Fuck it.
I dial. The phone takes a moment to connect, then I hear the ring. Three times and I’m about to give up when I hear the click, and a voice. “Country Mouse Farms.” Definitely not Lucy this time.
“Good morning. May I speak to Lucy, please?” My polite business self takes over, as if I’m sitting in my office, not standing in damp workout gear in my kitchen.
“She isn’t here right now,” the voice says. “My name is Alice. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Kitty,” I say. “I bought some fruit from Lucy the other day, and I was wondering if she still had some more blackberries available.”
“Oh!” The woman sounds surprised, yet happy. “We aren’t doing any deliveries today, since Lucy is at the Cochrane market this morning, but if you wanted to come out, you’re more than welcome. Do you know how to get here?” She rattles off directions, and I grab a scrap of paper and a pen, jotting down what I can. “We’ll be here all day,” she adds, “so don’t feel you have to rush.”
“Thank you very much. I’m not sure when I’ll get there.”
“We’re looking forward to seeing you.” I hear a voice in the background, and then Alice says good-bye and hangs up.
I set down my phone. My stomach is still churning, but it’s a different sort of nervousness now. The farm is an hour’s drive south, at least, and I should get moving soon. Time to have a shower.
Chapter Six
I get back to the farmhouse after doing an early morning stint at the Cochrane market just in time for lunch. Mama has made a soup, something hot and sour, and the scent makes my mouth water. Alice is sitting at the table, chatting with Mama while she stirs the soup.
“Ming Nhon, you are just in time,” Mama says. She opens the cupboard and takes out four soup bowls, setting them on the table. I notice now that Alice has set out four sets of soup spoons and napkins, and four glasses of water.
“Who’s coming over?” I don’t remember Mama saying anything about a guest. Mama doesn’t pay attention to my question but goes back to the soup, stirring and sniffing, and taking a taste. I turn to Alice. “Who?”
Before she can answer, I hear the wheels of a car crunching over the gravel driveway. I step out onto the porch and see a small hatchback car, one I don’t recognize. The sun glints off the windshield, and I can’t see the driver. The car stops and the driver kills the engine.
Then the driver steps out.
My heart skips a beat. Or at least, I’m pretty sure it does.
It’s Kitty.
She’s not wearing her skirt suit—she’s dressed in dark wash skinny jeans and a black T-shirt, but I can still recognize her. She’s utterly gorgeous. And why she’d be here…? I want to turn back, go inside and quiz Alice and Mama, but I don’t. I stand there on the porch and watch Kitty approach. It’s easy to admire her as she strolls up the drive, her hips swinging just a touch, her curves delectable. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head and smiles at me.
That smile.
I forget all words of greeting and barely even remember my own name. I can feel my cheeks heating, and my mouth is dry, my tongue tied. I shouldn’t be like this. I don’t ever get tongue-tied over a woman.
“Lucy!” Kitty smiles and waves and then mounts the stairs. I smile back, still not sure what to say. She’s here.
“Hi,” I stammer out. I sound like an idiot.
Kitty’s smile dims. “I’m not imposing, am I?” she asks worriedly. “The lady I spoke to on the phone said it was fine to come out to pick up some berries.”
“Of course it is,” I manage to say. “I just didn’t know you were coming.”
Kitty’s smile returns, even as she says, “I don’t want to be any bother.”
“No bother at all.” With every word, my equilibrium begins to return. “Come inside—Mama’s just made lunch, and I think you’re invited.” Without thinking, I reach out a hand. Kitty’s eyes widen, but she takes my hand, and I bring her into the house to meet Mama and Alice.
* * *
Lucy didn’t seem very excited to see me here on her doorstep. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. But then, Lucy puts out her hand, and I take it, and suddenly it all feels right again.
The farmhouse is all that I’d expected, yet different. We don’t take our shoes off at the door—rather, we walk down a hallway, the hardwood floors under our feet battered, the varnish starting to peel. There are pictures hung on the walls, some of them family photos, though they’re hard to see in the dim light, and others look like paintings, with Chinese characters at the corner. The hall opens into a large room, both kitchen and living room by the looks of it. It’s a classic country kitchen, with an L-shape of cabinets both high and low, and a large kitchen table with mismatched chairs around it. The living room side has two comfortable sofas, a coffee table, and a few side tables with lamps. There’s a fireplace, and a pair of beautiful hangings on either side.
My gaze comes back to the kitchen. An older Chinese woman is at the stove, stirring soup, her glasses fogging slightly as she bends over the pot. Another woman, probably the one I spoke to, sits at the kitchen table, in front of a place setting. She smiles at me warmly, and I feel a bit more of my confidence returning.
“You must be Kitty,” she says, rising slowly. “I’m Alice.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I let go of Lucy’s hand—albeit reluctantly—and go to shake Alice’s hand.
“And over there is Michelle, Lucy’s mother. She’s the best chef in miles.”
“Hello, Kitty,” Michelle says. “Come sit down. Lunch is ready.” She pours the soup into a large tureen and Lucy lifts it and takes it to the table.
“Come, sit here,” Alice says, indicating the seat across from her. “I hope you like hot and sour soup. Michelle makes the best.”
“Because you have been sick,” Michelle replies as she brings over a large soup ladle to place into the tureen. She turns back to the counter as I seat myself. Lucy pulls out the chair next to me and settles in. We share a brief smile, and I feel Lucy’s foot next to mine under the table.
The soup is passed, and it smells delicious. I ladle out a generous portion for myself, and Lucy’s mom places a plate of buns on the table, and some butter. My stomach growls, and I flush.
“Eat up,” Michelle urges. “You are hungry. And after, Lucy can show you the farm. She told us how you love the blackberries, and I think we still have some left.”
I take a spoonful of the soup, and it is quite possibly the best soup I have ever tasted. I don’t even have words. It has beef in it, and vegetables, and other things I don’t recognize. The flavor of it feels like it burns my tongue, yet it invokes a sort of craving, and I feel like I could eat a lot more.
“This is amazing.”
“Have a bun—it’ll help cool your mouth down,” Lucy says, passing me the plate. I take a bun and place it at the side of the bowl.
“I’ll give you the recipe,” Michelle says. “It is very easy to make. Then you can make it for Lucy.”
Oh. I know my cheeks are warming now, and maybe I can blame it on the spiciness of the soup.
“Mama,” Lucy chides, and she looks down at the table, not meeting anyone’s gaze. I wonder if she’s embarrassed by me, or just generally embarrassed. I’m starting to guess that she’s queer, and it seems like her mother and friend also know. What did she say about me to them?
“I’m just being helpful, Ming Nhon,” Michelle says.
“Lucy doesn’t often have visitors,” Alice adds helpfully.
“I do so,” Lucy retorts, though quietly.
I rest my free hand on her leg, under the table, out of the way of prying gazes. She rests her hand on mine and squeezes lightly.
“Not often,” Michelle says. She turns to me. “So we are very happy to meet you, Kitty.”
I can feel the awkwardness radiating off Lucy, and it does suddenly seem that she’s younger than her y
ears. I remember my parents behaving similarly whenever I had a boy over, before I told them that I liked girls.
“I’m glad to meet you all too,” I say. “I must admit, though, I’ve never been on a farm before. This is all very new to me.” I hope my interest pleases them, that I’m not just some silly city girl. I feel completely out of my element, but I need to push through.
“I can show you around after lunch,” Lucy says, and it seems that she is happy to have the conversation directed away from her. I’m glad to oblige if it makes her happy. “We have greenhouses and fields, and though we don’t raise animals, we have a few around the place.”
“My dogs, mostly,” Alice adds. “Goldie and Max spend more time here than at home.” She laughs and Lucy smiles.
“They’re sweethearts,” she says.
“I’d love to see everything,” I reply.
“Then you will,” Lucy says. She turns and smiles at me, and for a moment I feel like we’re the only two people in the room.
* * *
I’ve never been so glad to have a meal over with. Kitty’s charming and kind to Mama and Alice, but I know they are watching both of us, knowing that I’m interested in her, and just maybe, she’s interested in me too. I don’t know if they’ll try to play matchmaker, or at least not any more than they already have. It’s like being a kid again, having your every move dictated, or at least observed.
We take our bowls to the sink, and I lead Kitty outside, away from the matchmakers. “I’m sorry they’re so nosy,” I say.
“It’s sweet,” Kitty says. “And it’s lovely that they’re so supportive of you. My parents aren’t quite like that, I’m afraid. They keep thinking this is a phase for me.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s been the longest phase. I knew years before I told anyone.”
“Me too. Mama figured it out before I could tell her, but she’s never minded. And neither did Alice. I’ve known her since I was a kid. She’s always helped us on the farm, even back when my father was with us.”
Kitty turns solemn. “I’m sorry that you’ve lost him.”
“It was a long time ago,” I say. “Heart attack.”
“Still, it’s hard to lose someone, especially close family.”
I can only nod. My dad was as dedicated a farmer as there ever was, and there’s always a twinge of sadness when I think about him.
“Oh my God, what is that?” Kitty has wandered ahead of me, and she’s stopped at the greenhouse door, looking up at a metal hummingbird that hangs above it, one of my creations.
“It’s a hummingbird,” I reply.
Kitty turns to me. “I can see that,” she says, sounding amused yet annoyed. “But who made it, and how? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I step past her and pull open the door of the greenhouse, feeling suddenly shy.
“Me, but it’s no big deal.” I move into the greenhouse, into the warmth and the smell of dirt and plants and fruit and deliciousness. The hummingbird was an experiment, and I’m still not entirely happy with it. It feels clunky to me, not delicate enough to evoke a real hummingbird.
“No big deal?” Kitty echoes as she follows. “I had no idea you were a sculptor too.”
I turn back to her, shrug. “It’s not very good.”
Kitty’s mouth drops open. Somehow she’s even more beautiful to me when she looks so surprised. Her brilliant eyes widen, and there’s a hint of color over her cheekbones.
“It is so.”
“Is not.” I can’t help the reply, partly true and partly impish. I’m not comfortable with Kitty being so focused on me, just me. I’m not used to it, not used to being anyone’s center of attention. I’ve always been able to slide into the background.
“Is too.” Kitty sticks her tongue out. “People would kill for the kind of talent you have,” she says. “Trust me on that.” She glances back toward the hummingbird.
“It’s a hobby,” I finally say, walking into the cluster of blackberry bushes that are nearly picked bare. “Just that. The farm is the real work.”
Kitty catches up to me. “It’s just as impressive,” she says, but as I’d planned, she gets distracted by the blackberries and our discussion changes direction. “Is that the rest?”
“That’s definitely it for this season,” I remark. I pull a small stack of punnets from a cubby nearby. “Want to help me pick the rest? Then we can have some, and you can take some home too.”
Kitty takes a punnet from me and starts picking. “You know, I’ve never gotten to pick berries before,” she says. “My parents aren’t really outdoorsy people. Lots of big trips, Europe and stuff, but never anywhere farm-like. And no camping, at least not as a family. Too dirty, my mom always said.” She rolls her eyes. “I would have loved a weekend camping trip instead of piano lessons. I did get a week of camp one year, though.”
“You could camp here. We have a long stretch of fields, and there’s a little coulee with a stream and a few trees.” I used to hang out there a lot as a kid, when I needed some time alone. No one’s ever been there with me. I’m surprised at myself for offering this to her, when I’ve never offered it to anyone else. Not even Mama, not Dad, not Alice. Not any school friends, not that I had many. It’s my special quiet spot.
I want to take back the invitation, wondering at my own easy comfort with Kitty, especially when we hardly know each other. These days, I have many casual acquaintances, mostly customers of the farmers’ market, but this is different. She’s different. I can’t quite pin down exactly why.
Kitty sets down one full punnet and starts on a second. I’ve barely come close to filling mine. “I’d probably drive you nuts. I’m a city girl, through and through. I’d be awake all night wondering if a bear was going to come into the tent.”
I chuckle. “Not too many bears around here, at least not often. You’d be more likely to have a coyote visit you. Anvil optional.”
Kitty laughs, a real belly laugh, one where her head falls back. “We’d best bring ourselves a roadrunner, then,” she quips. “Know where to get one?”
“Acme?”
An image pops into my mind of a metal roadrunner, its feathers made of blades from that old combine out back, the one I’ve been scavenging from for my current work-in-progress, in the larger outbuilding. I can see it now—the blades, and using other scrap to curve around, make a body. An old steel pipe for the neck.
“What are you thinking?” Kitty pops me out of my reverie.
“A roadrunner,” I reply. “Out of scrap.”
“I’d love to see that,” she says. “We could make it our camp guardian.”
“It’d scare off the coyotes.”
Kitty laughs. “I hope so.”
I can’t get it out of my head now. Kitty and me. Camping. Sharing a tent. Sharing…more?
Chapter Seven
Lucy’s cheeks are a bit flushed, and I wonder why, because I’m pretty sure a metal roadrunner sculpture is not what’s doing that. I know that my own flush isn’t about a sculpture. Or about perimenopausal hot flashes. I’m not quite at that point at thirty-eight. I know what’s causing it, and I hope that’s what’s affecting Lucy too.
Her proximity, her movements, her very being is tantalizing to me. I want to touch her, I want to kiss her, I want…I want her to want me too. I want to be certain.
But of course, nothing is certain. Even law isn’t certain, but I can always make an argument. Is that what I need here? An argument? A way to convince Lucy to take a chance on me?
I turn back to the berries and top up my second punnet. The bushes are nearly picked clean, and I know that’s going to be it for blackberries for a long while. I turn my head, ready to say as much to Lucy, and she’s right there, barely a step away. I didn’t even hear her approach.
“Almost done,” I manage to stutter out. Barely. My voice is uncharacteristically rough, and my throat feels tight.
“There’s not much left,” Lucy agrees, but it’s a distracted reply. She reaches u
p, her hand slightly dusty with dirt and work-roughened, and her fingers hover a hairbreadth from my cheek. Her gaze meets mine, her dark eyes uncertain. I know my eyes mirror hers; I’m not certain either.
But there’s one thing I’m becoming certain of. This proximity, this brief second, needs just a little push. And I can push.
I turn my cheek just enough that it brushes her fingers, and I lean into her touch. Her hand is warm, and her fingertips aren’t as soft as mine, but it’s just about perfect. She strokes her thumb over my cheekbone, and our gazes meet. The uncertainty is gone, and I can feel her breath on my face, a delicate caress over my skin that gives me tiny goose bumps. I lean into her touch even more, closing my eyes, taking a deep breath of her scent, of the greenhouse.
And then…her lips brush mine, tentative, gentle.
My eyes open and I step forward, melding our bodies into one, returning her kiss, deepening it. And she responds, her hand at my hip, keeping me there, the hand once on my cheek now sliding under my hair to the back of my neck. A statement if there ever was one, a possession. Our tongues are tangling, our mouths together, our chests and hips aligned. I don’t want anything but her, anything but this moment, us here together. Everything else has faded.
I feel the tug on my shirt, then her hand under the hem, skating up my back, splaying between my shoulder blades, pressing me closer still. For someone so quiet, she’s taken control, directing me, commanding me, and it makes me weak in the knees. I cling to her, my hands at her waist, fingers through the loops of her jeans, as she ravishes my mouth. This is so much, yet not enough. I need more.
Lucy seems to know somehow, to sense my need, my desperation, my arousal. I feel her fingers now on my belly, then at the button of my jeans, then at the zipper, drawing it downward. Her mouth leaves mine, and we’re both panting, breathless.
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