Chapter 18 #2
With the harvest coming to an end, we worked our latest evening yet and though some kids had gone home at the dinner break, I volunteered to stay on.
The more hours I worked, the more money I earned and it didn’t matter how tired I felt, I had to keep going.
I’d learned that a couple of the boys, Kurt and Arlo, were on the basketball team and every morning they would go to the school gym and shoot a few hundred shots before we even left for the farm.
To me, that had sounded crazy, but it left me awestruck.
Dirty, dusty, dead on my feet, I virtually collapsed into the van for the ride back to school. So tired, I slid into the first available seat, unaware that Miller was not yet in the van. Seconds later, he plonked himself on the seat next to me. I jolted from drowsiness to wide awake in an instant.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I answered back.
“Long day.”
“Yeah, long day,” I parroted, straightening myself and leaning slightly away from him.
I hated to think what I looked like. I’d stopped wearing makeup after the first week, realizing that nobody cared if my eyelashes were long or my lips lined to perfection.
Nobody cared if I had dry hands or broken fingernails or dirty clothes—which I did.
This version of me was pauper, not prep school princess. And yet, I’d never felt more like me.
I’d discovered layers of myself that I hadn’t known existed. That I liked physical labor and hard work. I liked to be hands on, busy doing something, seeing immediate results, whether it be a spotless mirror, a freshly mown lawn, a painted backdrop or a bag full of potatoes.
I sensed Miller look over at me, even though my eyes were glued to my scuffed dirty sneakers. I became hyper aware that my breathing had become stilted, the act of getting oxygen into my lungs no longer natural but requiring effort.
“You doing all right?” Miller asked.
I glanced across at him, flashing a small smile and nodding, my voice coming out small, “Yeah, just tired.”
“Aren’t we all,” Miller said, stretching out his arms and clicking his knuckles.
I winced at the popping sound—and he noticed.
“Sorry,” he said, unapologetically doing it again, this time with a smile.
It sent a shiver through me. For some unknown reason that noise had always given me the heebie-jeebies. I nudged him in the shoulder, but what should have been a playful shove made me shiver in a different way. In the kind of breathless, butterflies-in-your-stomach type of way.
He laughed and his brown eyes twinkled at me, or it seemed like they did, but it was probably my extreme fatigue making me see wonky. Out of necessity, I shifted over in my seat, still struggling with simply breathing.
Miller, too, moved as if trying not to be so close to me. I spent the whole ride back to school wondering if I should ask if he was working the market, but never did.
I HAD INTENTIONS OF getting up early, washing and styling my hair and doing my makeup for the market—in case I saw any of my prep school friends—but I snoozed my alarm and ended up in a mad rush, barely having enough time to dress, wash my face and clean my teeth.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I seethed at Mom as I came racing down the stairs, pulling on my Hamlin Farms cap because I hadn’t had a chance to brush my hair.
“I thought you were already up,” Mom said, looking all trim in her active wear. “I guess the late nights are catching up on you.”
“Nice sporty vibe,” I said, eyeing the floral headband before dropping to her pink sneakers, “Wait—are those new?”
“No, they are not,” Mom retorted, picking up her black Lululemon gym bag. “I’ve had these for years.”
“They look brand new,” I challenged.
“I’d forgotten I had them.” Her voice wavered with a kind of desperation. “I found them in my closet. Believe me, Quinn, I haven’t bought a single thing for myself in months. That’s the honest truth.”
I glared at the clean crisp sneakers for a few more seconds before flashing Mom a grin, “I’m just kidding...”
Mom inhaled sharply and tilted her chin. “I knew that,” she said, striding to the front door.
I flung my crossbody bag over my shoulder, noticing that I’d forgotten to choose another Squishmallow. I’d taken Cornelias off last night and had meant to replace him. “Wait two seconds,” I said, dashing up the stairs.
Miller had been curious about Cornelias last week, so changing him up might spark a conversation, however lame.
I scanned my ladder shelf where my clip-ons hung, easily locating the bright red and yellow Floyd.
He was a French Fry, kind of appropriate considering the amount of French fries we’d all eaten during the harvest. Miller might think he was cute, if in fact he was going to be there. He might not.
Mom had started the car and I jumped in, pulling the seatbelt across me before clipping Floyd to my purse.
“What’s that?” Mom asked.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, squeezing Floyd in my palm, knowing how much she disapproved of my silly little toys.
“No, it’s something,” Mom said with an unexpected softness. “What is it?”
“Just a silly little Squishmallow,” I said dismissively, holding my hand open for a second before squeezing Floyd again.
“I didn’t see it,” Mom said, taking her eyes off of the driveway for a moment.
I held up Floyd. “It’s a French fry, you know, for the potatoes we sell. I thought it’d be fun. Our Russets make the best French fries, you know.” No need to mention anything about Miller.
“You know your spuds now, do you?”
“I should,” I said. “It’s all I think about. Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes.”
“You’ll be looking forward to getting back to school next week then?”
I shrugged. “Not really. I actually liked doing the harvest. I mean, it’s been hard work, but I haven’t minded it one bit.” I turned to her and frowned. “You’re not wearing any makeup, you know.” It was unusual to see Mom without a full face, especially going out in public.
“Neither are you,” she chirped back.
“That’s because I was running late. You’re lucky I’m not in my pajamas.”
Mom’s focus was on the road, though there wasn’t much traffic at this time of the morning. “You don’t need it,” she said, “your face is beautiful.”
Hearing those words from Mom, I scrunched my face, sure it wasn’t beautiful. “Huh?”
“You’re beautiful, Quinn. You don’t need a scrap of makeup.”
I dramatically rolled my eyes and waggled my ears. “I think I’m going deaf. Am I going deaf?”
“Oh, stop it,” Mom scoffed.
“You’ve always told me to wear makeup and make myself presentable and to—”
“Well, you know what? I was wrong!” Mom snapped, but it’s like she was mad at herself, not me. “You don’t need makeup at all. You’re gorgeous without it. I’ve noticed this week you’ve not bothered to wear any and I’ve never seen you look more radiant.”
A wave of emotion hit me, my throat clogging. Radiant? Mom was complimenting me.
“It’s like you’re blossoming into this beautiful young woman,” she carried on, taking her hand off of the steering wheel to gesture between us.
“And look at us, we’re talking, we’re doing things together.
..I feel like I haven’t been there for you, but these past few weeks.
..I don’t know...” Thankfully she put her hand back on the wheel, the car veering off toward the middle of the road. “I like it. I like this.”
“What? Driving me to work at the crack of dawn?” I joked.
“Yes,” Mom said simply. “And talking to each other like we’re not the enemy.”
I squished Floyd harder, absorbing Mom’s words. Yeah, we had become closer in recent weeks. It was almost like having no money had changed us...in a good way.
“There’s nothing like bonding over chores,” I said with a laugh.
“Or being a one car family,” Mom added.
“And being broke,” I said, turning to face her again. “Mom, I know you’ve been selling your bags online.”
Mom gasped. “What? How do you know that?”
“I saw your bags in your room and I found your account online,” I said. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me things were that bad?”
“Is that why you signed up for the harvest?” Mom asked.
I didn’t answer that, saying, “But it’s all your personal stuff.”
“Yes, and I realized I don’t need it all,” Mom said. “I mean how many bags does a woman need?”
“You used to say you can never have too many bags. Or shoes,” I said.
“Another thing I was wrong about,” Mom said.
“Or sunglasses,” I carried on, “or earrings, or bracelets.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Mom said, rolling her eyes as we pulled up to the curb. “Looks like we’re early.”
The Hamlin truck wasn’t there yet, but I unbuckled. “Thanks. See ya later.”
“Let me know when you get back,” she said, rummaging in her purse. “I should still be at the salon.”
“Yep. Enjoy your stretch class.”
“Have fun,” Mom said, handing me a $20 bill, “love you.” The way she said it, so effortlessly, and the cash she was offering, stopped me in my tracks.
“Are you sure?”
Mom nodded. “You need to eat.”
“Thanks. Love you too,” I said, grinning ear to ear, my heart so full, I thought it might burst.