Jen got me situated with a cup of tea, andImade my way up the narrow, carpeted stairs, each step creaking the same way it had for decades.Halfwayup, my phone buzzed in my pocket, andIpaused to take it out, even asWillowwaited for me at the top.Whowould be texting me now thatIwas here?
Sure enough, it was the only person it could be: my dad.
It was about four a.m. for him, which didn’t bode well; even in his soberest stretches, he’d never been an early bird.Iliked the message– a meme about alpine climbing, even thoughI’dnever been, and he knew that– thenIre-pocketed my phone and continued up the stairs.
My room was exactly asI’dleft it lastSeptember: mismatched bedding, stacks of gardening books and seed packets …Jenhad even left my old boots by the radiator.Shereally hadn’t touched it in my time away.Infact, it had been largely untouched for the last ten years, when all we’d done was clear outMom’sstuff.Asingle poster still adorned the wall above the bed, curling at the edges–KateBosworthinBlueCrush, back whenI’dthoughtIwanted to be her, beforeIrealisedIhad a blue crush of my own.
BeforeMomhad died, we’d shared the room on our visits,Momon the bed and me on the pull-out trundle, even whenIwas longer and lankier than she was.Ithad taken me two years after she’d died to start sleeping in the bed myself.
Unpacking was easy when my only bag– the largest possible carry-onIcould get away with– had been packed with military precision.Itwas mostly day-to-day clothingIcould wear to work on the farm – overalls, hole-pockedT-shirts, thick socks for under my steel-toe boots– but at the bottom of my bag was my festival outfit: the black tunic and black jeansI’dworn to everyMedievalandRenaissanceFaireI’dworked or attended.Iran my finger over the seam beneath the tunic’s lacing at the neckline.Itwas frayed slightly from how many timesI’dhad to wash it since the last timeI’dworn it three months ago; the timeI’dended up soaked in mead.
I’d thought a lot since then about the girl who had run into me.She’dbeen so beautiful and so apologetic, andI’dbeen such a dick.I’dreplayed the wordsI’dsaid to her over and over.I’dmeant them in the moment; she’d had a flippant air about her that rubbed me the wrong way.Butit hadn’t been fair to lash out at her like that.Ihadn’t even given her a chance to make things right.I’dknownI’dmessed up as soon asI’dwalked away.Mymistake had hit home even further whenI’dfound her number in my tote bag, andI’dgone as far as to pull out my phone and openWhatsApp, butI’djust stashed the paper away in my wallet instead.I’dtaken it out so many times since then that it was fabric soft, but each time,I’dstopped myself from reaching out.Itold myself that either she was nothing like whatI’dsaid, and the whole thing had run off her back like the mead off my clothing because she knewIwas full of shit, or she was exactly like whatI’dsaid, and she’d needed to hear it.Neededa wake-up call.
WasIthe one to give it to her?Maybenot.Butshe had gotten me fired, after all, andIhad very little patience for people who didn’t think about the way their actions impacted others.Itwasn’t actually that hard to think things through before doing them.Idid it all the time.
But her face had stuck with me, covered in those temporary tattoo glitter freckles that every other person was wearing at theRenFaire, her eyes wet and wide.Therehad been something compelling about her.LikeifI’dshut up long enough to let her get a word in edgewise, she would have put me under some sort of spell.
By the timeIfinished my shower and came back from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following behind me,JenandWillowwere waiting for me on the bed with a snack: homemade crackers with local cheddar and some honey thatIassumed came from the farm.I’dget sick of honey after a few weeks, but as of now,Icraved it; soIsat on the edge of the bed in my towel and accepted the offering, savouring each bite, sacrificing only a single crumb of cheese to my beggar of a dog.
“So,”Jensaid onceI’dfinished my snack, taking a loud sip of her tea. “Ihave some news.”
Something in her tone made me look up sharply. “Goodnews or bad news?”
“Good,Ithink.Or, at least, necessary.”Shewrapped her hands tightly around her mug, a sure sign that she was nervous about something. “Youknow the grant we received from the council?”
“The one about ‘puttingAbergavennyon the map’?”I’dhelped write parts of that application during my last visit, outlining our sustainability practices and communityinvolvement.Thecouncil had insisted we needed to focus more on events, which was whyI’dworked so hard to get us spots at festivals and markets this summer.
“That’s the one.Well, it turns out they want us tohostevents.Here, at the farm.Andthe moreIlooked into that, the moreIrealisedIwas out of my depth.”
I frowned. “Whydidn’t you mention this?”Jenonly paid me whenIwas on the farm, which was whyIhad to deal with hapless guests atRenFairesand festivals during the off season, butIstill helped her all year with the horticultural side of things, advising her on the garden, and reminding her what to do with the hives and when.Sheusually treated me more like a partner than an employee, even during the months whenIwasn’t on the payroll.
Jen shrugged. “Iknew you’d be here soon enough.”
“So, what do we need to do?”Iasked, wishing she’d brought this up on my first workday tomorrow instead of whenIwas sat there in my towel, but whatever.
“Well, actually,wedon’t need to do anything,”Jensaid, her voice sounding guilty in a way that instantly raised my hackles. “Thenew hire will take care of it.”
My stomach dropped. “Thenew hire?Whatdoes that mean?”
“I hired someone from the area to help with the marketing and event planning.Iwanted to wait until you got back to make any decisions, really,Idid, butIcouldn’t afford to miss the season.”
“You hired a whole person?”
Jen nodded. “Idid.”
“And the grant covered that?Idon’t remember it being that much.”
Jen grimaced. “Notentirely.”
For years now, we’d been putting away a little bit of the farm’s meagre profits every year to cover a visa sponsorship for me.Myseasonal work visa meantIcould only spend six months of the year in theUK, and we both wanted me to be able to stay more permanently.Or, at least, that’s whatI’dthought.ButIknew from the wayJenhad said it that she’d used some of that money to hire this person.
My face must have visibly dropped, because hers did, too. “Teddy?—”
“I know it’s your farm,”Isaid quickly, hating how petulantIsounded. “I’mnot saying you needed my permission.It’sjust that we usually discuss these things.”
Jen covered my hand with hers. “You’reright, andI’msorry.Ishould have called.ButIwas worried that ifIwaited much longer, we wouldn’t be able to get an event in the diary this summer…”
She trailed off, butIcould fill in the blanks.Thiswas our chance to really establish the farm as a destination; to bring in the kind of tourism revenue that might help grow our profit margins.Andbigger margins meant a more reliable way to keep me around.Ijust wishedIdidn’t have to let someone else jump the line to get there.I’dactually convinced myself that, if the eventsI’dsigned up for went well enough, we might have been able to do it this year.
