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Expectation:Take a bunch of cute pictures in my apple picking outfit.
Reality:This reality actually matched up pretty exactly to my expectation. My outfit was fire, and I stood by the look, even if I knew my blisters from hiking around in heeled booties would have me limping tomorrow.
Expectation:Go home with more apples than I knew what to do with, without incident, and with my pride intact.
Reality:Sitting in the dirt, rotten apples seeping through my dress and sticking to my bare thighs.
I wouldn’t lie;I expected Bex to pull something after her threat to bring back the games we’d been playing before our fight. A small thrill had shot through me at the thought, wondering if there were any pools she could push me into at the orchard or girls I could flirt with to make her jealous enough to claim me like she did that day at the shop.
I hadn’t expected her to help me get the apples too high for me to reach, arms wrapping so easily around my thighs and lifting me to half-sit on her shoulder while I plucked each one. I wasn’t used to having partners lift me so easily; most of the women I’d dated in the past had been smaller. Even the ones taller than me never towered over me as fully or had as much strength as Bex did. But the way she threw me around like it was easy, as if she had so much power over me, sent my blood racing and made my fingers tremble as I collected the apples.
I thought Bex felt it too, the simmering tension between us. I watched her catch my eyes, tongue darting out to lick her lips before she leaned toward me. But as soon as I closed my eyes, I was falling as the ground rushed up to meet me.
My heart raced as my brain attempted to process the emotions of the past couple seconds. The thrill of being in Bex’s arms, the anticipation of what I thought was a kiss, the shock and fear from the sudden fall, the surprise as I ran through my expectations for the day and the reality. And as Bex leaned in, just far enough out of reach that I couldn’t scratch or bite her like my first instinct dared me to, and whispered, “I fucking missed being your friend, little bird,” the last emotion came to me with sudden clarity: rage.
Not the grudge-holding anger that led to the awkward silence between us this past week, but a short, intense burst of aggression that I knew would flare out as quickly as it came. Rage was something I could barely remember feeling, much less reveling in, until Bex came into my life. So instead of breathing through the anger, I breathed it in.
Standing in a smooth motion, I ignored the chunks of rotten apple falling off my dress, eyes focused on Bex’s back. She loped away from me in long, measured strides, and I watched for a moment, waiting to see if she’d look back at me, either to check on me or watch out for retaliation.
As she got further away without turning her head, I got even angrier. So angry I reached down and grabbed one of the few apples that wasn’t crushed in my fall, cradling the half-rotten fruit in my palm. And then I prayed to the lesbian softball goddesses as I hurled the apple with all my might, right at Bex’s retreating back.
I watched as the apple flew slightly too high, stomach sinking until it landed perfectly against the back of Bex’s head, bursting into chunks on impact.
Bex froze, turning to glare at me as she reached back to feel the rotten apple now fully embedded in her hair. I showed my teeth in what I hoped was a semblance of a snarl as I walked toward her, stepping close to whisper up at her, “I missed being your friend, too, Bex.”
The two of us drew more than a few eyes as we made our way back up the hill, Bex with apple juice still dripping from the ends of her hair, me walking with a waddle as I attempted not to let the rotten apple chunks soak fully through my underwear.Could you get a yeast infection from rotten apples? Did apple cider have yeast?I considered looking up the question, but knew I’d get some weird ads over the next couple weeks if I searched the yeast content of apple cider. I didn’t even like apple juice, really.
Ames burst through my internal questioning, yelling with a hint of anger underlying her words as she spotted us. “What the fuck happened?” Her eyes immediately narrowed on Bex, as if she were the one to blame for our appearance. If we were being technical, she was, but for some reason Ames’s assumption grated against me, and I stepped slightly in front of Bex.
“You’ve heard of a roll in the hay, right? Well, we took a roll in the apples,” I smiled sweetly, winking at the end with perfect precision. I preferred to bring a certain flair to most of my interactions, but that didn’t make them any less genuine. And if my showmanship happened to take the heat off of Bex, then it was all the more successful.
As predicted, Ames rolled her eyes and Dev laughed off our appearances after that. Alex’s eyes continued to flick between us for a few moments until he shrugged us off, re-focused on touching the exposed skin shown by Ames’s oversized sweater, the neck of it dropping off one shoulder.
We didn’t stick around long after that, Bex and I too uncomfortable as the juice from the apples started drying on our skin. It didn’t help that Bex shot death glares at anyone who looked at my ass, the white fabric doing little to hide the giant stain or my thong beneath it. The rest of them stayed behind, Ames forcing the guys to help her pick pumpkins for each of us to carve later in the week.
One of the workers took pity on us as we left, stopping us as we passed the check-in area on our way out.
“Here, hopefully this’ll help protect your car seats at least. Sorry I don’t have something more to offer.” she smiled, holding out an unassembled apple box.
“Oh, thanks! You’re so kind.” I reached out for the box, falling short when Bex’s arm gripped my shoulder to keep me in place. Bex reached out her hand instead, jerking the box just an edge too roughly, making the worker stumble when she failed to let go in time. I glanced up at Bex’s face and watched the triumphant smile flicker across her lips at asserting her dominance over the poor employee.
“Thanks again!” I called out over my shoulder as Bex steered me away, the box gripped so tightly in her hand that the cardboard started to bend. I couldn’t get a read on her emotions, and I honestly stopped trying to after a few moments, feeling too tired and sticky to waste my time sorting through thoughts I wasn’t sure even Bex would be able to name.
What I did know was that the Apple Incident - as I resolved to call it after watching the apple burst perfectly against Bex’s head - had burnt away the last remnants of any awkward tension between us. We were back to playing our games, refusing to pull our punches, pushing each other to our limits.
Bex wanted to break me, send me away, but I wanted to break her too. I wanted to break her stoic façade, bring out the flickers of emotion I had glimpsed a few times before. I wanted to see somethingreal, since I knew Bex hid so much behind her disinterested veneer. Whatever our end goals, the game was the same, and that put us back on even footing. Because if there was one thing we’d both learned, indifference was worse than any amount of fighting or embarrassment or anger.
I lasted fifteen minutes before I gagged. The optimism with which I began the car ride slowly faded away as the fermented apple smell covering us both became more apparent. The smell - which was almost nostalgic and earthy when coupled with acres of fresh air and hay - took a distinctly funky turn in such a small space. The acidic tang was too much with too little air, especially when, between the two of us, we were likely covered in two full cups of the sour juice.
“I’m sorry,” I moaned as I covered my mouth to stifle any further noises as the smell began to overwhelm my senses. Feeling the press of the cold, rotten apple through the thin material of my dress only made the experience worse, but I tried to maintain a semblance of decorum while also avoiding the smell. I held my breath, but it didn’t help, the smell seeping into my nostrils despite only taking small sips of air through my mouth. If anything, it almost made it worse, as if I could taste the rotten scent.
I opened my window, sticking my head out like a dog as I closed my eyes to get the smell out of my thoughts. I barely noticed we’d exited the interstate until Bex pulled the car to a stop. I opened my eyes to an empty parking lot, watching as Bex jumped out and rounded the car before she opened my door.
“Hop out,” she tilted her head to the side, and I followed her command, wincing at the pull of my wet dress against my skin as I got out of the seat. Bex opened the back door, ushering me inside with a quick command, “Take your clothes off.”
Before I could question her or protest, Bex pulled off the flannel shirt she wore, throwing it into my lap, “That should cover you enough.” She only wore a tight-fitting tank top, the edges of her tattoo peeking over her shoulder, and she saved me the embarrassment of being caught staring by slamming the door in my face.
I quickly shimmied out of my sweater vest and dress, throwing them in a pile in the backseat. I debated for a moment before pulling off my underwear, too, which had also gotten wet in my drop at the orchard. Bex’s flannel covered me similarly to the dress I wore, though it was slightly shorter. Thankfully, Bex tended to wear oversized clothing, so all my sensitive bits were covered despite going commando. I opened the car door within a couple minutes, finding Bex attempting to finger-comb rotten apple chunks out of her hair, a few pieces falling on her pants as she blindly groped at the back of her head.
