When the medieval festival came up over the weekend,IaskedJenifIcould skip it, supposedly to focus on preparation.Really,Ijust couldn’t handle spending an entire day working alongsideTeddyand pretending everything was normal, but it was conceivable thatI’dbe too busy to go, andJendidn’tquestionit.Everyoneagreed it was for the best, soTeddywent alone, andIpushed out some extra social content about it out of guilt.Shesold out of both soap and mead, letting us know in the group chat that lots of the people who’d stopped by had mentioned seeing my social media content beforehand.Itshould have felt like a victory, knowing thatIwas making a real impact, but mostly it just made me miss working with her.
For my sins, the festival was actually coming together.Vendorswere confirmed, performers were scheduled, and logistics were mapped out down to the minute, each person with their own detailed itinerary.Iwas starting to feel cautiously optimistic.Mymother seemed keen to dismantle that optimism, ringing me every day or two, but her calls could be ignored, andIdid my best to focus on sticking the landing.
Then,Mondaymorning before the festival arrived, everything went to hell at once.
First, the instructor for the children’s art classes called to cancel due to a family emergency.Then, one of our key food vendors had a supply chain disaster and wouldn’t have enough product for the festival, leaving us without any vegetarian options.Andfinally, most disastrously, the weather forecast shifted dramatically– rain was suddenly predicted for several days on either side of the weekend, despite having been just little sun icons every timeI’dchecked– which had been an obsessive amount– in the weeks before.I’dstupidly released a few extra tickets when the forecast looked favourable, but nowIhad to worry about overcrowding if we had to move indoors, which the forecast seemed to suggest we would.
I got all of this news within the span of an hour, each notification hitting like a physical blow, reminding me again and again of how ill-preparedIwas.Isat inJen’sstudio, staring at my laptop screen, feeling completely overwhelmed and utterly out of my depth.
I needed air.Ineeded space to think.
I grabbed my bag and walked to the bottom of the orchard; to the same spot whereI’deaten lunch so often.Isat down in the grass, opened my journal, and resolved to write through the problems systematically.
Instead,Ijust started crying.
I’d worked so hard for this.Monthsof planning, countless phone calls, promotional content, vendor negotiations … not to mention juggling all of that alongside whatever the hell was going on withTeddy, shutting that down to preserve any chance of success.Andnow it was all falling apart, andIdidn’t know how to fix it.
“Chloe?”
I looked up through my tears to seeTeddyrushing towards me, her face creased with concern.BeforeIcould say anything, she was kneeling beside me, her hands gentle as she cupped my face and brushed away my tears with her thumbs.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her words rushed and urgent.Imust have looked as rough asIfelt. “Whathappened?”
SeeingIwas panicking,Teddytook an exaggerated deep breath, andIcopied her, actually feeling my heart rate slow slightly.Ifelt instantly better having her there, which made no sense after everything that had happened between us, but somehow her self-assured presence was exactly whatIneeded.
Then her face seemed to remember all of that “everything”, and she pulled back, settling onto the grass beside me, putting careful distance between us.
“It’s all falling apart,”Imuttered. “Iwas just about managing it, but too many things have gone wrong.Ican’t do it.”
Teddy wheezed out a chesty breath, almost like a laugh. “Ifind that hard to believe,” she said. “Butlet’s see ifIcan help.”
I told her everything.Theweather, the cancelled instructor, the supply crisis, the overcrowding concerns.Eachproblem still felt massive and insurmountable whenIsaid it out loud, especially one right after the other.
“I’m so sorry,”Isaid, my entire body trembling asIlooked anywhere but atTeddy. “Youwere right.IfI’djust been more considered, less flighty, thenIcould have foreseen all of this.Icould have prepared better.”
Teddy chuckled. “Youcould have predicted the weather?”
“I could have planned for it better.”
She shook her head. “Youhave a rain plan,” she said. “I’veseen it in one of the billion-and-one spreadsheets you’ve shared with me over the last few months.”
A small smile slipped across my face. “I’msurprised you paid attention to that,”Isaid, even thoughIwasn’t.
“I pay attention to everything you do,” she said, and my smile dropped in an instant.Icleared my throat, suppressing the instinct to close the distance between us in whatever way she’d let me.
“Yeah, but we’re meant to use the warehouse in case of rain,”Isaid, looking up the hill towards the big façade, then back down at the journal in my lap.Icould feel myself getting worked up again. “Andsince the forecast was looking good, we haven’t emptied it.”
“Chloe,”Teddysaid, dipping her head untilIhad no choice but to make eye contact.Hergaze was soft and wide, and it made my lip quiver even harder.Ibit down on it hard.
“What?”Iwhimpered.
“This is not your fault,” she said. “Foryour first event, you’ve had way more contingencies in place than evenIwould have.”
That gave me pause. “Really?”
She nodded. “I’mthe one who’s sorry.Sorryfor whatIsaid to you all those months ago inCalifornia, because it’s clearly gotten to you.You’renot careless, and you’re not irresponsible.Youcare so much.Andyou’ve funnelled all that care into this festival.Nocurveball undermines that.”
I knew she wasn’t entirely wrong–I’dbeen so focused on the festival, despite everything going on withTeddy, thatI’deven dreamt about it.
