoseriesofdripsbeforeIcan’ttakeitanymore,myhearthammeringinmychest.
I’mgoingtodoit.I’mgoingtotellhimthetruth.
“Luka,I–“
“Iwantto–“
Ihuffoutalaughthatismorenervesthanamusementandnodforhimtocontinue.Ifanyonedeservestohavetheirsayfirst,it’sLuka.I’llfollowhislead.I’lldowhateverhewants.
Herestshishandsonthetable.“Iwanttoapologizeforthismorning.”
Mystomachsinkstomytoesandmyfacemustshowitbecauseherushestocorrecthimself.“Not–notforwhatIsaid,butforhowIleft.Thatwasn’tright.”
“Ihurtyou,”Iofferandpourtwosteamingmugsofcoffeewithshakinghands.IfLukahadreactedthewayIhadthismorning,I’dbeonthefirsttrainoutoftown.I’dbeoutinthefields,diggingaholetoburymyselfin.
I’mnotsureI’devershowmyfaceinInglewildagain.
“Youdid,”heagrees,andthatsourfeelingtwistsandpullstight,makingmefrownintomymug.Itaketheseatacrossfromhimandfighttokeepmygazeonhis.“ButIstillshouldn’thaveleftlikethat.Iknow–Iknowthat’sabigdealforyou,theideaofpeopleleaving.Ithinkthat’swhyyoukeptBeckettandLaylaoutofthelooponfarmbusiness.Becauseyouwereafraidthey’dleaveiftheyfoundoutyouwerehavingsometrouble.”
Hisvoiceisgentle,buthiswordshittheirmark,landinglikelittlehailstonesagainstmyheart.Eachoneleavesalittledent.“AndwhenItoldyouIlo–“
heclearshisthroat,avoidssayingthewords,andthathurtstoo.ThatI’ve
givenasliverofmyfeartohim.“WhenIsaidwhatIsaid,andyourreactionwasn’twhatIwanted,Ididexactlywhatyouwereafraidof.Ileft.I’msorryforthat.”
Ican’tstandtohearhimapologize.NotafterthewayIactedthismorning.NotafterthewayI’vebeenactingsincewestartedthiswholething.“Luka–“
“YouknowIbuythosepinetreesinbulk?Thoselittlecardboardones,”
heexplainslikeIdon’tknowwhathe’stalkingabout.LikeIdon’thaveeveryonehe’severgivenmesavedinthedrawerofmydesk,theoverflowinaboxinmycloset.ItsmellslikepineeverytimeIopenthedoortogetasweaterout,alittlestalenow,butIrefusetogetridofthem.“ThefirstoneIgotonawhimatthegasstationdownthestreet,butyourfacelitupwhenI
gaveittoyou.Ithinkitwasprobablythen,thatIrealized.”
Iholdmybreath,captivated.“Realizedwhat?”
He’sshy,reserved,staringathishandscurledaroundhismugbeforeheslideshiseyesbacktomine.Hismouthhitchesupatthecorner,butheignoresmyquestion.“Igotgreedyforthatlook.Ididn’twantanyoneelsetohaveit.Istilldon’twantanyoneelsetohaveit.”
Youcanhaveit,Iwanttosay.Youcanhaveallmysmilesandlooksandhugsandtouches.Myheart,too.Ifyoustillwantit.
“Anyway,IguesswhatI’mtryingtosayisIstillhaveabouttwohundredofthosecardboardpinetrees.AndIhavearecurringorder.I’mI’mnotgonnaleave,LaLa.I’vestillgotplentyoftreestogiveyou.Aslongasyouwantmearound,I’llbehere.”
Hedigshishandintohisbackpocket,hipsliftingtopullsomethingout.
Heplacesasmallcardboardpinetreeonthetableandslidesitovertomewithhisfinger.
Istareatthattreeforalongtime,eyeshot,throattight.
It’shardtolovesomeonewithoutrestraint.Togiveyourselfovertotheswellandpullofitwithoutfearofwhatmighthappen.Ithinkit’sonlynaturaltoholdapartofyourselfbackandprotectwhatyoucan.Mymomlovedmefiercely,butshealsoneveropenedherhearttoanyoneelse.Notafterwhatmydaddid.SoIthinkI’ve–Ithinkthat’showIlearnednottowishfortoomuch.Toplayitsafeandeasy.
Butit’shardtokeepyourselffromgivingintoo.Laylaisright.ThesepastnineyearsI’veburiedeveryglimpseofstrongfeelingwithdenial,yearningandasprinkleofdeliberatemisunderstanding.EverytimeI’veevenglancedatLuka,I’vefeltit.Ahollowring.Asharptug.Apersistentanduncomfortableache.
Istandfromthetableabruptly,mychairrocketingbackwardacrossthehardwoodfloorwithanangryscreech.Lukastandstoo,eyesfaintlypanicked.Iturnandheaddownthehallway,mywholebodythrumming.
“LaLa?”Lukastumblesbehindme,hittinghiskneeontheedgeofavintageumbrellastandthatIuseforwrappingpapertubes.Hecursesunderhisbreathandhobblesafterme.“Stella,waitasecond.Ididn’t–“
Itearopenthedoortomycloset,acascadeofsweatersandscarvesandalloftheotherrandomthingsIshovedinheretumblingout.Agardengnomelandsonmytoe.Twoboxesofextrastringlightsmakealeapforfreedom.ItossanoldversionofCandylandovermyshoulder.Lukaskidstoahaltinsidemyroom.
“Whatareyou–ohmygod,”hecutsoffabruptly.Hesucksinasharpbreath,probablyhorrifiedatmymessinessunleashed.MaybeIshouldhaveshownhimthisbeforeheconfessedhislove.“Isthatafern?”
It’safakemonsterathatoneofBeckett’ssistersboughthimandhepromptlydepositedatmyfrontdoor.Idragitoutofthewayandreachbehinditfortheoldkitchen-aidmixerbox.Idon’teventhinkIevenownaKitchen-Aid.
“Youdon’townaKitchen-Aid,”Lukasays,foldingupsomesweatersbehindme.“CanIhelpyouwithsomething,or–“
There’sfrustrationthere,ahintofsadnesstoo.HejustspilledhisheartoutandI’mrummagingthroughmycloset
“Hereitis,”Iflipopenthelidoftheboxandturnitover,hundredsoftinycardboardpapertreesontothefloorbetweenus.Theyslipoveroneanotherinatinywaterfallofstalepineandcurledgreenedges,thestringstangled.Lukaabandonshisfoldingandpicksoneup,eyebrowsknitinconfusion.
“I’vegotsomedatapointsforyou,”Itellhim,voicewobblingattheedges.“Afterthatdayyoutookmetogetagrilledcheese,IthoughtaboutyoursmileeverytimeIwalkedpastthehardwarestore.IstillthinkaboutyoursmileeverytimeIwalkpastthehardwarestore.IgetheavywhippingcreamwhenIgotothegrocerystorebecauseyoutoldmeonce
homemadewhippedcreamisbetterthanthecannedstuff.DoyouknowhowmanycartonsofcreamI’vewasted?IsometimespretendIhaven’tseenamovie,justsoyoucanpointoutthebestparts.”Isuckinadeepshakingbreath.“ThatconcertwhenIworethatpinkdress?Iwantedtokissyoutoo.WhenwetookthatfirstcampingtriptothebeachandIwokeupwithyouwrappedaroundme,Icouldfeelyourheartbeatagainstmyback.ItwasthefirsttimeinyearsIdidn’twakeuplonelyandsad.”
It’sarelieftoreleaseeverysecretthought,everyhiddenfeeling.Iwipemyfingertipsundermyeyesandtrytogetcontrolofmybreathing.It’squietbetweenusandIlookdownatthetreesscatteredacrossmyfloor.
Lukaclearshisthroat,handsreachingforme.“Ithinkdataanalysts-”
Hisvoicebreaksoffandhestops,collectshimself,andtriesagain.“Ithinkdataanalystsrefertothatasalong-termtrend.”
“Iwantallyourtrees,”Itellhim.“YouknowIwroteboyfriendonthatapplicationonpurpose?”Imirrorhishonestyfromthekitchenwithsomeofmyown.“Ihadjustgottenoffthephonewithyou.Youwerelaughingaboutsomecommercialyoujustsawandyouhadthoselinesbyyoureyes
“Ireachupandcaressthefaintsmilelinesbyhislefteye.“These.Rightafterwehungup,IfilledouttheapplicationforthecontestandIwroteboyfriend.Iwasonlythinkingofyou.Iwantedanexcuse,tohavetopretend.IthoughtIcouldhaveyouforaweekanditwouldbeenoughtomakemyfeelingsgoaway.”Ilookdownatmyhandsandstartpushingthetreesintoapile.“Butallthisweekdidwasmakeiteasierformetoloveyou.I’msorryIwasn’thonest.I’msorryIhurtyou.Ihaven’thandledanythingright.Idon’tknow,allofmyexcusessoundstupidnow.”
IrememberwhatItoldLayla.Thatifsomethingweresupposedtohappen,itwouldhavehappened.I’msuchanidiot.Thingshavebeenhappeningforyears,I’vejustbeentooafraidtoseethem.
Lukapushesontohiskneesinfrontofme,brushingthetreesoutofhisway.Hecurlshishandsovermythighs,duckshisheaddownuntilhecanlookatme.“Andwasitenough?Foryourfeelingstogoaway?”
Ishakemyhead.“No.”
“Howdoyoufeelnow?”
Areyouwillingtobehonest?
Isuckinadeepbreath.“I’mstillafraid,”Itellhim.Iholdhiseyes,hopingheseeshowseriousandterrifiedandstupidlyinloveIam.“I’m
reallyafraid.You’remybestfriend.Ineedtoknowifwedothis,thatIstillgettokeepyouifitdoesn’twork.”
“Youwill,”hesays,palmsmovingupanddown,shiftingcloser.“Youwon’tbeabletogetridofme,Ipromise.”
“Iwantitnotarized,”Isniffandrunashakinghandundermynose.
“Wecangetitnotarized.Alexdoesthat,right?”
“Yeah,”Inod.“Okay.”
“Okay,”henods,asmilestartinginthecornerofhismouth.Thesunslantinginthroughmywindowslightshiseyesinshadesofgold,thefrecklesonhisnoseastarburst.“See,wasthatsohard?”Ilaugh.It’sonlybeenthehardestthingofmylife.
“I’mreallygladIaskedyoutobemyfakeboyfriend,”Iconfess.
“I’mreallygladIagreedtobeyourfakeboyfriend.”
“Iloveyou,”Isigh,andthechangeonhisfaceisinstant.Hissmilesoftensandspreadsuntilhiswholefaceglowswithit,thehandsonmythighsslidinguptomyhips.Hedropshisforeheadtomineuntilhe’sonlycolors.Gold,chestnutbrown,palepink.Isighandclosemyeyes.“Iloveyousomuch.”
Icanfeelhissmileagainstmine,brightandbeautiful.Hishandssqueezemyhips,myribsandthenrisetocupmycheeks.Histhumbssmoothundermyeyes.“Fuckingfinally.”
Whenhekissesmeittasteslikehazelnutlattes,theedgeofaminipinetreediggingintomyknee.
Finally.
EPILOGUE
LUKA
ITTOOKALMOSTADECADE,butIfinallygotmyshittogether.
Tobefair,Stelladidherfairshareoffeet-draggingtoo.Ithinkitmakesusagoodpair,unnecessaryheartacheaside.Itellherthiswhilewe’relayingonthefloorofherbedroom,myskinstillstickywithsweatandmyfingertipstracingbetweenhershoulderblades,herpaleskinglowingintheafternoonsun.I’mprettysurethere’sashoediggingintomyback,butStellakeepssnugglingcloser,herhairticklingmychin,andIwouldn’tmoveifBeckettandallhiskittenskickedinthedoor.Stellatiltsherheaduptoglareatmewithmycomment,butIseeherhidingasmiletoo.MyfavoriteStellasmile,dimpleswinkinginhercheeks.
Ishouldprobablytellhersheneedstogetherbraoutofthetree.
Shesighsintomybicepandpartofmeshifts,rolls,andsettles.I’vehadmydoubtsthatwe’dgettothispoint.Beforethissocialmediathing,myplanfortellingStellahowIfeltaboutherwasjusta–generalweardown,Iguess.Keepcomingaround,keepfeedingherbolognese,maybetryandholdherhand.ItoldBeckettitwasthelonggame.
Idon’tthinksherealizesit,butwe’vekindofbeendatingforthepastnineyears.Evenwhenshe’sbeenwithsomeone,I’vebeentheguyshecallswhenshelocksherkeysinhercaratthegasstation.I’mtheguyshecallswhensheaccidentallyputsdryicedownthesinkandisafraidshe’sgoingtoexplodeherplumbing.I’mreallygladI’mtheguyshecallswhensheneedsafakeboyfriend.
Thefarmisgoingtobefine.WiththemonthlyinstallmentsDanehasHewettpayingforallofthedamagehe’sdone,Stellawon’tevenneedthe
moneyfromthecontest.Andshedoesn’tknowityet,butCharlietextedmeearlierwhileStellawaswanderingthroughthefields.
Ellehasdecidedshe’sleavingBill.Apparently,therewasanincidentwithhissecretaryandsevenotherwomenatthefirm.Notsureyoucancallitanincidentwhenthenumberisovertwo,butIwasn’taskingquestions.Asapartinggift,Charliehasdecidedtobuyeverydeadanddistortedtreefromthesouthpastureanddropitonthefrontlawnofhisfather’shouse.Ithinkit’safinewaytocelebratetheoccasion.I’msureStellawillagree.
StellapressesakisstomychinandIsmoothmypalmdownherspine.
Here’sthetruthofit.BackwhenStellaaskedmeformyexitstrategyforthisfakeboyfriendthing,Ididn’thaveone.Frankly,Iwastoooccupiedwiththeideaofgettingtotouchher,holdher,bewithherthewayI’vealwayswanted.Butassoonassheasked,Iknewwhatmyanswerwas.Itoldherwe’dcontinueandImeantit.
Ihavethismemoryofmydadthatcomestomeinbitsandpieces.
Vanillaicecream.Stickysummerheat.Humiditythatmademyclothesfeelliketheyweighedtenthousandpounds.Andmydad’ssocks,onehigherthantheother,caughtinthelegofhispants.Tinybottlesofketchuponthem,agiftfrommymom.
IhadjustpunchedJimmyTomilsoninthefaceontheplaygroundatschoolandmydadhadpickedmeupearly.Hehadbeensilentinthecarandsilentwhenwepulledupinfrontoftheicecreamshop.Silentinthelineuntilheorderedustwoconestogo.Hewalkedusdownthestreettoalittlegardentuckedaway,surroundedbyrosebusheswithanemptyfountaininthemiddle.Ihadbeenterrifiedofwhathemightsay,thethreatofhisdisappointmenthangingovermelikeathickcloud.
“Why’dyoudoit?”hehadasked.
ItoldhimthatJimmywaspickingonSarahSimmons,tossingmulchchipsatherandtrippinghereverytimeshetriedtohopontheslide.Itoldhimtostopandwhenhedidn’tlisten,Ipunchedhimintheface.Mydaddidn’tsayanythingatthat,justtookanotherslowbiteofhisicecreamcone.Healwaysdidthat.Bithisicecreaminsteadoflickingit.Mymomcalleditbarbaric.
“You’renotalwaysgoingtoknowwhattherightthingis,”hehadsaid.
“Whenthathappens,youcontinue.”
Ihadblinkedathim,icecreammeltingdownthesideofmyconeandovermyknuckles.“Continuewhat?”
“You’llfigureitout,”Anotherbiteoficecream.“Continue.Listen.
You’llfindyourway.”
I’vetriedtofigurethatadviceoutasI’vegrownup.It’salwaysbeenthereinthebackofmymind,everytimeI’vebeenconfusedorfrustratedorimpatient.Continue.Listen.Butnow,forthefirsttime,IthinkIgetit.
I’mgoingtokeepstuffingStella’spantrywithwhole-grainbreadandproteinbarsandactual,real-lifefruitbecauseCupO’NoodlesandOreosaren’tareasonablediet.I’mgoingtodancewithherinthekitchen,herbarefeetsteppingonmytoeseveryotherstep.Cookherbologneseandravioliandmanicottiandgarlicbreadwithextracheesebecauseherfacelightsupwhensheseesmeatherstove,chinonmyshoulderasshetriestoreachovermeforataste.I’mgoingtoholdherhandwhensheneedsit,tuckherclosewhensheneedsthattoo.
I’mgoingtoloveherinallthequietways,theslowways,theloudandobnoxiousways.Myhearthasbeenmovingsteadilyinthatdirectionsinceshefelldownthestepsofahardwarestore,rightintomyarms.
“Why’reyousmilinglikethat?”Shemumblesintomychest,oneeyesquintedshut,herfingerpokingatthelineinmycheek.Iswatherhandawayandtangleourfingerstogether.“S’weird.”
“Mmm,you’vegotawaywithwords.Anyoneevertoldyouthat?”
Shepressesupononeelbow,herdarkhaircascadingoverhershoulderinariotofcurls.Sheisstunninglikethis,allbareskinandrosycheeks,tangledhairandahickeyatthecurveofhershoulder.Ipushallthathairawayfromherfaceandtracethelineofherjaw,thelittledivotinherchin,herfullandtemptingbottomlip.Idon’tknowhowIkeptmyhandstomyselfforsolong.Shepressesakissintomypalmandeverythinginmesettles.IswearIdidn’tknowhowmuchIwasrattlingaroundinthereuntilStellacurledherhandaroundmyheartandtugged.
“Seriouslythough,what’swiththelook?”
“Justthinking,”Itellher.Idropmyheadbacktothefloor.“Justhappy.”
Shehumsatthat,alittleshimmyofherbodyagainstmine.Thesilenceisawarmcomfortbetweenus,heranklehookedovermine.Thewindwhistlesatthewindows,theoldclockinherhallwayticksanunevenbeat.
It’sslowonesecond,tooquickthenext.Ieyeballthemirrorinthecornerofherroomandgetsomeideas.
Shewalksherfingersupmychestandthenslidesherpalmdown.
“What’stheplannow?”sheasks,alittlebitdrowsy.
Movetothebed,Ithink.SeehowmanytimesIcanmakeyourbreathcatch.
“Hm,Ithinkthat’sobvious,”Isay.Itiltmyheadtolookdownather.
Shepropsherselfup,herchininthepalmofonehand,theotherflatagainstmyribs.Idon’tthinksherealizesit,butshe’strippingherfingersovereachofmyfreckles,paintingpicturesintomyskin.Igrin.
Shehuffsandcollapsesbackagainstme,herfaceinmychest.“Don’tyousayit.”
Iwrapbotharmsaroundherandholdontight.Igrinattheceiling.
“We’regonnacontinue.”THEEND
ARRIVINGIN2022
Beckett’sStory
Layla’sStory
THANKYOU
Myfirstthankyougoestoyou,reader.Itisanabsolutelyinsanefeelingthatthisbookisoutintheworldbeingreadbypeople–reallifepeople!
Thankyouforgivingthislittlebooksomeofyourtime.WritingthishasbeenadreamcometrueandIcouldn’thavedoneitwithoutthesupportoftwoveryimportantpeople.
Didyouknowthisisthefirstthingmyhusbandhaseverreadbyme?
Thankyou,E,foryousupportasItip-tappedawayonthepatio,thecouch,thefloor,andeverywherein-between.YouhavealwaysbelievedinmeandIloveyousomuch.IpromisetolistentoyoutalkaboutFantasyFootballnow.
Annie,mygatewaydrugintoromancenovels.You’vebeencheerleadingmeforclosetoadecade.Thisbookonehundredpercentwouldnotbewhatitisifitwerenotforyou.Thankyouforediting,butmoreimportantly,thankyouforholdingmyhand.ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
B.K.BorisonlivesinWashingtonD.C.withhersweethusband,vivacioustoddler,andgiantdog.Shestartedwritinginthemarginsofbookswhenshewasinmiddleschoolandhasn’tstopped.LovelightFarmsisherdebutnovel.
TableofContents
Epilogue
EPILOGUE