Fantastic feels generous. I can think of other F words for his farm.
Mom clears her throat. “You could still re-enroll next semester. Talk to your advisor?—”
“Mom,” I groan, rubbing slow circles into my temples, “please.” A headache blooms right behind my eyes.Just swell.
“Then take this time to think about what you want to do with the rest of your life.”
Yeah, sure. I’ll figure out my entire future while hauling hay and scraping pumpkin guts off folding tables.
Jeepers, Farmer Fred. This hay bale unlocked my destiny. Ever thought about pivoting to a wellness retreat? The global retreat market’s projected to exceed 360 billion by 2032.
Maybe I should go into marketing?
Or business?
Nope. Hard pass.
Mom softens. “I just want the best for you, Valerie.”
So do I. “Shouldn’t the best thing for me also make me happy?”
She doesn’t answer. The car fills with the scents of pumpkin-spice coffee and disappointment. They go together weirdly well.
I shove my earbud back in and let the music swallow the tension in the air. The cornfields become my only company, mile after mile of rustling stalks and yellowing leaves.
My thoughts loop with every passing row.
What am I going to do?
What am I going to do?
WHAT. AM. I. GOING. TO. DO?
TWO
HELP ME, SHANIA.
SHAUN
Drew’s truckrattles down the back road like every bolt’s begging for mercy. The cab shakes with each pothole, dust slipping through the cracked vents and settling on my jeans. The radio coughs out static before Shania Twain explodes through the speakers.
Drew lights up like someone flipped his switch. He smacks the steering wheel in rhythm, shoulders bouncing. “Man! Ilovethis song!”
He butchers the first line without hesitation.
I press my forehead to the window. “You sound like Mrs. Lewellen belting ABBA during an English test.” Off pitch and super distracting.
He belts louder and flips me off without missing a beat.
Sometimes I wish I could be like Drew.
Carefree. Rooted. Solid in his own skin.
He sits there in his faded red farm shirt, the one with the cartoon tractor bed full of corn, smelling like dirt and cheap body spray. Blond hair sticking up in every direction, a grincarved into his face like nothing in the world could knock it loose. Even when he hits a note so bad the rearview mirror buzzes, he doesn’t blink.
I shut my eyes. Pointless. Drew could out-sing a tornado siren.
“You know you love me,” he croons before jumping into the next line.
