“Out celebrating?”Itried to keep the judgmental edge from my voice, but he must have heard it anyway.
“I’ve only had the one,” he said, andIbelieved him.ButIalso knew it was still early there.Noteven three in the afternoon.
“So far, right?”Iregretted it as soon asI’dsaid it, butIcouldn’t take it back.
“I don’t need this,” he muttered, presumably to himself, his voice quiet as he dropped away from the phone.Thenhe came back, louder and stronger than before. “I’ma grown man,Teddy, and your father at that.Ican have a drink to celebrate my birthday, especially since you’re not here to celebrate with me.”
I bit my tongue hard.WhenIwas younger, it had been easier to rise to this; to argue with him, or, worse, let the guilt permeate.Butnow,Isaw it for what it was: a bitter, grieving drunk needing to pass the buck to someone else.Evenif that someone was his own daughter.
I swallowed hard as heat pooled behind my eyes.
“I can’t talk for long,”Isaid, my voice thick with emotionIhoped he couldn’t hear. “Ijust wanted to say happy birthday.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve done that,”Dadsaid. “Youcan tick me off your list.”
I sighed, blinking up at my overhead light, willing myself not to cry. “It’snot like that,Dad.”Butwe both knewIwas lying.
“Yeah, well, enjoy your night.TellJenIsaid hi.”
“I will,”Isaid.ThenIclosed my eyes and tensed my jaw. “Ilove you.”
“Love you, too, kiddo,” he said, more softly now, andIcouldn’t hold back my tears any longer.Theyleaked out of me like a dripping faucet.
I ended the call, then, beforeIknew whatIwas doing, took off down the stairs.Ithad been a long time sinceI’dbeen a kiddo to anyone.ButifIcouldn’t have my mom or dad,Icould have the closest other thing.
I foundJensitting on the sofa reading a book– some prize-winning something or other– a cup of mint tea steaming on the side table by her elbow.Shelooked up asIcame through the door, and the moment she saw my face, her own crumpled in understanding.
“Come here,” she said, as she scooted over and patted the seat next to her, setting her book on the floor without marking her place.
I collapsed onto the cushion beside her, folded my legs underneath me, and leaned into her, the tears coming fast and fierce.
* * *
By the timeChloestarted filming me at one of the hives the next day,Iwas already on edge, despite it being only ten in the morning.Shewanted me to wear a different shirt to the grey-green oneIhad picked out first thing– something that would “pop on camera” against the hedges.WhenIprotested, she suggested, not entirely unkindly, that maybe my default palette of “mud and stoicism” wasn’t ideal for content.
“Drop it,”Isaid, sharper thanImeant to, andIsaw it land in the way she flinched. “I’mnot dressing up for some video.Theagreement was that you’d capture the reality of this place, not try to turn it into something it’s not.”
Her brow creased. “It’snot a big deal.Ijust need you to look a little less … leafy.”
I stepped back, fists tight at my side asItried to control my breathing, the tightness behind my ribs making it hard. “I’mnot going to let your marketing strategy dictate my entire life,Chloe.I’msorryI’mnot picture-perfect enough for your content, but you’ll just have to get over it.”
Her eyes widened. “That’snot whatI?—”
“I’m not a prop,”Isaid, voice low. “Youcan do your job without turning me into a mascot.Or, better yet, go weed the lavender beds.”
Chloe stood there for a long moment, stunned, her forehead creased in a frown that looked downright unnatural on her.Shestood there long enough thatIfelt my fists unclench at my sides, andIdebated apologising.Butthen she pocketed her phone and nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Ihear you.”
Chloe walked away, her footsteps soft but definite on the gravel, andIstood in front of the hive box, breath shaking, not sure ifI’djust won or lost.Eitherway, it didn’t feel good, andIhad to resist the urge to run after her and say whateverIneeded to say to smooth the wrinkleI’dput in the middle of her forehead.
But that wasn’t my job, and, asMaggiehad said,Ihad plenty to do without adding to my own plate.SoIlet her go.
Chapter12
Chloe
Iwasn’t sure whatI’ddone to pissTeddyoff this time, but it was clearI’dmanaged to somehow.Shewasn’t cold, exactly– not in the way that suggested she’d bought a voodoo doll of me and started sticking pins in it.Itwas more like a door had shut thatI’dthought had started to crack open.Itried to find her to let her know thatIhad actually weeded the lavender beds, despite the fact that my farm chores were supposed to have lessened soIcould work on the event and marketing, but she completely ignored me asIwaved to get her attention.Shebarely glanced my way as we crossed paths, and when she did, it was the sort of look you might give a large rock, or maybe a weed like the onesI’dbeen pulling.
