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“Oh, I have my neighbor to thank for this.” I throw the kernel down and wipe my hand on my pants.
“You know, if deer think they’re going to be fed, they’re like stray cats, and they’ll keep coming back.” She looks out over the yard at all the little yellow pieces left behind.
“Really?” My yard really isn’t that big, and the idea of them trampling it or, even worse, coming up onto the porch has me alarmed.
“Yes. Don’t feed them. They’ll be messing all over your yard and bringing ticks with them.”
At the word tick, my skin crawls, and I look down at my bare feet. I didn’t even think about putting on shoes as I ran down the steps to greet her. I have large stone tiles as my walkway, so I wasn’t in the grass the whole time, but still.
“I come with a present,” she says as she hands me the drink carrier with the lattes, then lifts her bag and shakes it.
“The lattes are present enough. But don’t parents like to drink champagne when their kids go back to school? Like a ritual celebration thing?” I tease. “I do have some chilling.”
She smiles but shakes her head as we make our way to the front door. “No champagne for me. I think maybe I’m not the norm. I certainly can see how some parents might be this way, but after drop-off, I might have shed a tear or two because I’m sad he’ll be gone all day. I really do love having him home.”
“I hear homeschooling is a thing now,” I tell her, and she barks out a laugh like I’ve lost my mind.
“Let’s not go crazy.”
Once we get inside and the door clicks shut behind us, Juliet kicks off her shoes and looks around the house.
“Wow, it looks incredible in here. I mean, I knew it would, but it’s come together so well.”
“Thank you. At first, it felt like a lot, but once I got started, it really wasn’t.”
“You added a ceiling fan to this room,” she says, glancing up and then out over the other decorations that have changed the living room. “That was smart. I think you’ll really like that when it’s warm outside.”
This ceiling fan is a farmhouse fan, and it accents so well. While most of the house is a lighter wood color, this one is dark.
“I saw it online, and I had to have it. It wasn’t that hard to install either.” I set the lattes on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Wait. You installed it?” She turns to look at me, confused.
“I did. I watched a YouTube video and was done in no time.” I settle onto the couch, and she stares down at me.
“Cora, you shouldn’t be messing with things like this. There’s a reason there are professionals out there called electricians. You know I have a full Rolodex of companies should you need to hire someone.”
“I know, but it wasn’t hard. The fan arrived, and I knew I could do it myself.”
“Still,” she says, eyeing me warily. “What if you got hurt?”
“You worry too much.”
Setting her large bag on the table, she opens it and pulls out a box of Cheez-Its. “Ta-da!”
A grin splits my face. “You definitely know the way to my heart.”
Cheez-Its are my favorite snack of all time. Growing up, my mother did not believe in snacks, sweets, junk food, you name it. She was very particular about what the chef on duty was allowed to cook and feed us. She refused to have children who did not have a refined palate, and she also watched every calorie and carb I put into my body.
Cheez-Its were the one exception.
My mother was also obsessed with ballet. While I may be talented on the cello, I’m certain I would have been a ballerina if she had her way. And she tried. I was forced through dance classes all the way until fifteen. I went up on pointe at thirteen and never could keep my balance. Much to my mother’s disappointment, the teacher finally told her this dream of hers would not come true. Never mind the fact that I did not have the body shape for this—I’m too tall and my feet are too big—she sure tried to shove me into the role.
But there was this one afternoon when she actually came to class to pick me up instead of our driver, and she met the principal of the American Ballet Company. I’ve never seen my mother fangirl over anything or anyone, but that day, while she maintained her composure, her eyes were wide and bright. The principal stood there eating a handful of Cheez-Its. When my mother questioned her, she simply laughed and said, “There’s no use in working this hard not to be able to enjoy a few things in life.”
From then on, I was allowed to have them. Not in large quantities, but it didn’t matter. I love them. Winston, being the suck-up that he is, declined the crackers, or he would sneak me his portion when she wasn’t looking. Back when we were friends, that is.
“Explain to me why your hot neighbor threw corn into your yard,” she says as she settles onto the couch, pulling her feet up underneath her and placing the box of crackers between us.
