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She had never attempted to ride a unicycle down a mountain before, but she assumed that the achiness she felt that morning — bruised hips, sore thighs, and a sharp lance of pain shooting up her core every time she shifted her pelvis — had to be akin to the injuries one might acquire during such an excursion, and realized she most definitely should have called off. The hard bench was agony as the bride and her mother exchanged tense words over the guest list, and she wondered if she could have someone deliver one of those little doughnut-shaped hemorrhoid pillows from the pharmacy.
"If you don't want to have a big reception, you just need to say so. I don't mind being the bad guy here, I can call her this afternoon and let her know she needs to cut back on their guest list. It would be different if they were planning on splitting the cost with us —" the kitsune's mother narrowed her eyes and cocked her head — "no, no actually it wouldn't. Because that's not the day you want. But you need to start standing up to her now, Yuri, otherwise she's going to ride ramshod over your entire marriage. Set the bar now, that's what I had to do with your be-be."
Grace was inclined to agree with the older kitsune, and as the two women murmured back and forth, she reflected on how many brides-to-be she'd met over the years, squirming over having conversations with their future in-laws. She wanted to interject that the problem was not this girl's future mother-in-law, it was that she and her fiancé needed to be a united front, to have each other's backs, and to not give each other the burden of arguing with the other's mother.Not your place, she reminded herself. When she'd casually inquired into the wedding flowers, she was relieved when the girl said they had put much care into the choosing of their flowers. Pink peonies and stephanotis, with fragrant branches of apricot blossoms, an auspicious beginning for their marriage.
Her own little hand-tie of Lily of the Valley had begun to droop a few days after her observatory date with the tall mothman, and was now being pressed between the pages of a book, several heavy cans stacked atop it.A return to happiness.Grace couldn't deny that she had woken up feeling very happy indeed, even if her pubic bone was currently complaining.
"If you don't mind my saying so," she interjected, keeping her tone as even as she could, "I was a wedding planner four years before I started working here, and in my experience, one hundred and fifty guests is a perfect size reception. Once you start to get into two and three hundred people, you don't even get to see everyone. You'll spend the whole night just moving from table to table thanking people for coming, and before you know it, your own reception is over. If you're able to stick to your original plan . . ." She let her voice trail off as she shrugged, the kitsune's mother harrumphing in triumph. When they left a short while later, the girl's head was held a bit higher, her mother still talking a mile a minute, the reception barn booked for the country-chic wedding she had planned.
As soon as they were out of sight, she’d slumped over the table, burying her head in her arms, as the co-workers who'd been anxiously hovering around the reception area during the meeting descended on the coffee machine. A hot shower had been calling her name, as was her bed.You should cut out early today. You put in enough long nights lately. One of the girls from the shop can sit at the table and play on their phone all afternoon.Within a matter of minutes, the circular concrete pad was overcrowded, the percolator nearly drained dry, Brogan and Zeke laughing loudly over a joke she'd not heard, and coming across the gravel walk, Caleia beelining towards her table.You definitely should've called off today. Dumb bitch-itis strikes again.Before Caleia could start her third degree, Cal came clip clopping in from the direction of the farm stand shop.
"Well, well," he smirked down. "Burning the midnight oil, aren't we?"
“Meeting go well, Cal?” piped up Quay, the slim tiefling who tended the sheep, sparing her from the centaur’s loaded smile. “Last night?”
“Meetings went well. The agricultural department has some interesting ideas on what we can do to increase diversity in the orchards. We'll need to drop some new plans for the fields, it's probably too late for this year, but there are some smaller things we can do, he said. I want some of the parsley and dill transplanted over into the —"
He began to rattle off the increased duties the different divisions of labor would be handling, his voice becoming a blurring white noise, unimportant as she bent to retrieve the pen she’d dropped, feeling a sharp twinge of soreness.
“Caterpillars destroy crops, Cal,” Brogan interjected roughly, his tone bringing her back to attention.
“Apparently if we plant rows of the things they prefer to feed on, they’ll leave the actual crops alone. ‘Butterfly bumps’, he called them.”
“So we're supposed to completely redo our crop schematics toencouragecaterpillars? Most farms are spraying for pests, and we're going to rule out a welcome mat and offer them a twelve course feast?" Brogan and another field worker scoffed, sending a protective shiver rippling up her back at thehethey were discussing.
“I cansellthat, Cal. Do you have any idea what a draw butterfly gardens are?" She hadn't meant for her voice to be as hot as it was as heads swung at her sharp tone. "We can call the curriculum director for the schools, let her know that we’ll have an on-site observation field for the kids. School field trips to observe the chrysalis stages, a walk-through garden in the spring, our own butterflies for weddings—no more having to special order them!”
“Little cups of nectar for people to feed the butterflies, a photo booth...I can put together a whole life-cycle segment for the schools,” Caleia added, turning her venomous glare to the mumbling farmhands.
“There's an Arboretum upstate," Grace went on excitedly, struck by sudden inspiration. "They have a butterfly garden and a hummingbird garden. You can walk right through and see hundreds of little bumblebee-size hummingbirds zooming around, they don't even care about people. They're all feeding off the flowers. They do a program on insects, it's geared for kids, but my mom and I walked through it the last time I was home to visit. There are information stations on the sort of insects that feed off of different plants, and then you walk through the gardens, obviously, and they sell seedlings of the different plant varieties at the end of it. I'll run some figures this afternoon and get an idea of what their footsteps look like when the program is live."
"I can mock up some graphics," Caleia quickly added. We already have dill and parsley and whatever else you’re talking about for sale in the shop, we can tailor the display around what we're already selling."
"Think about what that could do for the apiary," mused a tiefling from the farm stand. "We have a hard time moving the bigger containers, no one wants that sixteen-ounce monster, but if there was a program on how we are helping our native honeybees, I'll bet we would be able to get them sold. Especially if we do little gift baskets, I can have some of the girls put them together. The big bottle of honey, one or two of the plans ya'll are talking about, a few packets of flower seeds . . ." Grace and Caleia whirled in triumph, so in sync it could have been a choreographed move.
"All right!” the big centaur laughed. “You don't need to keep on selling the idea, I was already on board with it last night. Knew I could count on you ladies to turn it into an opportunity. You know,” he went on, cantering over to the table, “if you’d have told me it was your boyfriend coming by, I might not have given him such a hard time.”
She felt the weight of Caleia’s eyes boring into the side of her head, but to her credit, her friend remained silent as Callum chuckled. The heat that flamed up her face was a curious mix of embarrassment — Callum was her boss, after all; she had no idea what he might have seen or overheard the night before, if he'd been outside his cottage when she'd left the farm, and she certainly didn’t want to be the subject of idle gossip, already being the odd-human-out—and a tingling warmth, the thought of calling Merrick herboyfriendtwisting her insides into a pleasant knot.What’s wrong with you? You can’t go falling for him, not when you know he’s leaving.
"I'm pretty sure she'd have given him an even harder time, Cal. Which reminds me — we're trying to cultivate a welcoming, community-driven image. You yelling at visitors isn't helping to develop that."
Pushing to her feet, she swallowed down a groan, feeling dampness at her thighs, wondering if she’d ever stopleaking, before turning to the small office trailer, Caleia hot at her heels.
"Spill it," the petite dryad demanded, the instant the door clicked shut. All she wanted was a few moments to herself, to wipe herself clean for the hundredth time that morning and maybe curl up under her desk where she’d be undisturbed, but Caleia gracefully seated herself in the opposite chair, making herself comfortable. "The guy you went out with is the one who came to the farm?! I want to heareverything, and don't you dare leave out a single detail!"
"You're really not going to let this go, right?"
"Oh, absolutely not. There is literally nothing I will hold onto longer, and your lifespan is very, very short compared to mine, just remember that."
Caleia's words made her sit up, frowning. "I never think of things like that, until you go and bring it up. How long do different species live for, anyway? Is that something to teach you in nymph school?"
The dryad laughed, a shimmering sound, as she shook out her long, shiny hair. "Actually, I think most of you have pretty commensurate lifespans. Minotaurs, orcs, goblins, humans. Trolls live a bit longer, satyrs also. Nymphs don't live as long as elves, not anymore, but still — it's a lot longer than the rest of you."
"What about mothmen?" she demanded, earning Caleia's gimlet-eyed smile. "They're probably in that human-adjacent category. Now . . . Spill. It."
Grace almost felt guilty for wasting the on the clock time as she recounted both her first and second date with Merrick, knowing her friend well enough to know that she would not, in fact, ever let it go. She wasn't sure of her descriptions of him were completely accurate — after all, she didn't want him to sound completely socially inept, only mentioning that he was a bit anxious and awkward, with an adorable stammer and wildly expressive antennae. "It's so cute," she giggled, "I can tell when he's feeling nervous because his antennae drop down around his ears, and when he's excited they bobble around." She closed her eyes briefly, imagining his feathery antennae dancing around as he talked about his bats and hummingbirds, the way they'd stood on end as she'd sucked the tip of his writhing tentacle -like cock. He was adorable, and that was all Caleia needed to know.
"So let me get this straight. He's asleep right now, right?"
