“What if she really does just want to be friends?”Iasked. “WhatifI’mreading signals that aren’t there?Orthat she doesn’t mean to be giving out?”
“Then you’ll find that out,”Fatimasaid. “Butright now, you’re stuck in this weird limbo where neither of you is being honest about what you feel.”
After we hung up– no closer to an answer than when we started, but at leastI’dgotten to vent about it to someone other than my journal–Isat back against the tree, thinking about what they’d said.
Morgan was right;Iwastenacious.Iwas passionate– about thisjob, about the farm, about all of it.Andmaybe that was why things withTeddyfelt so messy.Becauseit was clear there was something between us, but maybe my success and hers were mutually exclusive.IfIgot the job permanently, would that keep her from being able to stay atGwenynenlike she so clearly wanted?AndwouldIhave to be sacrificed to give her that?Wouldgoing there withTeddycondemn me to disappointment, or would it condemn her?
Or, maybe, like the tarot cards had suggested,Iwas overthinking the hell out of all of this, andIshould just let it burn.Maybeit was time to start being direct.Notjust withTeddy, but withJen, too.Because, ifTeddyandIwere really in competition with one another somehow,Ineeded to know.Otherwise,I’dstay stuck in this weird limbo, asFatimahad put it, jumping every time that electric shock passed between us.AndIwasn’t sure how much longerIcould take it.
* * *
The universeclearly decidedIdidn’t feel enough urgency on the matter, because the tension refused to let up.JustbeforeIleft for the day,Iwas helping load up the van for the artisan market we were attending over the weekend.Igrabbed a crate of mead and headed for the van, climbing in to arrange everythingproperly.Iwas just sitting on the edge to climb back out whenTeddyappeared at the doors.Weended up face-to-face, our bodies inches apart, my legs on either side of hers, her hands braced above me on either side of the van opening.
For a moment, neither of us moved.Icould feel the heat radiating from her skin, could count the individual freckles on the part of her stomach visible where herT-shirt rode up, could see the way her pupils dilated as she looked at me.Wewere like magnets, the air between us so charged it was almost painful, and she was bracing herself so we wouldn’t collide with cataclysmic force.
AllIwould have to do was lean forward slightly, and our lips would meet.Icould imagine her nudging my legs further open with her knee, me pulling her forward on top of me in the van, tangling my hands in her hair, bracing myself against the crates asIarched into her…
Jesus,Ineeded to get laid.
Teddy seemed to realise how close we were and pulled back abruptly, practically stumbling away from the van.
“That’s everything,Ithink,” she said, backing up, her voice carefully neutral. “Weshould be set for this weekend.”
“Teddy, wait,”Isaid, unable to let her just walk away again, and she hesitated for a moment. “What’shappening?”Iasked, my voice barely above a whisper, the edge a desperate whine.
I could see the panic in her eyes whenIasked that– whenIfinally put the question out there between us.Iwas acknowledging the thing we’d apparently had an unspoken pact not to acknowledge.I’dsaid next to nothing, really–Ihadn’t asked her, “Doyou want to fuck me as badly asIwant to fuck you?” like my body was screaming for me to do.Butbased on the look of terror on her face,Imight as well have.
She didn’t answer me.Sheopened and closed her mouth a couple of times like she might, andIleaned forward slightly in anticipation, but she bailed each time it seemed like an answer might come.Instead, she just sighed, shook her head slightly, and turned away from me, practically sprinting back to the warehouse.
I exhaled what felt like every ounce of air inside me and climbed out of the van.Thegirls were right;Icouldn’t keep doing this.Ididn’t want to.Ineeded to know one way or the other, once and for all.
Chapter19
Teddy
The artisan faire was already a disaster, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.
“I’m sorry, what do you mean we can’t give out samples?”Iasked the volunteer coordinator who’d just stopped by our table.
“It’s a dry event,” she said apologetically. “Ican tell you’re upset, but there’s just no alcohol allowed.Insurancereasons.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “Noone mentioned this when we signed up.”
“It should have been in the vendor packet,” she said, already backing away toward her next crisis. “Sorryabout the confusion.”
I looked around the village hall with fresh eyes.Shewas right– this wasn’t like the cheese festival.Therewere maybe three other food vendors in the entire place, and the rest were makers.Pottery, jewellery, textiles, woodwork.Beautifulcrafts that people could examine and purchase without needing to taste anything.
Unlike mead, which, as we’d learned, was a hard sell without letting people try it first.Itwas entirely possible the rule had been in the vendor packet;Iwasn’t entirely sureI’dread it.
“Well, this is bullshit,”Imuttered, slumping back against the cinder block wall, eyeing the multiple sleeves of sample cups we had lined up on the table.Onewas half empty already; we’d been giving out samples without realising we were breaking the rules.NowChloewas tidying away the sample bottles and theFREESAMPLESsign.
Every timeIlooked atChloe, my mood got worse.Notbecause of anything she was doing– she was being cheerful and supportive as always, trying to brainstorm solutions, suggesting we focus on the visual appeal of our bottles instead of the taste.Beingexactly the kind of business partner anyone would want.
Which was precisely the problem.
It had been easier whenIcould dismiss her as careless or incompetent.WhenIcould channel my anxiety about my own future into irritation with her, specifically.ButI’dseen too much evidence of who she really was to do that anymore.Theway she’d thrown herself into learning about sustainable practices, not because she had to, but because she genuinely cared.Howshe’d saved the day at the cheese festival.Howshe’d listened whenI’dtold her about my father, offering understanding without trying to fix anything or relate exactly to whatI’dbeen through.
The way she’d looked at me the other day in the van, like she wanted to kiss me as much asIwanted to kiss her.
