Jasper changes the subject when he gets back in the truck, like we subconsciously agreed that we’d had enough deep introspection for the night. “So are you going to homecoming with anyone?” he asks.
“Where have you been?” I tease, trying to fill myself with light, to remind myself of that wanting I feel with Jasper, a feeling that can drown everything else out if I let it. “Adalyn’s been leading the inquisition for two weeks now. I’ve either got a mysterious date from the city that I won’t tell her about, or I’m going stag because I’m such a badass rebel.”
“Yeah, but once she starts talking about homecoming these days, I kind of tune her out. There are only so many times I can debate whether or not fifty yards of streamers will be enough to wrap the lampposts down Main Street, or if we should let the seniors pick out the party favors. I’m no saint.”
“Well, the answer to the my-date mystery is the badass option. I’m going solo. Ember invited me to go with her and Grayson, but I think that might be kind of awkward.”
“It wouldn’t be awkward if we doubled,” he replies, pulling up in front of Mitzi’s Love Shack. “Last delivery,” he announces, as if he didn’t just sort of ask me out.
“You and me? Go with Grayson and Ember?” I manage to say it like he hasn’t been on Mia’s Top-Three Potential Dates for Trix list that she runs through every night at dinner.
“Don’t sound so shocked. There are lots of girls who think I’m a real catch. I mean, I drive Cleo. I have great hair. I deliver pie.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand over the dashboard that suggests I could have all of this by going with him.
“Pretty hard to turn down after you consider the great hair.”
“It is, unless you’d really rather go stag to homecoming. Or you’re planning on asking someone else, either hipster city guy or Rocksaw redneck.”
“I didn’t have plans to ask anyone. And I barely know anyone here outside of your crew.”
“Our crew,” he corrects. “You were accepted into the fold when you started taking on your share of the homecoming conversation with Adalyn.”
“I am so honored. Is there a matching tattoo or something I can get?”
“I’ll get you a business card for our local tattoo parlor.” He opens the door and this time I slide out after him. “So is that a yes to homecoming, or are you changing the subject to politely avoid rejecting me?”
“It’s a yes.”
He grins, and it tugs on his scar again. I realize that that’s one of the things I like about him. He could pull those tumbled curls down to cover that scar, but he doesn’t. He always flips his hair to the other side, like he’s damn proud of that scar.
I wish I could be that brave.
“I have to come with you for this one,” I tell him, leaning against the bed of the truck. “In case there’s another naked guy who chases you.”
“I’ll never forget that day. It’s burned into my long-term memory.” He laughs, reaching into the bed and getting out the Cherish Cherry and Ardent Apple.
“Mine, too. Especially the way he was all red from the hot tub. Like a giant lobster.”
Jasper makes a face and shakes his head vigorously to get rid of the image, messing up his black curls.
When we get to the cottage door, I reach under the mat for the key, opening the door slowly for Jasper as he waits next to me. Empty.
The cottage is dark, so I flick on a light. The hot tub is covered, and there’s a gift basket on the table that’s been opened, some of the cheeses and nuts scattered across the table. Jasper sets the pies down and picks up a note.
“Look at this,” he announces. “It says, ‘Thanks, Mitzi, but we had to go back to the city for a family emergency. The Grangers.’”
“So I guess they won’t need the pie, then.” I notice the bottle of champagne that’s still in the gift basket, unopened. “I guess they won’t need this, either,” I say, picking up the bottle, a grin stealing across my face.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He laughs back at me.
“I hope so.”
“We save the tractor ride for date number two.”
Jasper and I sit on top of Cedar Mountain in the abandoned lawn chairs, passing the opened bottle of champagne between us. It’s cheap and pink and it sparkles and burns all the way down, like swallowing stars.
“Best view in town,” Jasper says, taking the bottle from me when I pass it back to him.
“Look at all the shops down there,” I say, pointing at the sprinkling of lights way down along Main Street.
“There’s the McCabe Bakery and Tea Shoppe,” he says, leaning over and pointing out the shop. He maneuvers his arm over along the back of my lawn chair like he did in the bench seat of the truck earlier. His breath is hot against my skin, his lips barely grazing against my ear. It’s cold outside, and our breath is beginning to come out in soft clouds, but the alcohol makes everything feel warm and fuzzy.
“Is it okay for you to drink with the medicine you’re taking?” I ask, suddenly remembering that he’s mixing champagne and antidepressants.
“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m okay.” There are a few silent moments, just a deep breath in and out from both of us before he speaks again, his voice softer. “I just want to be Jasper with you. Not Jasper with the dead brother, okay?”
“Okay.”
He leans his forehead against my hair, his breath even and warm against my cheek.
I want him to laugh again. “Do you see Auntie down there?” I ask. “I bet she sees us.”
“Auntie sees everything,” he says with a chuckle as he starts to lean back, as if Auntie really could spot us. “She read my palm once and told me that I had a special touch. I could only make things grow, no matter what else I wanted. And that’s when I admitted to myself that all I ever wanted was to farm, even if it was supposed to be Jesse’s life and not mine.” He holds his hand out, looking at his palm, and I surprise us both by turning to face him and placing my own hand over his, as if I could wipe away both our fortunes and start new.
We stay that way for a few moments, and then my fingers weave between his, and our hands are clasped together. “Well,” I say, clearing the silence between us, “I hope Auntie doesn’t see this.”
I release his hand, fist my own in his soft, faded plaid jacket.
And then I kiss him.
His mouth is soft and warm and the faint stubble on his chin a little rough against my skin, like I knew it would be. Every electric moment of waiting to be alone for the last week ignites, and I forget everything else. There’s only me and Jasper now. He reaches up and cradles his hand against my cheek, deepening the kiss, and his mouth tastes of cheap champagne. One of his curls falls against my forehead.
“I hope she doesn’t see this, either,” Jasper whispers in my ear, pulling me over from my chair to his so that I’m sitting in his lap. My foot tips over the bottle of champagne, but neither of us cares as the rest of the pink liquid runs frothy rivers between Jasper’s boots into the dirt.
His hands are warm, the calluses from farm work scraping gently across the skin where my sweater has ridden up on my waist. I feel warm and supple inside and out, like his hands and his kisses are thawing me after years of being stiff and cold and alone. I unfist my hands from the front of his jacket, sliding them inside his coat and against his white T-shirt, slipping them around his sides until I can splay them against the planes of his back, holding him like he’s holding me. All I can think is that I want to stay here with him forever: wanted, wanting.
Two minutes before ten o’clock, Jasper drops me off at the McCabe farmhouse, barely idling his truck up along the lane that’s flanked by deep-red roses. “We made it,” he whispers, as if Auntie could hear us all the way out here. “Ten o’clock exactly.” He touches my cheek with the backs of his fingers, leans in for one more kiss. It’s softer, quieter than the others. A good-night kiss rather than a goodbye.
“Good night, Jasper.”
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“Good night, Trix.”
Sixteen
THINGS BEGIN TO SHIFT EVER so slightly. Ember takes out her earbuds when I come downstairs in the mornings. She waits for me after school, and we walk down to the McCabe Bakery & Tea Shoppe together. Sometimes we talk about school, or boys, or a new song on the radio. And sometimes we don’t. But even when we are silent, there’s a feeling of comfort between us now. A sense of loneliness lifting a little for both of us.
When Ember and I get to the tea shop after school today, it’s doing brisk business, or at least it would be, if anyone was manning the empty counter. Neither Mia nor Auntie is anywhere to be seen, which is strange because we have a rule that there always has to be at least one McCabe at the counter at all times. When Ember and I enter the front door, there are two women and a farmer in coveralls waiting near the pie display for take-out bakery orders. They murmur to each other, but clearly nobody dared to do anything like bellow for Auntie, who would undoubtedly somehow curse them with a bad fortune. The tables have more customers who are sipping their tea and chatting, so Mia and Auntie must not have disappeared that long ago.
Ember notices the oddity immediately, her dark brows quirking in concern as she glances over at me.
“I’ve got it,” I murmur, nodding at the front counter.
“I’ll head to the kitchen and put on the kettle,” she replies, slipping past me and into the back.
I toss my backpack behind the glass display and start taking orders, my fingers used to the cranky register by now. When I’ve taken orders and handed out several pies and a dozen cupcakes in pink bakery boxes, I head back to the kitchen to see what’s going on.
In the back, Ember’s got the walk-in cooler open barely a crack, but it’s enough for the raised voices to carry out.
“This is what I’m talking about!” Mia’s voice is shrill. “This is the kind of thing you always do.”
“All I did was give Emmett Sorensen your phone number,” Auntie huffs.
“You told him I would go out with him! You practically offered me up with a muffin!”
I peer in through the crack next to Ember, shocked to see Mia and Auntie facing off in the cooler, their breath fogging between them.
“You should be grateful I did it! God knows you’d never do it on your own. You’re too busy fixing everyone else up so you don’t have to think about your own sorry state.” Auntie waves a finger at Mia.
“Just stay out of my life!” Mia cries, throwing up her hands.
“I’ll stay out of your life when you start living it! Stop mooning over your asshole of an ex-husband! Move on! For both you and Ember.”
“Leave Ember out of this,” Mia warns, her voice tight. I wait to see if she’s going to grab a stick of butter and hurl it, but instead she whirls around to exit, and nearly bowls over Ember and me as she stomps out.
Ember and I dart out of the way, but there’s no hiding.
“Girls!” Mia cries, her hand over her heart. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to fill orders,” I say, as if we didn’t hear anything. “Need some creamer, three refills on chamomile, a chai, two poppy-seed muffins for Mrs. Jindal and Gladys Gunderson. Lots of customers out there.”
Mia smooths her red hair. “Right, of course. Auntie and I were having a meeting.” She snatches the order ticket out of my hand and stomps out of the kitchen. Auntie follows soon after, grumbling. She clanks the big kettles on the stove, making as much noise as she possibly can, as if she knows it will annoy Mia.
Ember’s face is tight, her green eyes watery. Without a word, she dashes out the back door into the alley.
I hazard a glance over at Auntie. “Seriously, is no one ever going to tell me what is up with Ember’s dad?” I ask. “Why all the weirdness? They’re split up. It sucks, but it happens.”
Auntie puts her hands on her hips. “You’ll have to ask Ember,” she says. “It’s not my story to tell.” She hooks a thumb toward the door. “Why don’t you go out there and see if she needs anything?”
“You don’t need me?” I ask, surprised.
“No, go check on Ember. Maybe you’ll be the one to knock some sense into her. Or better yet, Mia.” She rattles one of the big kettles with vigor.
In the alley, Ember is sitting on a stack of wooden pallets, leaning up against the brick wall of the building, her eyes wet. “Hey,” I say, sitting down next to her. “Everything okay?”
Ember shrugs, swiping at her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I still don’t know what’s going on.
Ember sniffs. “I’m the one who messed up.”
“What?” I ask. “You just got here. That’s not even possible.”
“No, I mean with my parents. It was my fault, what happened.”
I wait a beat, giving her the space and time she needs to tell her story.
Or to not tell it at all.
Finally, she speaks. “You know my gift. Well, one day, about four years ago, I gave my dad a hug, and all of a sudden I knew that he didn’t love my mom anymore. He was in love with someone else. A woman he worked with.” She looks down at her hands where they’re folded in the lap of her dress.
“So what happened?”
“I tried to keep it a secret as long as I could. I begged Mama to make him pies. Ardent Apple. Cherish Cherry. But she always refused to make pies for Dad. She said she wanted him to love her just because. But he didn’t. And I knew why.” She sniffs again, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
“So what did you do?” I try to keep my voice steady. I knew what it was like to have your gift betray you. It had nearly cost me everything to refuse to use it.
“I didn’t say anything. And every day he hugged me and told me he loved me, and Mama thought we were the perfect family.” She sits up, moving so that her legs are tucked underneath her. She hugs her arms to her chest because it’s starting to get cold. “You know what Mama’s deepest, darkest secret is? It’s that she’ll lose the people she loves. Like she lost her parents, and then Uncle Connor. So how could I tell her that she might lose my dad, too?” Her voice breaks at the end.
Ember’s pain is my own, aching in my chest. What a terrible decision to be given to a twelve-year-old. And I know all about that.
Voices carry down the alley as a pack of high schoolers in letter jackets go by on the sidewalk, passing us where we sit in the shadowed alley. Ember stiffens, but they don’t notice us. They are laughing and teasing, one boy crying foul when a girl steals his baseball cap.
Ember waits to be sure they’re gone before she continues her story. “And then one day Dad told her he was leaving. And I begged Mama to give him pie. All of it.”
“Did she?” I ask, even though I know she must have refused or he would be here now.
“No. She said she didn’t want to win him that way. She didn’t want to have to win him at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not the worst part. He hugged me after they loaded up the moving truck with all his stuff, and suddenly Mama looked at me, and she knew. Every time I touched him, I had read his secret. His deepest, darkest, worst secret. And I kept it from her.”
I let the weight of her words settle around me. She had betrayed Mia. Betrayed her like I had betrayed Mom.
“She barely spoke to me for weeks. Almost a month. She didn’t bake. She wouldn’t touch any of her Bracing Blueberry. And we moved in with Auntie because we couldn’t make it on our own, and Auntie saw what was happening. She woke Mama back up, demanding pies and scones and cookies and everything else under the sun to sell at the tea shop instead of only the boring muffins she made. And then Mama was happy again. She loved me again.”
Her words send me back to Mom, and the Good Year. I lean my head back against the cold brick wall. I’d believed everything had been fixed while she was in rehab. All the bad things would go away, and the scars on my arm would fade into obscurity because I had a new, beautiful, vibrant moth
er who loved me and wanted to take care of me. Everything seems possible when someone loves you. Even forgiveness. But when I look at Mia and Ember together, I don’t believe that Mia ever stopped loving her daughter, even in whatever fog of grief she’d been mired in.
I wish I could say the same about my own mother. I wish I could say that I know she loved me, that she forgave both me and herself. The thing is, I’ll probably never get to ask her either.
I don’t think the old Trix, the one who had been dumped here, angry and scared, could have forgiven her mother.
But I think this new Trix could. I hold on to that thought, letting it keep me warm as a chilled gust cuts through the alley.
“Do you want some pie?” I ask Ember, breaking the silence.
“No.” She bites her lip and looks over at me. “Can we sit out here a few more minutes?”
“Sure,” I say. “We can stay as long as you want.”
We lean against the brick wall of the tea shop, both of us content with saying nothing at all.
Seventeen
THE NIGHT OF THE FOOTBALL game against Buffalo Hills, Mia directs Ember and me as we unload the back of the Suburban that she’s parked behind the concession stand. The building is painted a garish orange with two wide waist-high openings in the front equipped with small counters for serving food. The football stands are still empty, but the first bus from Buffalo Hills pulled into the high school parking lot ten minutes ago.
When I remember the story Jasper told me about the Buffalo Hills mob coming for the McCabe women, I understand the rivalry between the two towns a little better. The pep rally at the end of the school day was wildly well attended, townspeople and high schoolers alike cheering along a cacophony of slightly off-key brass instruments, and badly painted banners depicting the Tigers eating the Buffaloes.
A Constellation of Roses Page 17