Acouple of weeks passed by, mostly uneventful, though their shared lunches had started to take a pleasant turn. Rowan looked up from her book, of course not to watch the sway of Juniper’s hips, just to acknowledge her presence in the small kitchen the staff shared.
“What are you reading?” Juniper asked as she set her steaming lunch container down on the table Rowan was sitting at.
“A book on oysters.”
“Seems… broad,” Juniper laughed, settling into her seat next to Rowan.
“My dad and I are looking into re-populating the oyster colonies in the bay.”
“I do better with plants. Remind me again, what’s an oyster colony?”
Rowan leaned forward in her seat, interested in the way Juniper took interest in what she wanted to share.
“Essentially it’s a community of oysters living in close proximity to each other. They filter water, cycle nutrients, and help protect the coastline from things like erosion. Oyster populations and their habitats are essential for maintaining healthy coastal ecosystems.”
“Good for our community, good for your dad’s business. Like shucking two oysters with one knife?” Juniper squinted her eyes playfully. “I don’t know, that saying doesn’t translate welldoes it?”
“You tried.” Rowan chuckled. “We’ve been taking my boat out on the weekends, surveying to find the right spot. We think we found one.”
“Yeah? You got your old jon boat up and running again?”
Juniper bit down on another bite of her food, and Rowan tracked her movement from lunch container to pillowy lips. With her guard down, the next words escaped Rowan before she realized what all that memory jarring might unleash.
“You remember how much fun we had on that thing together?”
“I sure do.” Juniper softly smiled before averting her eyes back to her lunch, a tender fleeting moment Rowan wanted to hold onto.
The summer after their junior year, Victor had caught the biggest tuna of the season and celebrated by buying the small boat for Rowan with some of his earnings. He couldn’t afford to buy her a car, most people couldn’t around there, but he bought her something she ended up loving and using more than she ever could a car. She had gotten two full summers’ use out of that boat, along with most of the falls and springs bookended on either side.
“It sat there in his shed unused since I left. I guessed he never had the heart to sell it.”
“I bet he hoped it would come into use again one day.”
With an appetite long gone from several layers of regret, Rowan picked at the crust of her half-eaten sandwich and wanted to change the subject entirely. “What do you have for lunch?”
“Fiddleheads. You want some?” Juniper asked.
She tilted the container for Rowan to get a better look. It was a sad sight to compare Rowan’s lunch of a basic turkey sandwich to Juniper’s lunch of sautéed garlicky fiddleheads paired with what she thought looked like roasted venison loin.
“What’s a fiddlehead?” Rowan replaced her bookmark and leaned in curiously.
“They’re the fronds on top of fern crowns.”
“Still lost, Junie…”
“The little curly parts on top of a baby fern.” Juniper curved her fingers in the air in illustration before she stabbed one to hold it up. “You can harvest them in mid-spring here. You gotta get them while you can though. They’re only good to harvest for a couple weeks.”
She watched Juniper slide it past her lips. Juniper watched her watch her. With eyes wide, Juniper licked her bottom lip to catch the rest of the juice.
“I’ve never tried these,” Rowan admitted, transfixed.
“Taste one.”
Juniper stabbed another deliciously fragrant, verdant green fiddlehead with her fork and turned toward Rowan. In a momentary blip of her rationality, willpower, whatever she wanted to call it, Rowan didn’t take the fork from Juniper’s hand. Instead, she leaned forward and let it slip into her own mouth. Realizing her misstep, she pulled back, crunching a few times, letting the flavors explode across her tongue as she closed her eyes.
“Fuck that tastes good.”
“Like if a green bean and an artichoke had a baby, right?”
