by Sara Biren
“You’ve been busy.”
“Chris, focus!” Jesus. My heart is pounding.
“So. Graham Briggs is at the farm. Did you tell Laurel and Juniper?”
“No, and that’s why I’m an idiot. Juniper found him taking pictures of the round barn and freaked out. He must not have explained who he was. She won’t talk to me. We’ve got to get back so I can explain.”
To my surprise, Chris laughs. “You are learning some hard lessons these days, Gabe. Welcome to adulthood.”
“Fuck off and pack your shit.” I slam the door.
Juniper’s not at the house. She’s not at the round barn. Her car’s in the driveway, though, so I hike up to the overlook. She’s not there. I walk all over that fucking farm until I finally find her at the firepit at the riverside, sitting in a chair, wrapped up in a wool blanket. There’s no fire.
“Blue,” I say.
She looks up but doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are swollen.
“Please talk to me. You have to let me explain.”
She stands up and shakes her head. “No, I don’t. I don’t have to do anything.”
“Please. I’m asking you to give me a chance to explain. The guy you saw—Graham Briggs? He’s—”
She cuts me off. “I’ve given you so many chances,” she says. I’m not sure what she means by it. “I’m tired of giving you chances. You’ll only disappoint me again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I thought the farm meant something to you, Gabe. I thought I did. But all this time, you were still planning to sell, weren’t you? Graham Briggs? He’s a developer, isn’t he?”
“No, Blue, he’s an architect. From London.”
She waves her hand like she’s dismissing me. “I don’t want to hear any more bullshit, Gabe. I never should have trusted you in the first place.” She steps toward me. She’s close enough that I could reach out and pull her into my arms.
“You can trust me,” I say quietly. “I trust you.”
“No. I can’t. I knew it from day one. I never should have let myself get close to you, Gabe. I only did it to save the farm.” She barks out a laugh. “I’ve got more in common with Marley Green than I ever would have imagined. I guess fake relationships are the only kind you’re cut out for.”
My mouth drops open. “What did you say?” I can barely get the words out.
“I said I only got close to you so you wouldn’t sell the farm.”
I take a step back—from Juniper, from the girl I fell hard for and the future I thought we had together. “Fuck,” I say under my breath. I’m shaking. “Please—please tell me that you’re kidding.”
She shakes her head, her face completely devoid of any expression, and walks away.
Everything we had is a lie. She fucking lied to me. She made me believe that she cared about me. To save the farm.
Fucking hell.
Everything about her is a fraud. A sham. Our relationship. Every kiss. Every sweet word. Every lyric I’ve written for her, about her. All of it a lie.
I think I’m going to be sick. I walk over to the river’s edge, take deep, gulping breaths, bent over at the waist, my hands on my knees. It can’t be true. It can’t. She can’t be like the others.
She is exactly like the others.
The river rushes past me.
You can never step in the same river twice. It is not the same river, and you are not the same man.
I am not the same man I was when I left LA.
I am not the same man I was four hours ago.
I am not the same man.
Before this moment, I’ve never known what it’s like to have a broken heart.
By the time I walk back up to the farmhouse, I can’t feel my toes or my fingertips from the cold. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to feel anything.
I pull up the Delta app on my phone and book a flight.
Chapter Forty-Two
JUNIPER
Gabe is gone.
Chris comes over Sunday afternoon, and I overhear a conversation between him and Mom: Gabe grabbed his Martin and a duffel bag and took a Lyft to MSP for a flight back to LA.
“Who in their right mind takes a Lyft to the airport all the way from Harper’s Mill?” Chris says. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”
I close my door. I don’t want to hear their speculation.
I don’t want to think about Gabe’s face when I told him what I’d done.
I did it to save the farm.
That’s the most important thing, right? The farm. To keep things exactly as they’ve always been.
Isn’t it?
I’m beginning to think it might not be. Because now that Gabe’s gone, now that he knows I was pretending to be his friend, I still stand to lose the farm. I’ve already lost Gabe.
I call Amelia.
“I can’t understand what you’re saying, sweetie,” she says. “I’ll be right over.”
She’s at my house in less than fifteen minutes with a bag of Haribo Happy Cola gummies and Monty Python and the Holy Grail on DVD.
“Gummy colas and Monty Python?” I ask. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”
Amelia shrugs. “We didn’t have any ice cream. And this film is consistently ranked as the number one comedy of all time. It’s sure to make you feel better.”
“Nothing will make me feel better,” I cry. The tears come faster.
“Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”
It takes me a few minutes to get control of myself, and then I start from the beginning.
When I’m finished, when I’ve cried myself out, she wraps an arm around me and says, “Well, the first thing we have to do is find out who Graham Briggs is.” She pulls out her phone. “Graham Briggs. Oh, look, he has his own Wikipedia page.”
“What? He has a Wikipedia page?”
“Let me read this. I’ll skip over the boring stuff. Born in London in 1969, Graham Briggs is a world-renowned architect who specializes in historical buildings and arts venues. He is best known for his renovation of NoTe Studios in Warwick, England, a stone barn built in the early seventeen hundreds, where bands such as Crackerjack and Hot for Teacher have recorded iconic albums. He also designed the art museum blah-de-blah-blah-blah and a performing arts center in yada yada.”
She looks up from her phone. “He’s an architect, Juniper. Who designed a recording studio in a stone barn. Are any of these pieces coming together for you yet?”
I sit up. “Oh, shit.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “Why didn’t you google this guy before you called Gabe?”
“I didn’t think of that! Heat of the moment!”
“OK, how about after you called Gabe?”
“Amelia!” I wail. “What should I do?”
“Call him? Tell him you screwed up?”
“It’s too late. He’s gone. And I told him what I’d done. I’m no better than Marley Green. How will he ever forgive me for that?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I wish I did. Why don’t you start with a text?”
I start and delete dozens of messages before I hit send.
Me: I’m sorry. I was wrong. I miss you. Please call me so we can talk about this.
Chapter Forty-Three
GABE
Ted: Well how’d you manage to fuck this up?
Me: At airport. Flight boards soon.
Ted: Nice try. I’m calling you.
Me: Nice try. I won’t answer.
Ted: LeeLee says Juniper’s a MESS. What’s going on? Why are you at the airport?
Me: Going back to LA where I belong. Juniper can tell you what’s going on. If she’s a mess, it’s her mess. Not my problem.
Ted: Harsh.
Me: That’s life, I guess. Gotta go. They’re calling my section.
They’re not calling my section. I’m shaking and my heart’s racing and shit, I can’t have this happen in the middle of Concourse F. I close my eyes, take a d
eep breath, try to think of something that will work to get me past this, think of a time and place when I didn’t feel this endless, relentless feeling. Something other than all those perfect moments with Juniper. Those perfect, pretend moments.
“Sir,” someone’s saying above me, “are you all right? Would you like some water?”
I take the bottle of water the Delta gate attendant is holding out to me. My hands are shaking so much, I can’t twist open the cap, so she takes it back and does it for me.
“Is there someone I can call? Or I can call a paramedic if you think—”
“No.” I cut her off. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for the water.” She nods. I drink, scrub my hand across my face, take deep breaths until the moment passes. Satisfied that I’m OK, she walks back to the gate.
Before I board, another text notification comes through.
Juniper: I’m sorry. I was wrong. I miss you. Please call me so we can talk about this.
I power off my phone.
On the plane, I close my eyes and wish for sleep, but all I see is the ice blue of Juniper’s eyes.
Chapter Forty-Four
JUNIPER
Gabe doesn’t respond to my text.
I’m in a funk, my stomach churning, alternating between the guilt of what I’ve done and obsessively thinking of how I can fix this.
I text him again. He doesn’t respond. I try calling, but he sends me to voice mail.
Sunday night, Mom starts to dig as we wash the dishes after supper. Gabe’s gone. Chris flew back to LA, too. It’s just the two of us.
“How are you doing, Juniper?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Are you fine? What happened between you and Gabe?”
I sniffle. I’m not sure that I’m ready to tell her the whole story. “I don’t know where to begin,” I admit. “Things have gotten so tangled up.”
“They might not seem so tangled once you talk through it.”
I swallow hard. “How do you deal with the possibility that someday, Gabe and Chris might sell the farm?”
“Oh, honey. I wake up every morning and I tackle my to-do list. I’ve got a farm to run today. The sheep don’t care what’s going to happen tomorrow. I can’t worry about what I can’t control, Juniper. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that.”
“Easier said than done,” I say, sniffling again.
She rinses the last plate and hands it to me to dry, then pulls the stopper out. “Let’s go in the living room, and you can tell me what’s going on.”
We move to the living room sofa, and I rest my head on her shoulder. I’m so tired, so wrung out. “You know how you’re always telling me that you can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar?”
“Yes, of course. In fact, I recall telling you that about Gabe when you wanted nothing to do with him.”
I nod. “Well, I may have taken it a step too far.”
“Oh, Juniper, what did you do?”
Now I can’t stop the tears. I let them roll down my cheeks and splash onto my hands where they lay in my lap.
“Sweetheart,” Mom says, “just say the words. You’ll feel better after you say them, I promise.”
Or I’ll feel much, much worse.
“You might not like me very much after I say them,” I sob. Mom wraps an arm around me and tucks me in close. I take a deep breath and I say it: “I broke the rules of the farm.”
“You broke the rules of the farm? That’s not . . .”
“I know!” I wail. “That’s not how I was raised. Rule number one: Always tell the truth. I’ve always told the truth, even if it hurts, but something in me flipped when I found out Gabe could sell the farm. I needed to do whatever it took to keep everything the way it’s supposed to be!”
“Honey, you can’t always stop change from happening.”
“I know!” I wail again. “But then, something else happened. The more time I spent with Gabe, the more I got to know him, I actually started to like him. I wanted to be his friend, truly. And then—” I sob, and more hot tears streak down my cheeks.
“Go on.”
“I think . . . I think . . . that I’m in love with him, Mom. I think I love him.”
She doesn’t say anything. She simply holds me while I cry, and I let it all out.
“Does Gabe know that you . . . lied to him? Is that why he went back to Los Angeles?”
“Yes. I’ve tried to apologize. I’ve sent so many texts to tell him that I know now that the man in the field was an architect. Why didn’t he tell me? We could have avoided this whole situation!”
“Or maybe you shouldn’t act so impulsively,” she says and pats my knee.
“He won’t respond to my text messages.”
“Have you called him?”
“Sent to voice mail.”
“You know that you need to somehow tell him that you know. And you need to tell him how you feel,” she says firmly. “That you love him.”
I shake my head.
“Yes, Juniper. Life’s too short to let a misunderstanding or whatever this is come between you. Don’t let one more day pass by. Tell him the truth, what you’ve just told me. And then tell him that you love him if that’s how you feel. Whatever happens, happens. But you have to tell him.”
“How? If he doesn’t take my calls or answer my texts?”
“You’ll find a way,” she says.
Chloe Horrible corners me in the hallway by the library Monday morning before school. “Oh my God, Juniper, you look absolutely terrible.”
“Thanks, Chlo.” I roll my eyes.
“I have something for that under-eye puffiness. I’ll text you the link.”
“Chloe. What do you want?”
She glances down at her sparkly pink glitter nails and then slowly back up at me. “I wanted to say that I’m really sorry Gabe went back to LA and I hope he comes back soon. And not for me!” My eyebrows shoot up as her words rush out in a steady stream. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I swear, I’m not after him anymore. For you. I hope he comes back for you. You two make such a cute couple. So, that’s it. I hope you two can work it out.”
She shrugs, turns quickly, and saunters down the hall.
“Wow,” Amelia says as she walks up beside me. “Did that really happen?”
I nod. “It did.”
She puts her arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Teddy wants to know if you want to come to the movies with us tonight. Five-dollar Monday.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out as more of a puff. “No, thanks.”
“Why not? The three of us used to go to the movies together all the time.”
“That was before you two won Cutest Couple.”
She scoffs. “The voting isn’t until March.”
“It’ll be a landslide.”
“The movie?” she prods.
I smile at my best friend. “I love you. You know that. But I think I’ll stay home and wallow in my misery.”
“Hey,” she says. “I’ve known you for a long time, Juniper. You’re super badass. I know it hurts and you miss him, but I know how strong you are. You’re going to get through this.”
The lyrics to “Juniper Blue” follow me wherever I go.
I muddle through another day at school, and during Marxen’s class—without Gabe—I come up with a plan. It’s not a sure thing, and it’s not a rom-com-level grand gesture, but it’s from my heart and that’s the best I can do. I stay up late, sitting at my desk with a sketchbook and a pail of bright, cheerful markers.
After Mom’s gone to bed, I snoop through her desk until I find Chris’s Venice Beach address in her planner. I stop by the post office on my way to school Wednesday. I drop my heart in the mailbox.
Chapter Forty-Five
GABE
LA is LA.
Nothing has changed here since I left. It’s as eclectic and electric as it’s ever been. The city moves at its same brisk, determined pace.
&
nbsp; I’m the one who’s stopped moving forward.
In my short time in Minnesota, in the cold and the clouds, Juniper burst into my life, a vibrant kaleidoscope, and filled my days with sunshine and color. She made me want to be better.
This isn’t better.
I didn’t think this through.
Now that I’m back in LA and away from that place, maybe I can figure out a way to get that money. The clock’s ticking.
Then again, fuck it. I’m tired. I’ll figure it out tomorrow.
Monday. I get up around noon, move to a lounger next to the pool, and fall asleep until midafternoon. I shuffle into the kitchen and sit down heavily on a stool at the breakfast bar. Chris, who I’ve avoided since he got back late last night, puts a plate of food in front of me. I eat a little, move the food around, and drink water to help alleviate the dehydration I feel after sleeping in the sun all day.
“Call her,” Chris says. “Let her explain. She knows about the architect now. Tell her about the recording studio. Tell her your plans.”
I shake my head. “The recording studio’s off. All the plans for the farm. They’re all off.”
“Like hell they are. The only thing that’s off around here is you. Snap out of it already and get your shit together, Gabe.”
“So nurturing of you in my time of crisis,” I mutter.
“I see your heartbreak is also messing with your head,” he says. “Don’t be stupid.”
I go back to bed.
I wake up, sweating and twisted in the sheets, gasping for breath.
“You good?” Chris is standing in the doorway. “I heard you yelling all the way in my office.”
“What—fuck. What did I say?”
“Couldn’t make out the words. I’m starting to worry here, Gabe. What can I do to help you through this?”
God, there it is again, echoes of “Juniper Blue.” I shake my head. “You can’t help me with this one,” I say.