by Jessica Park
“Okay, well, that’s pretty cool.”
“And, like, when were kids, we’re taught, what? Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple? As if there were no other colors? What about chiffon? Boysenberry? Parakeet? Pear? Artichoke? Those are colors that deserve attention. And colors that conjure up meaning and emotion, you know?” Before I can respond, he has out the door. “Coming? We have to stop down here because even this truck doesn’t always make it up this insane driveway.”
I’m frozen with Shallots in an accidental vise grip. When I glance up, I do see that the walk up this hill is insanely steep, but I also see that it leads to a huge farmhouse and barn, both of which I’m dying to see.
“Eggs, right? You need ’em, Wake’s got ’em. More specifically, Mary Ann’s got ‘em.” He’s opened my door, and his jovial and relaxing tone coaxes me and Shallots from the truck.
As we head up the path to the house, a melodious voice calls out, “Ohhh, Danny boy! Danny boooooooyyy,” which makes us both laugh.
His blush does not elude me. “And that would be Mary Ann.”
Dark curls are the first thing I see when Mary Ann emerges from behind the slope of the driveway, and the hug Danny gives her upon our arrival tells me that I should probably friend-zone him hard. Which is fine. I was obviously going to do that anyway …
“You must be Callie! So happy to have you out to our farm. Ready to get your feet smelly and see what we have going on?”
“I am. Looking forward to it. It seems this is the place to find eggs?”
As she leads us ahead, she turns back and laughs. “And so much more.”
My feet trudge through the muddy road, and I love it. LA’s concrete is hard and unforgiving, and the feel of my feet sinking a bit into the earth is incredible. Healing.
“So, what do you want to see? Or do you only want to snag eggs?”
We reach the top of the ridge, and I try to take in the main ranch house, the barn that screams of authenticity and restoration, the fields, the raised beds full of young crops, the fences that house animals. It’s impossible not to grin from ear to ear.
“I want to see it all.”
Mary Ann winks. “I knew I’d like you.”
While Shallots naps in the shade, my tour is the bliss that I never knew I wanted. I run my hands through sheep wool, watch goats dance about when teased with food, laugh when llamas run our way in search of treats, and lose my mind over the chicken coop. Little did I know that chickens could be so damn pretty or that they could sport so many feathered hairstyles and bright markings.
“We built this cool chicken run that encases the vegetables and flowers. The chickens eat ticks and other bugs that would destroy vegetation,” she explains proudly. “Danny is the one who did the actual building of said chicken run and the coop.”
“Well, I think it’s genius. And the coop is an architectural feat!” I look through the windows and admire the tiny shutters. “Like an actual house. Schroeder,” I say as I nudge him, “now, I’m not worried about you working on a human’s house!”
Mary Ann laughs hard. “He’s handy when he needs to be.”
“Okay, you two are very funny.” Then, Danny touches a hand to Mary Ann’s shoulder and adds, “FYI, so you know, every animal here is a rescue.”
“What?” I ask with surprise. “That’s incredible.”
“It’s true,” she says. “My grandparents have only rescues here. You might have noticed a few three-legged goats, blind cows, and such. They’re all pets really. Although we do shear the sheep and llamas for their wool. And milk the goats. We keep the place running by selling the wool, milk, and other produce and crops. Wait until the corn comes into the fields this summer. The fresh crispness will blow your head off!”
After I’m fully and blissfully covered in animal smells and Mary Ann has answered my countless questions about farm life, we are seated at a table off the kitchen, and I dig into the food she laid out—goat cheese, olives, pâté, assorted charcuterie, roasted peppers, fresh bread, and fruit.
“This is so nice of you,” I say. “Totally not necessary, but it’s all delicious.” I snag another piece of salami and have to stop myself from audibly groaning. “The flavor is so strong. Is it from a shop in Wake?”
She nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, you’ll have to go! There’s an awesome cheese and wine shop, and I’ll take you in and introduce you to the owner. If you buddy up to him, you get a lot of free samples. Danny doesn’t go in often with me because he doesn’t drink wine.”
He rolls his eyes and dips a chunk of French bread into a glass jar of herbed oil. “I’m sure Callie’s shocked. Do I look like a wine drinker? Or a specialty-shop goer?”
“Or someone who eats fruit?” She shoves a piece of cantaloupe in his direction, which he takes and feeds to his beloved basset hound, who has been patiently waiting under the table. “Yeah, yeah. You and your boring beer. Do you drink wine?” she asks me.
I pause. “Uh, I recently made the switch.”
“Good,” she says brightly. “Maybe you can get Danny to appreciate that there’s something to be said for a complex cabernet. Or a bright, citrusy pinot grigio.”
“Basic beer and I work well together.” He shoves her playfully.
“God, you and your cheap shit.” She starts to clear the table, refusing my help, and asks how many eggs I want. Mary Ann waves to two empty cartons in front of me. “You can collect them yourself right from the nest. I’ve been doing it for ages, but I still get a kick out of it.”
“It is pretty cool,” Danny agrees.
“Well, I don’t want to be greedy. Two dozen rather seems like a lot—”
“Who cares?! We’ll fill ’em up!” Mary Ann says.
“I am hoping to learn to cook, and I thought I’d start with scrambled eggs,” I admit. “If I’m super brave, an omelet.”
“Don’t look so sheepish. Seriously, I can’t cook a thing,” she admits with a smile. “I tend to live on snacks, as you saw. And this Danny guy is worse than I am. A fridge full of frozen food. Hardly a royal palate. So, take as many eggs as you want, and maybe you can feed us.”
“Ha! Don’t get your hopes up. It’s been nothing but takeout health food for years in my house. Lots of grains and dried fruits.”
Danny visibly cringes.
“I’m with you,” I agree as we begin heading back to the chicken coop. The only trendy health food thing I truly like is avocado toast.”
“What the fuck is avocado toast?” Danny asks. “That sounds rude.”
“Danny, shut up!” Mary Ann snaps affectionately. “You’re rude! It might be wonderful.”
I laugh. “It’s fine. And surprisingly tasty. Maybe I’ll learn to make it and prove that it can be delicious.”
“You’re on. What are the odds that you get me to like avocado toast and wine?” His dare comes with a giant grin.
“Well, slim,” I admit. “But I’m not opposed to a challenge.”
“My money’s on Callie.” Mary Ann unlocks the coop. “Okay, girl. Go nuts! I’m waiting on omelets!”
They were both right about collecting eggs; it’s damn charming. She insists that I take a full two dozen, and while I’m navigating chickens and their nests and laughing, she explains that I don’t have to refrigerate these eggs, not like with store-bought ones. My horrified expression causes her to giggle.
“No, seriously. Trust me.”
It sounds like a surefire way to get food poisoning, but I nod politely.
Danny nudges me. “Okay, egg lady, we should run. Paul has me painting the Ryans’ cottage before they get back for the summer.”
Before I can say a word, Mary Ann’s got me in a vise hug. If she doesn’t break a rib, I’ll be lucky. “I’m so happy you came out. Okay, I know you don’t know me because I wasn’t here when you were.” The hug softens after I tense, and she whispers in my ear, “I don’t have many female friends in this town, so I’m hoping we can stick together. Everyone is t
alking about you being back, and it’s got to be a lot. I came to Wake to help my grandparents with their farm, and I know how it can be a rough move. City girl becomes country girl kind of shit. In your case, becomes country girl again. Let me know if I can help. And you’ll stay for Wakefest, right?”
While I don’t know what Wakefest is and I hate to tell her that I’m only here for a short while, she’s so damn sweet that I hug her back warmly. “Thank you for today. It’s exactly what I needed.”
After a final squeeze, she spreads her arms in Danny’s direction. “Come here, my love. Give your girl a good-bye and promise to come around more. My grandparents would kill to see you soon.”
He swoops in and throws an arm around her waist before dipping her backward and zealously blowing raspberries against her neck and collarbone, causing her to erupt in laughter.
“Daniel … Schroeder!” she manages between squeals. “Fuck the hell off!”
When he’s done having his fun, he sets her upright. “Thanks for the eats and treats, milady.”
“Asshole,” she says in return, but I catch her smile before she turns. “I’ll get your number and call you, Callie! And maybe that idiot who is driving you.” She kisses Shallots before gently nudging him to follow us.
My eyes shut on the drive home, as I’m utterly lost in the day. And lost in the thought of how happy I am, of how I’m happier than I’ve been in months. Years.
Danny cranks up the radio, saying nothing and letting me be, as though he knows I need a minute. Then, very briefly, he pats my leg. The only thing he says is, “Jesus. Avocado toast. Thank God you’re back where you belong.”
eleven
The next morning, a loud text from Mary Ann makes me nuzzle against my pillow with a bit of irritation, but I end up smiling.
You’re coming out drinking with me and Danny and the guys tonight! I need a girl, LOL. Save me from the testosterone!
While still under the sheets and waking and after I Google how to make scrambled eggs and omelets, I send my positive reply that I’m in.
Surprisingly, there’s also a text from my sister.
Where are my pics? Is the house as funky as I remember? LOL! That weird, tiny kitchen, right?
I can’t argue with her on that.
Oh, yeah. It’s as small as ever! The whole place needs a major overhaul. But the lake is still awesome.
After I crawl from bed and head downstairs, I snap a photo of the morning sun over the lake for her and then go back to my searching.
Even I know that scrambled eggs have the potential to be dry and congealed, so it seems like a basic cooking skill that I could pull off without too much training.
I hope.
After a coffee and two icy glasses of orange juice, I whisk up eggs and a bit of cream and toss the mix into a sauté pan that’s sizzling with butter. I stare at the recipe video that I’m trusting, and I let the eggs sit over medium heat before stirring. This old gas stove might be ugly as hell, but it still works. After I swirl my spatula, as instructed, leaving the eggs semisoft and glistening, I follow the instructions to remove the eggs before they’re fully set even though I’m creeped out about salmonella.
But I brave my worries and scrape my eggs onto a plate to try a bite.
Holy hell, these are insanely awesome. All fluffy and flavorful. So simple and so wonderful.
What in the hell? Who knew scrambled eggs could be so good? Or good at all?
I’ve only had hotel eggs or dry restaurant crap, and this is nothing like I’ve tasted. God, such a simple dish can be satisfying in so many ways. Who knew? Oh, well, all the French chefs everywhere.
I want more.
After fifteen minutes of studying omelet videos, I take on my next challenge—a ham and cheese omelet. My shaking and flipping of pans land terrible results. Yet I do this five times over.
Crap.
Scary-looking messes are my skill, it seems, but I learn a little with each mishap.
So, I go again until finally, I get an okay result. Thank you, Chef Jacques Pépin!
Then, I quickly search Amazon and order a true omelet pan.
Right when I am celebrating my eggs, my mom calls, and as much as I have no desire to chat with her, I feel obliged to take her call.
“Hi, Mom.”
“How are things? Any plans figured out?”
“Well, I’ve been here for half a minute, but it’s all right. Weird to be back home. Danny is coming over soon to walk through the house, but even I know there’s a lot to be fixed.”
“Who is Danny?” she asks. “Where is Paul?”
“Danny Schroeder. He was at our house all the time. He works for Paul and is going to do the initial survey of the house. Calm down.”
“Oh.” She softens a bit, and I hear her take a sweet breath. “I remember him. Of course I do. He and your dad spent a ton of time together.”
“That must be why I’m so comfortable with him.”
She pauses and then says with true feeling, “He’s kind of like family. He is family. I guess I just forgot.” After a long silence, she asks, “We have to talk about the house and what really needs to be done.”
“I’m no expert, but I think there’s a lot to do for resale. Not merely repairs, but upgrades. The kitchen and the bathrooms are a wreck. The living room is dank. Someone could easily die on our dock.” Fuck, this omelet is insane. I’m a goddess. Okay, not really, but it’s a win for me. “Someone’s at the door.” A white lie isn’t going to kill anyone. “Gotta go. I’ll text you when I know more. Talk to you soon.”
I make myself a second omelet to prove to myself that I can do it. Generally, omelets look complicated and irritatingly frustrating, but I have cooked something that’s not burned or otherwise gross. That is truly delectable.
This is winning,
When I hear Danny’s truck pull up to the house, and I whip open the front door to see that the early evening light casts a beautiful glow on this beautiful boy, his tool belt in hand and his undeniable masculinity rushing in my direction. I’m a sucker for such a hot view.
Shallots rushes ahead, gives a solid shake, and throws water everywhere.
“Sorry. He took a small trip to the lake before I could stop him. He doesn’t swim, but he likes a dip.”
I laugh. “I should probably follow his lead. I haven’t had a real swim yet either.”
Danny claps a hand over his heart and feigns collapsing from this news. “What? My God!”
“I will, I will. But brace yourself because I have huge news.”
“That ridiculous BMW has been picked up, and you are driving a real car?”
“Funny, funny.” It’s hard not to jump up and down, but I control myself. “I made scrambled eggs. And omelets.” It’s as though I’m making some kind of weird confession. “And they were not gross. I did it.”
“Let’s hear it for eggs!” His confused high five and beaming smile are everything.
It was silly to mention the eggs and too sweet that he cheered me on the way he did.
As he steps in farther and looks around, he says tactfully, “Oh. I haven’t been here in a while. This kitchen is … unique.”
“I know. I didn’t think anything of it when I was a kid, but it’s weird, I agree. Blame it on my grandfather. But, yeah, it’s a wreck.”
Danny shrugs. “Well, I still want an omelet, no matter the kitchen. Show me what you can do, girl!” He takes off his tool belt and rolls up his sleeves. “Let’s go for it!”
So, I do. I go for it. Now that I have an audience and someone who is going to eat something that I’m cooking, I’m a bit nervous. But I plow ahead and literally hide behind my hands when I serve him. My back is toward him while I listen to him eat. The sound of the fork clinking against the plate is moderately reassuring, but it’s only when I turn around that I find relief.
Danny lifts his empty plate. “For real? That was fantastic. Seriously fantastic. Shitty kitchen or not, you did it.”
> It takes everything for me not to go all wildly giddy and bear-hug him. I cooked well, and I fed someone, and I made him happy. This success feels stupidly huge, but I refuse to tear up while I rinse his plate.
“Mary Ann says you’re coming out to the bar tonight, right?” he asks.
“If that’s okay, yeah.”
“Of course! Okay, walk me through this house, Chef,” he says. “I’ve seen the kitchen, so I want to see what’s next.”
“Oh, this should be fun.” The momentary high I got from my mild cooking success is going to end.
And it does.
If it wasn’t so horrifying, I’d laugh at how many times Danny tries to suppress his sharp inhales or cut off his groans as he makes notes. Tiles. Stairs. Windows. Roof. Walls. Bathroom. Laundry. Porch. Dock.
Apparently, I’ve turned green during this house tour because Danny puts an arm over my shoulders. “Yeah, it’s a lot, but it’s totally doable. And I’ll talk to Paul, but I think the house is sound. You’re probably not looking at structural shit. And I don’t think a lot of hidden costs, okay? Purely work ahead. Updating. A bunch of design choices. Paul is going to come out tomorrow, late morning, but he wanted me to take a first look.”
All I can think about is how my mom is going to freak the hell out.
Danny’s arm is still around me, and that’s likely the only reason I don’t fall apart about the state of this house.
When we leave, Shallots trots out my front door, not a care in the world, but Danny halts. “Oh. Damn. I just realized that I didn’t plan very well, and I can’t leave my dog in my truck all night. Any chance he can stay here for a few hours?”
“Of course.” I smile as I hop into Danny’s truck.
He opens the door and pauses. “Wait, are you sure you don’t want to take that sexy Beemer? I mean, it’s made for Vermont back roads, and—”
“Funny, funny. I know, it’s embarrassing. I’ll have it picked up in a few days.” I slink into the seat. “Pretend you never saw it.”
“Well, if you insist. I’ve always wanted to ride in a leather seat with needless technological options. How the fuck are we going to know the weather in Madrid right now? But whatever.” His pretend disappointed sigh as he gets behind the truck’s wheel makes me laugh.