It felt likeI’dbeen punched in the gut.Afterweeks of careful distance,I’dfinally allowed myself to go there withChloe.Tostop worrying about the future, or about how little timeIhad left atGwenynenthis year, or what us getting together might mean.I’ddecided to just let it burn, asAmyhad said.I’dlet myself believe that what was happening between us meant something more than just a drunken mistake.
Apparently,I’dbeen wrong.
I drove back to the farm in a haze of hurt and confusion,Chloe’swords echoing in my head. “Weboth want something that can only belong to one of us.”Shewas right, of course.I’dknown that from the beginning; since the momentJenhad admitted she’d hired someone.Andyet somehow, along the way,I’dconvinced myself that what was building between us was separate to all that.
Clearly,Iwas the only one who’d felt that way.
Back at the farmhouse,Ichecked my emails and found a message fromChloeto bothJenand me, saying she’d be working from home all week, despite how close we were to the festival.
My first instinct was anger.ClassicChloe– flighty and inconsiderate, running away when things got tough.Makingme deal with the awkwardness of our situation while she hid behind her laptop screen.
But even as the thought formed,Iknew it wasn’t fair.IknewChloenow, andI’dseen who she really was beneath the bravado.Shewas considerate and funny, and stronger than she gave herself credit for.She’dthrown herself into learning about the farm, had genuinely cared about doing good work, and had proven me wrong more times thanIcared to admit.Thesame quick thinking that made her seem flighty at first was also what helped her save the day.
And that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?Whocould know her and not admire her?
My phone buzzed with messages throughout the day–Fatimaasking how the wedding had gone,Jackwondering ifIwanted to try a new hiking trail he’d discovered, my dad texting just to say hi– butIignored them all, even whenJacktexted again to let me know when he was free.Iwondered if somehow he knew what had happened.Everythingfelt tangled up withChloein my mind now, andIwasn’t ready to pretend everything was normal; especially not with her best friend.
ThoughIdid appreciate that people were checking in on me.Itwas strange, having friends who noticed whenIwent quiet.Evenif they were reallyChloe’sfriends.Whatwould those friendships look like now?WouldIstill have them whenIcame back next year, even now thatI’dfucked things up withChloe?I’dalways imagined my life atGwenynento be a small one: justJen,Willow,Maggie, and me.Butnow thatIhad widened my circle– now thatIknew there were other people who cared about me, and whomIcared for in return–Iwasn’t sure that an isolated life was whatIactually wanted.
Which was unfortunate, sinceIhad six isolated months coming up beforeIcould return.Thosenew friendships would be put on hold, whetherIliked it or not.
* * *
A much-neededbright spot came the next day in the post, in the form of our official approval to sell the soaps.Iwas thrilled; months of work and experimentation had finally paid off.Icouldn’t wait to tellJen.
I found her in the warehouse, where she was checking on the spring mead batch that we’d been planning to transfer for oak ageing.Theacidity levels had been higher than usual this year, and we were hoping the oak would help mellow the flavour profile.
But she wasn’t alone.Maggiewas there, too, and they were laughing.Maggiehad her head dipped low next toJen’sear, and wasIimagining things, or wasMaggie’shand onJen’ship?
I cleared my throat, and they jumped apart as ifI’dshouted, looking around guiltily for the source of the intrusion.Theyboth plastered on their best poker faces when they saw me, andMaggiehurried past me out the door, muttering something about chopping wood.
“Good news,”Isaid, choosing to ignore whatever that had been, waving the paper in the air. “Thesoap got approved!”
Jen’s face lit up. “That’swonderful!Allthat work paid off.Reallywell done,Ted.”
I explained the details of what we’d need to do to keep the certification as we set up the transfer equipment, the familiar routine of working together soothing some of my frayed nerves.Itfelt good to focus on something concrete; somethingIunderstood completely.
“So,”Jensaid as we started moving the first batch, “how are things going withChloe?”
Aaaaaand there it was.Ireally couldn’t escape her, couldI?Ikept my eyes on the mead flowing through the transfer tube. “Fine.”
“Teddy.”
Something in her tone made me look up.Jenwas studying me with the perceptive gaze that had seen through my defences my whole life.
“It’s fine,”Irepeated. “Wework well together.She’sgood at her job.”
“I feel like you’ve been treating me more like a boss than an aunt lately,”Jensaid quietly. “Imiss our closeness.”
The observation stung, butIcouldn’t deny it.Partof me was still upset about how things had gone with hiringChloe.Whyhadn’t she talked to me about it?Icould admit thatIwasprobablyoverly sensitive about my position at the farm, butIliked to thinkIwouldn’t have been angry with her if she’d told me what she was planning.Ifanything, maybeIwould have been excited.Because, at the end of the day,Iwasn’t an idiot–Iknew thatChloe’swork was important, andIknewJenwouldn’t have used the money if she’d thought there was any way for me to come on board this year.Iknew how important it was to grow the business.AndChloereally was good at her job, so her doing well might mean good things for me, too, even if not right away.
But instead, she’d kept it from me.Andfrom the momentI’dseenChloein that studio, it had felt like everythingI’dpictured for myself– getting to wake up on the farm onChristmasmorning, and harvest the parsnipsI’dplanted out this spring, and buy more clothing than could fit in a single suitcase– would belong to her instead.Andeven thoughIwas falling in love with her– goddamn it,Iwasfalling in love with her, wasn’tI?–Iresented her, just as she’d said, for having the optionsIwanted for myself.
“It’s hard to feel close whenIfeel like you’re being opaque about the situation,”Iadmitted. “Iknow you say it’s complicated, but…”
“Don’t you thinkI’dbring you on ifIcould?”Jensaid, her voice firmer and louder. “Don’tyou thinkI’veexhausted my options for that,Teddy?Don’tyou thinkIwant you here?Fromthe moment your mom?—”
Grief hit me like a freight train asJenbegan to choke up.Itwas funny; usuallyGwenynenwas full ofMom-shaped landmines, threatening to level me with sadness and longing at any moment.ButI’dbeen so distracted this summer thatI’dbarely grieved her at all.Whatkind of daughter didn’t miss her own mother in the place they’d built together?
