“Right, so it’s hard for me to say…what I want to say…because of that friendship…and not wanting to ruin it, because you know Dessy, I don’t want to lose you, but I think…” Jack’s brows furrow, glancing over my shoulder. Before his eyes widen in horror. “Alpaca!” he shouts, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me to the side. A gust of wind slaps my cheeks as a charging alpaca speeds by on my right.
“What the—”
“Oh shit. Oh my god. No.” Jack releases his grip on me and busts out into a full sprint toward the petting zoo.
I spin around, watching him careen past a picket fence and a door flapping in the wind.
In the pen, where sheep, alpacas, goats, and pigs usually stay, two little boys are on all fours “baaing.” Farm animals scatter in every direction. Lucy and Mrs. Parker scramble like herd dogs, trying to shoo the animals back into the pen.
Sprinting down the hill toward the swath of animals that have escaped the farthest, Jack’s words before he bolted play in my mind. He doesn’t want to ruin our friendship, but that could mean two things. I don’t know if the two terrors just saved me from an unfortunate letdown where Jack wanted to tell me we’re friends and nothing more, or possibly from hearing everything I’ve ever wanted.
Chances are, the former.
But for some reason, I can’t convince my heart the latter is impossible.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Aulie Desfleurs
Play:Remember (Walkin’ in the Sand)—The Oh No Song by the Shangri-Las
“Happy Birthday!” Emy’s cheery voice greets me as I blink the heavy sleep from my eyes.
Is she in the kitchen? Cooking? Am I still dreaming?
“Thank you,” I croak, clearing my throat and shuffling into the kitchen. A giant yawn passes through me, and I stretch my limbs, still fatigued.
Even though I haven’t slept well in six months, a special weariness falls on my shoulders after the second weekend of the fair—ourEmmaweekend, which had a smaller cast and ran smoothly, thankfully. But it still feels like running a marathon, and I’m in the middle of the race where the excitement of the beginning has worn off, but the end,Persuasionin November, isn’t in sight.
We still haveSense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park,andNorthanger Abbeyto go through first.
Food trucks rotate through every week, and as an over month-long weekend event, some of the carnival elements change too, so there’s always some kind of coordination needed, always something to stay on top of.
The smell of blueberries and flour hit my nostrils. “What are you doing?” I ask, peeking over Emy’s shoulder. An uneven glob of lumpy batter slowly bubbles in an overly-greased frying pan. I hide my wince. “Are thosepancakes?”
“An attempt at pancakes, anyway.” She frowns.
“I accept attempts.” I smile. “Thank you. You’re the best.”
Since I was little, blueberry pancakes for my birthday have been a Desfleurs household staple. I didn’t know how I’d do waking up today with them, withouther.It’s my first birthday, without my Memere. But with Emy, Gus, and begrudgingly Jack, I still have so many people to be thankful for.
Even when they’re massacring a perfectly good pancake.
With incredible stealth, I try to slip the spatula out of Emy’s hand, but she bats me away.
“Get out of here!”
“But I can fix this.”
“No, absolutely not. You will eat my subpar food, and you will like it,” she says, pointing an accusatory spatula in my face. “Now go sit on the stool and open your present.”
In my slippers, I shuffle over to one of our rickety counter stools that are just about as old as this house.
“Pancakesanda present, my goodness. You’re spoiling me.” I pick up the pink unicorn gift bag that Emy and I have been using for each other for the past few years. What’s the point of buying another one when this one has sparkles?
My heart warms a smidge.
The only expectation I had for today was to stay in my pajamas, a pair of plaid flannel pants and the Sublime sweatshirt that Jack gave me the night he found me on his campus. It’s the comfiest thing I own, and I refuse to leave its confines today.
