Chapter 12 #3
I did. Berlyn took a special interest in flowers and their meanings at one point.
I always wondered if it had to do with her art, and it always made me look a little closer at what flowers she was drawing.
It ended up being really helpful in figuring out her moods.
I nod when I realize she’s still waiting for my answer.
Maybe next time I’ll give her a real one.
“Maybe it’s not that I want to disappear when I come here,” she murmurs more to herself than to me.
“You want to remind yourself what it means to be happy.” I don’t say it as a question and she gives me a curious but pleased look. It isn’t so hard to talk to her. Almost the same way it isn’t hard to talk to my brothers. Not the same way as it is with other people.
Berlyn tugs me away from the flowers and we walk our way carefully through the stems to reach the rope we crossed and get back on the path we’re supposed to be on. “You’re very observant, you know?” she says casually, looking up at me through her eyelashes.
“I’m quiet,” I answer, not knowing what else to say. It isn’t like I can admit I know so much about her because I’ve made it my job to for the last several years. When you don’t talk so much it really opens your ears to listen, even to the things that aren’t said.
She hums and nods her head as we make our way out of the fields and the sound of people begin to filter around us. Small giggles, parents calling their children’s names, and the faint sound of the train’s horn.
“Are we friends?” Berlyn asks out of nowhere.
I lift our interlocked hands as if that should be answer enough. I hope she sees me as a friend. I hope she’s able to see me as more.
The last of her melancholy mood seems to drift away as her normal enthusiasm takes over as we wander around the pumpkin patch.
The rest of the day is spent with an ease I’ve never experienced without my brothers at my side.
Even with them, it’s rarely ever a feeling I can enjoy outside of the home we’ve built for ourselves.
No one looks twice at Berlyn and I as we move from one stall to the next, playing the little carnival games, and stopping for more fall treats and drinks than I thought I’d be capable of eating.
I couldn’t stop though when Berlyn’s eyes lit up a bit more with each one.
The only time I saw her happier than when she was eating a sweet treat was when I won her a stuffed pumpkin at one of the shooting games.
At least the world I found myself in proved useful for something.
Even now, the little plush pumpkin is cuddled to Berlyn’s chest as she sips on her apple cider and watches the carousel spin round and round. The music is speeding up with every turn.
“Do you want to ride it again?” I ask her, finishing my own cider and tossing the cup in the trash.
She shakes her head. “I just like people watching.” Another thing we have in common. She’s fallen quieter again as the sun began to sink lower on the horizon. We don’t have much longer left of sunlight, but she seems in no rush to leave either.
It’s not the same empty silence from earlier that hung clouds above her head and left her eyes void of everything that makes her Berlyn. It’s contemplative, wistful even.
Berlyn sighs and leans against my arm, making me move it around her shoulders so she can relax into my side. Anyone watching us would assume we are a couple. I cannot wait until my brothers hear all about this.
“Anything else you want to do?” I ask. We’ve done everything except pick out our pumpkins or go on the Ferris wheel. All day, Berlyn has kept her eyes from even straying to the ride, so I never led her in that direction.
It’s odd when Ferris wheels were another one of her fixations at some point.
Something she used to draw, though it’s been many years since one has been featured in her art.
I’ve no idea what could be her aversion to it, but it seemed like more than a dislike.
Felt more like if she let herself look, she may fall back into that displaced state of not really being connected to her body.
The more I observed her all day, the more time I had to think about it. I realized that’s why she felt so strange earlier. As if her body were here but she wasn’t. Not really. Something about the Ferris wheel felt like it would steal her away from me all over again.
“We can’t forget to pick our pumpkins,” she says almost absentmindedly, her eyes still following the carousel.
I check the time, but the sun hasn’t even set yet. “We have time,” I assure her.
Her hand once more finds mine. “Let’s go now while we still have light.” There’s a tightness to her voice but not in the same way as earlier. I can’t help but analyze every micro expression and subtle shift in tone she has, scared to not recognize her again.
I’ve always paid close attention to Berlyn, but I’m wondering just how much I missed through the screen. I can’t recall any other time I’ve seen her shut down the way she did earlier, but what if I just couldn’t feel the distance because I wasn’t with her?
Berlyn keeps her eyes fixed in the opposite direction of the Ferris wheel, leaning into me as we walk to where the pumpkins are growing.
“My brothers are going to be jealous,” I say, making her lift her gaze to meet mine.
If she’s focused on me, her attention will be firmly away from the ride.
I want to know why it bothers her, but she’s never pushed me for answers.
Never asked why I don’t like to talk, why I refuse to in front of other people.
Never made me feel bad when I struggled to answer one of her questions.
She hums, amusement and curiosity smoothing out the lines of tension in her expression. “We can get them pumpkins too,” she teases.
Not what I meant, but my smile comes easily. “Nah,” I argue. They’re the ones who missed out. They don’t need pumpkins. It’s not what they’re going to be jealous about anyways. Jude got plenty of her the other night. He got to hold her all night long in that damn house. Another reason to hate it.
Her small hand thumps against my chest, barely noticeable if I hadn’t watched her wind up. “Don’t be mean,” she scolds, her nose scrunches in exasperation and she narrows her eyes. Anyone else I would think they were actually annoyed, but I know Berlyn better than I know myself.
“They don’t need pumpkins,” I argue trying to hide my smile from her, but she picks up on it as easily as I was able to pick up on her amusement.
She shakes her head, laughing. “We shouldn’t leave them out.”
I shrug, showing our wristbands to the woman at the gate to the pumpkin patch. Our conversation is paused as she points to what section we can pick our pumpkins from and hands each of us a pair of shears to cut them from the vine.
Berlyn takes her time meandering through the vines, wanting to make the perfect choice. I couldn’t care less about what size or shape my own pumpkin is, as long as it’s orange. The white ones don’t feel very festive.
She points to a perfectly rounded pumpkin with smooth curves and nearly no blemishes. “This one for Ezra,” she announces, clearly proud of herself.
I chuckle, shaking my head before cutting the picture-perfect pumpkin for her. It does fit my brother. We call him pretty boy for a reason. “Just needs glasses,” I say, making her giggle.
“I’m going to tell him you said that.”
I nod, giving her permission. I hope she does.
The next pumpkin she points to is taller, not quite as round, and slightly lopsided with a long thick stem. “For Jude?” I guess and she beams at me with a nod. I snort, it’s more accurate than she even knows. A joke I can’t make to her, yet, but will be making to my brother the first chance I get.
I cut the second pumpkin and find a cart to put both Jude and Ezra’s pumpkins in so we don’t have to carry them around while we pick ours.
“Are you going to pick mine?” I ask, looking around.
Her brows raise in confusion and her head tilts to the side. “You’re here.”
“And?” My brothers got a pumpkin picked out by Berlyn, I want one too.
She considers it for a second before smiling. “Then you pick mine,” she offers and I agree immediately, suddenly caring about the size and shape of all the pumpkins surrounding us. It has to be just right.
Not perfectly round with no blemishes, but perfect for Berlyn. It has to be cute with its imperfections. Each one only making it more special. It takes me longer than I thought it would to find exactly what I’m looking for.
Berlyn’s pumpkin is smaller than Ezra’s, slightly wider but a little flatter except where it has two high points on either side, reminding me a little bit of the top of a heart.
Berlyn has wandered a little aways from me, taking her own contemplation just as seriously in her search for mine. She’s carrying one almost as big as her when she makes her way back to me.
My eyes widen and I nearly drop her pumpkin as I rush over to her to take the massive one out of her hands. “This is not medium,” I point out.
She beams up at me, looking me up and down. “No, it’s not.”
I snort. No wonder she wandered so far away, there’s nothing even close to this size anywhere near us.
“I get the big pumpkin because I’m the biggest?” I ask, studying it. It’s neither as perfect as Ezra’s nor as lopsided as Jude’s.
Her smile spells trouble, like she was hoping I was going to make that assumption and say something. “Nope,” she responds cheerfully. “You get the biggest because you spent all day with me, Weston.” She bumps her shoulder against mine and nearly loses her balance. “Because you’re my friend.”
The words are damn near my undoing. The urge to kiss her, to tell her my feelings, to take her and keep her for myself almost overwhelming the loyalty I have to my brothers.
We swore we would make her ours together though, so I settle for dumping the pumpkin into the cart so I’m able to pull Berlyn into my arms.
She melts at my touch, a heavy exhale leaving her lips as she presses her face into my chest and her small arms wrap tightly around my waist. It’s not nearly enough, and yet so overwhelmingly too much sensation all at once as her scent intoxicates me and her warmth infuses me with heat more than any hot apple cider ever could.
“Thank you for today, Weston,” she whispers so softly I almost don’t even hear her. I squeeze her tighter.
I don’t know what this was but it feels important. More than anything else we’ve done to make Berlyn ours.
This moment feels like a growing vine, yet to bloom, but full of promise.