by Aurora Rey
Drew collected their bags from where they’d been stored under the bus and carried them to her car. After securing them in the trunk, she opened the passenger side doors. “I’m only about fifteen minutes up the lake.”
Grann laughed. “Did you hear that, Angelique? Up the lake.”
She took Route 89 instead of 96 to give them a glimpse of said lake. Even in the rain, the view was beautiful. It surprised her to feel a little surge of pride pointing it out between the trees. When they passed Taughannock Park, she gestured to the picnic tables set up right on the water. “Assuming the rain lets up at some point, we can come spend the day if you want. I’ve been told it gets really busy on the weekends, but weekdays aren’t bad.”
She turned off the main road, winding her way home. When she pulled into the driveway, her Grann reached over and patted her knee. “It’s adorable.”
“It’s amazing what you can get for the money up here,” she said, suddenly self-conscious of having the whole house to herself.
“No doubt,” Manman said from the back seat. “Let’s see the inside.”
Drew grabbed their bags and ushered them up the front steps. She unlocked the door, then motioned for them to go in ahead of her. “After you.”
“It’s like a cabin in the mountains,” Grann said with what sounded more like amusement than surprise.
Manman laughed. “When have you ever been to a cabin in the mountains?”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I watch television, don’t I?”
“You are right.” Drew nudged the door closed with her butt. “It’s called Adirondack style. It’s a thing, I’m told.”
“See?” She nodded, a look of vindication on her face.
“I’ll have you two share my room, if you’re okay with that. The bed’s a queen.”
Manman came up and kissed her cheek. “That’ll do just fine.”
Drew carried the bags to her room and set them on the chest at the foot of the bed. She gave them the tour, which consisted of the second bedroom, the bathroom, and then the kitchen and living room area where they’d come in. Even with the rustic decor, it was nicer than pretty much any of the apartments she’d had to date. Hopefully, by the time she moved back, she’d be able to afford something even nicer that she didn’t need to share with a roommate.
She glanced at the clock on the stove. “Cocktails?”
Both women heartily agreed. Drew set them up at the small table and made a batch of Manhattans before starting dinner. She got caught up on the neighborhood gossip and heard all about the new principal at her mother’s school. She put the chicken she’d been brining in to roast and assembled the roasted vegetable salad she’d planned as a first course.
Drew joined them at the table and soaked up the compliments. Neither her mother nor grandmother had been stingy with praise during her childhood or when she was in training to be a chef, but they’d been judicious. When they said something of hers was good, she knew they meant it.
“So, what would the two of you most like to do while you’re here? I know wineries are on the list, but what else?”
“We want to see your restaurant,” Manman said.
“Of course. I reserved a table for you for dinner Saturday.”
“You don’t have to treat us to dinner. We know what a good cook you are.”
“Nick, my boss, insisted. It’ll be on the house.”
Grann raised a brow. “On the house, huh?”
Drew smiled. Her prior bosses had rarely been so generous or invested in their chefs’ personal lives. “He’s a great guy, super focused on family. He’s excited to meet you.”
Manman sipped her Manhattan. “Then we’re excited to meet him.”
Drew tapped her foot a few times, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nervous energy. “I want to take you to one of the farms, too. I’ve gotten to know the owner pretty well.”
Despite the innocuous nature of her words, the underlying meaning came through. The women gave her identical looks—curious and clearly expecting an explanation. Manman spoke first. “Tell us more.”
“It’s the place I went the day of my interview. The owner, Hannah, is friends with the owner of the restaurant. Her farm is one of our primary local suppliers.”
“She’s the one with the tomatoes.” Grann nodded knowingly.
“Tomatoes?”
Drew ran a hand up the back of her neck. “I’ve spent some time at the farm, sourcing ingredients, but also learning about things. Including tomatoes.”
“Ah.” With that single syllable, Manman conveyed plenty.
“Are you doing more than picking tomatoes with her?” Grann had never been one to mince words.
Drew was saved from answering by the oven timer. She’d never been so grateful for the shrill beep. She took her time plating the chicken, arranging it just so on the rice and making perfect piles of sautéed green beans. She carried the plates to the table, opened a bottle of Chardonnay, and poured glasses. She took her seat again and found two expectant faces, patient but unfazed, watching her. She took a sip of wine. “Yes.”
“Why do you seem so unhappy about it?” Her mother’s face had taken on a shadow of worry.
“Oh, I’m not unhappy.” How could she explain it in a way that didn’t make her seem like a total player? “I’m just not sure about where it’s going in the long term. I mean, I don’t plan on living here forever.”
“Ah.” Again with the one syllable that said so much more.
“I invited her to dinner here on Monday.” She’d done so casually, thinking her grandmother especially would get a kick out of meeting the female farmer who supplied much of the restaurant. Now, of course, it felt like a much bigger deal. And canceling would draw more attention rather than less.
“That sounds lovely. We certainly want to meet the people who are part of your life up here.” Grann’s tone was encouraging, almost too encouraging.
“Agreed.” Manman was much more matter-of-fact. It effectively closed any discussion on the matter, a skill she carried over from her classroom that Drew both admired and envied.
With dinner finished, both women opted to call it an early night. Drew got them settled into her room, then found herself in the spare one, book on her chest and staring out the window. She still had moments of awe over the night sky and all its variations. Tonight, the moon was full, leaving only Venus and the brightest stars visible. It cast a silvery light that seemed more like something out of a movie than real life.
She could use the same analogy to talk about her life here. It wasn’t shimmery or perfect by any means, but it felt at times like she was more a character in a movie than herself. Maybe that’s what made it all feel so strange. Rather than freak her out, the idea made Drew feel better. It was her current situation that made everything seem so different, not any intrinsic change in her.
Chapter Twenty-one
Birthday dinners at the Little household were serious business. Regardless of whose birthday it was, the celebrations were some of Hannah’s favorite memories. A huge meal, chosen by the birthday girl or boy, complete with one of her mother’s homemade cakes. Presents were always practical, but with one indulgent one thrown in. Best of all, though, was that everyone was on their best behavior. What had been a sternly enforced edict as a child had become an unspoken rule. At birthday dinners, there was no bickering and no judgment, at least none spoken out loud.
She sat next to Clare at the dining room table. Even with her nieces and nephews at a kids’ table, there were eight of them. She wondered idly what would happen if she or Clare ever brought someone home. They’d have to squeeze in extra chairs from the kitchen. She shook off the idea and turned her attention to the meal—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and biscuits—100 percent her father’s favorites.
“How’s your little deal with the restaurant going?”
Hannah’s jaw tightened. He could be dismissive without even trying. She wondered if it came natural
ly or was a skill he’d worked to hone. “Really well, actually. It’s probably accounting for close to twenty percent of our sales right now.”
He sniffed, but nodded. “Well, I think it’s one of the smartest things you’ve done. A contract with consistent income is worth it, even if the profit margins are lower.”
Hannah let out a small chuckle. “Look at us, agreeing on something.”
“You say that like we disagree about everything.” His scowl exaggerated the crease between his eyes.
“Don’t we?” She’d kept her tone light enough to be teasing, but it still garnered a warning look from her mother.
“Of course not. We both respect the land, believe in the value of an honest day’s work.”
It didn’t seem like he was baiting her, but Hannah remained leery. She’d been sucked into too many fights with him to be anything else. And she’d promised her mother, as well as herself, that she wouldn’t cause a scene on his birthday. “Traits I’m proud to have gotten from you.”
At the compliment, he sat a little taller in his chair. “I thank God for that every day.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of his sentimentality. She glanced at her mother, who lifted her shoulder an inch and smiled. As if sensing her discomfort, Clare announced they should do presents before cake. Hannah chuckled to herself. She thanked God for Clare every day.
Everyone filed out to the living room, her father settling into his easy chair like a monarch presiding over court. The grandkids went first, offering homemade cards and a mug with a collage of photos of them printed on it. He made his way through the pile. It was clear he enjoyed the attention and was embarrassed by it at the same time. Yet another trait she’d inherited from him.
She felt silly giving him yet another pair of Columbia pants, but he loved them, wearing them for work as much as on his fly fishing trips. And since they cost just enough that he refused to buy them for himself, it seemed to work out well for everyone.
Over cake, she heard about the newest calves, the effects of the recent storm on the corn crop, and the ever-fluctuating price of milk. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt relaxed as she and her brothers and parents hashed out the ups and downs of farm life. She was so used to anticipating traps or potential arguments, she’d forgotten just how nice it was to talk shop with people in the business. Even if they weren’t technically in the same business.
Clare dragged Hannah to her room and pulled out her computer to show off the analytics on her web traffic and social media sites. Hannah didn’t know what half the words meant, but Clare’s enthusiasm came through loud and clear. And the numbers—hits and click-throughs and other things Hannah had never heard of—were higher than she’d even hoped for. “I’ve been thinking the increase in customers had to do with the weather, but it’s you, isn’t it? This stuff is working.”
Clare beamed. “I think so. I mean, I don’t want to take all the credit, but—”
Hannah cut her off. “Let me give credit where credit is due.”
“I’m glad you’re happy because I need to talk to you about something.”
Hannah made a face. “Are you bored? You don’t want to do it anymore?”
“No, no, no.” Clare waved her hands back and forth. “It’s not that at all. I’m considering taking on a new client and I wanted to make sure you’re okay with it.”
She’d never tell Clare she couldn’t work for someone else, but she was curious. “What kind of client?”
Clare’s expression was so serious. “I’d never take on another farm. That would be a conflict of interest. But I think this would be an excellent addition to my portfolio and has some real potential for audience overlap.”
When did her little sister start sounding like an advertising executive instead of a teenager? “Audience overlap?”
“It’s Fig. Nick follows Three Willows and asked if I’d be willing to do some work for him, too. It wouldn’t interfere with my hours at the farm. I’d just need to stop by a few times a week to take pictures.”
She was proud of Clare’s talent, not to mention her ambition. She intended to tell her as much, too, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t do a little reconnaissance first. “So, is this about expanding your portfolio or expanding the amount of time you spend with Kristen?”
Clare turned bright pink. “I mean, Kristen and I are best friends. We see each other all the time.”
“And?”
“And I like her a lot and always want to hang out with her.”
Hannah didn’t relish making her squirm, but she was pretty sure her gut was spot-on with this and it would probably be less painful for everyone to just get it out in the open. “As a friend?”
“As a friend.” Clare took a deep breath. She made eye contact with Hannah for a second, then stared at her hands. “And maybe more.”
“Do you know if the maybe more is mutual?”
Clare looked up, clearly startled. Like it was the last question in the world she expected Hannah to ask. She bit her lip, looked over Hannah’s shoulder. Eventually she nodded. “Yeah.”
Hannah couldn’t quell her enthusiasm. “Clare, that’s great.”
“You can’t tell Mom and Dad.”
Hannah tried not to laugh. “You know they’re okay with the gay thing, right? I kind of blazed that trail for you.” Clare still looked mortified, so Hannah added, “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Kristen’s parents don’t know.”
“Nick and Leda?” Hannah didn’t think she could come up with a more progressive couple if she tried. “They’re cool. Way cooler than Mom and Dad, actually.”
“I know!” Clare practically shouted her reply. “I keep telling her that, but she’s nervous. She keeps talking about what happened when Alyn came out.”
Hannah didn’t know Alyn aside from meeting her in passing at Clare’s basketball games, but her father was a real piece of work. Carl Wilson made Rudolph Little seem like Santa Claus. “I imagine that didn’t go well. But she has to know her parents are nothing like the Wilsons.”
Clare shrugged. “She just needs time, I think. I mean, that’s what she says.”
Poor Clare. “We all have to get there in our own time. I’m sorry for you, though. I’m sure it’s hard.”
“It’s not so bad.” Clare blushed.
“You make out when it’s just the two of you in the farm stand, don’t you?”
She looked at Hannah then, right in the eyes, and winced. “Are you mad?”
“Of course not.” Hannah thought back to some of the more creative places on the farm she and her first girlfriend had used for making out. To this day, the hayloft of her parents’ barn made her think of hot summer afternoons and stolen kisses. “As long as it’s only kissing.”
“Jeez, Hannah. God. I wouldn’t do that.”
“No, but you are teenagers. I was up to all sorts of trouble by the time I was your age. And don’t get me started on your brothers.”
Clare’s eyes got huge. “Really?”
“I’m pretty sure sneaking around is an essential part of growing up and of figuring out who you are.”
That seemed to make her feel better. “Yeah.”
“But just because you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant, it doesn’t mean you don’t need to talk about things like safety and consent.”
“Hannah.” Clare dragged out the word, embarrassment back in full force.
“Hey, you can have this conversation with me or you can have it with Mom.”
The prospect of talking about sex with their mother proved a persuasive motivator. They spent the next half hour talking about safe sex practices and ways to make talking about them less daunting. By the time they were done, Hannah had learned a few things herself. Sex ed had clearly come a long way in the last decade.
The party broke up and Hannah hugged her good-byes. She drove home with the windows down and the radio up. Often, she did so to cool off, to clear her min
d after yet another verbal sparring match with her father. Tonight, she simply basked in the wind blowing through her hair, cool and damp from another day of rain. She wondered what Drew was doing, how her family had enjoyed their dinner at Fig.
At home, she changed into pajamas and curled up on the sofa with a book and her phone. She texted Jenn to share the oddity of her day, then gave in and sent a message to Drew. Neither of them answered immediately, though, and Hannah’s eyes started to feel heavy. Tomorrow was supposed to be another soggy one, but there were chores she couldn’t put off any longer, so she hauled herself upstairs and crawled into bed. Thoughts of Drew and her family swirled in her mind, but instead of keeping her awake, they carried her to sleep.
* * *
Hannah pulled into Drew’s driveway and cut the engine. She sat for a moment and closed her eyes. She’d spent a full eight hours at the farm, more than half of it harvesting things in the unyielding rain, her boots heavy with mud. She’d almost fallen asleep in the shower. She took a deep breath. At least she was too tired to be nervous.
She dashed to Drew’s porch, trying to dodge the drops that continued to fall. Before she could knock, the front door swung open. On the other side, a woman with snow white hair and skin much darker than Drew’s smiled at her. “Hello, you must be Hannah. I’m Rose.”
In spite of her fatigue, Hannah found herself smiling. This must be Drew’s grandmother. She extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Rose.”
Rose took the hand with a grip much stronger than she expected and pulled her into a hug. It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. Rose let go, then patted her arm. “We’re so glad you could join us.”
Hannah stepped the rest of the way into the house, looking for Drew. She stood at the stove, tending a pot of something. Next to her, a tall and elegant woman looked on. Process of elimination would have told her it was Drew’s mother, but the family resemblance was keen. Like Rose, her skin was darker, almost the color of umber. But the shape of her eyes, the line of her jaw—Drew had definitely inherited them from her.