As I was straightening the confetti-patterned tablecloth on the first picnic table, I saw Mark approaching from the corner of my eye. It was chilly this mid-September morning, and he wore a dark green flannel over his Judd’s Orchard tee shirt. He’d skipped the ball cap today, and I could see that his dark blond hair was freshly trimmed. Those blue-gray eyes zeroed in on me, and I forced myself to take a centering breath as I tugged the plastic tablecloth into place.
Mark and I hadn’t spoken since the Orchard Festival’s Sunday afternoon street fair last week. We’d both been busy with our respective duties this week. September was the most hectic time of year on an apple farm. Most of our varieties were ripe and ready for harvest. And there was the fact that I’d been avoiding him just a little bit.
But I couldn’t really avoid him now.
“Hey,” Mark said, voice rough with the memory of sleep. “I saw you had a party on the schedule. Thought I’d come help set up.”
“Oh, thank you.”
I didn’t really know how to feel about that, but I did know I was tired of the strained conversation and my cowardly desire to hide out and avoid thinking about Mark and his lips and his lips in proximity to my sister. I needed to do something about this so we could move forward. He was clearly trying to put us back on solidco-workerground. I needed to buck up and do the same.
“How many are coming?” he asked, eyeing the stack of baskets I had ready to go.
“Thirteen kids and their corresponding adults. Won’t be too bad.”
He started placing the balloon weights equidistant down the center of the long table. I used them to keep the tablecloths from flapping in the wind or flying away altogether. “Saw it was Ellie Dorsey’s son’s party.”
I frowned. “The grandmother did all the communicating with me. I didn’t realize.”
Before I could comment further, Mark grinned. “I don’t know if you remember, but she was in our grade. Star basketball player. Red hair. Ringing any bells?”
I whipped a paper plate at him like a Frisbee, and he laughed, catching it against his chest.
Grinning back, I asserted, “Yes, I remember Ellie.” We’d been on the debate team together. I didn’t realize she had a son though.
If Mark was back to giving me shit over forgetting high school classmates, then maybe this awkwardness over almost kissing wouldn’t last forever. Perhaps we were on the other side of it.
“I can’t believe Ellie has a five-year-old. That feels wild for someone our age.” I froze, realizing what I’d said, unsure how Mark would take it.Hehad a child who was at least a few years old.
But he didn’t react visibly or stiffen up the way I half expected. He just kept setting down cups decorated with apple-shaped polka dots at each place setting. “Yeah, I think her parents helped out a lot when her son was born.”
“Back in New York, my friends would have thought it was crazy to have a baby before you were thirty-five. They used to joke that I practically wanted to be a child bride.”
I didn’t know why but heat was creeping up my neck at the admission and how callous it sounded. It didn’t paint my friends—acquaintances and co-workers, really—in a very good light.
Mark looked up. “Were you engaged or something?”
It was one of the things that always made me feel out of place. People I’d interned with, or gone through graduate school alongside, could never understand why I wanted to start a family in the early stages of my career. After a while, I stopped telling people. It set me apart and made me feel like I didn’t fit in. The country bumpkin with rural inclinations showing through her dressed-up city-girl costume. In reality, I was probably lonely and desperate for a semblance of family and the constancy of a committed, monogamous relationship.
But dating was hard in the city without putting your expectations out there from the get-go. I hadn’t been in the market for a good time or something short-term.
That was part of the reason I’d been so disappointed by Emerson’s deception. I’d thought there was good potential for a future with him. I’d assumed we were going somewhere. He was nearly thirty-six years old, after all. Turned out he was interested in having kids, just not particularly committed to keeping his marriage vows.
I pushed away the disgust I still felt at my horrible judgment.
“No,” I said as I focused on my work and not on Mark watching me. “My friends just knew I wanted kids. There’s a five-year plan in my notebook and everything. A family is on there.”
When I risked a glance, Mark was frowning down at the stack of red napkins he held. I didn’t know what I could have said that had him making that face, but I really wanted to stop talking about this and stop thinking about how far behind I was on that five-year plan.
“We have ten more parties booked for the season,” I told Mark, moving over to decorate the final picnic table.
He moved with me, taking the other end of the tablecloth to spread it wide. “That’s really great.”
“It got me thinking about interest in educational tours and field trips for local schools. Depending on the grade level and group size, we could offer short, informative talks. You know, the life cycle of the apple, types of apples, bees and the importance of pollinators, that sort of thing. And then the kids could jump on the bounce pillow and pick apples to take home to their families.”
Mark had paused partway through my speech. Now, he rushed to smooth the edge of the plastic tablecloth down. “That would be a good plan to implement in the future. I imagine it’s too late to set something like that up this season, but maybe next year, if we find the right person interested in leading it.”
I nodded, but his words caused something to twist uncomfortably in my belly. I didn’t want someone else assuming the role of educator at the orchard. These strange proprietary feelings were unexpected. I was honestly jealous of this nameless, faceless person implementing my plan, which was just as irrational as it was ridiculous. I wouldn’t be here next year. Of course, it couldn’t be me. Iwas working the farm this season—now. It was selfish to want the role for myself when I knew I couldn’t keep it.
