Chapter 16
???
Surely my inability to check my mail won’t become a plot point later…right?
“Do you understand?” I blurt, vibrating.
“You don’t, do you?” I clasp my hands together, squealing as I lose my mind on Samson’s front porch.
I’m probably scaring the cows, which is fine.
Probably. I’m so excited I could scream, but I’m not doing that, because Samson still doesn’t look like he’s slept since I arrived two and a half weeks ago.
I have learned that he usually gets up, takes care of his animals, then collapses on his sofa until around the time I get up.
The first drowsy day I saw him sprawled across the cushions and witnessed his gruff, Morning, Lemonade…what time is it? lives rent-free in my veins.
Sleepy couch Samson is among my top-ten favorite Samsons. Although, truly, they might all be tying at first.
I just really, really like Samson.
More and more every single day.
“This is the cue for the cherry blossom festival!” I cheer, leaping off the porch in my cute new overall dress—complete with lemon pocket—and throw my arms out as pink petals flutter in the breeze.
I’m obsessed. Obsessed, I tell you. “I can’t believe it!
” I swing toward Samson as petals fall into my hair.
“This happens in the game, too. It’s one of my favorite visual effects, especially paired with the chipper spring background music.
I’ve always wondered exactly where the festival is held.
Usually, you walk into a section of the map up near Slate’s place, and the dialogue box asks you if you’re ready to start the Blush Festival, then if you click yes, you’re teleported to a place that you can’t reach outside of the festival time.
It is full of trees. Picnic blankets. Strawberries, cherries, apples. It’s practically Valentine’s Day.”
Leaning against a post, arms crossed, tattoos on glorious display, Samson murmurs, “Valentine’s Day?”
I flush. “That’s a…holiday for lovers. In my world.
And I know the Blush Festival isn’t about lovers, or anything.
” I throw my hands up, on the offense, because what?
Who? Me? Talking about lovers? Sounds unreliable.
I would never so much as think about people in love.
Obviously. “I just mean that the reds and pinks remind me of the decorations normally associated with the holiday I know.” And, you know, if you get a romanceable character to enough hearts by festival time in the second year of the game, something cute and romantic happens with them.
But that is unrelated to the festival itself.
And who even knows what WonderGlass was thinking when they drew the setting sprites.
The worst part of all the festivals is the fact that Samson simply does not go to any of them. On festival days, the best Samson content you get is the ability to come over to his house and see a special festival dialogue about how little he enjoys being in crowds.
So relatable.
But, then, when isn’t he?
I feel terrible when I begin toying with the hem of my dress, knowing what I’m about to say goes against all of his code.
Softly, I ask, “Do you think, maybe, we can go?” I choke on the together I was prepping to tack onto the end there, because it sounds too much like together together, and I’m dealing with a handful of question marks, not hearts, concerning how this man feels about me.
I’d be inclined to think my journal is broken.
Except, somehow, I have more than one heart with Laumon, Neptun, Lazul, Slate, Kaolin, and Ines. I know the first few are due to the quests I’ve finished, but Ines? I’ve met Ines one glorious time. Care to know how many hearts I have with her?
Six.
Why?
I don’t know.
My only speculation is that she fell in love with my cuteness and decided she was keeping me.
It’s a very real-world friendship experience.
I think. From TV. Not personal experience.
But still. If I’m right, it’s so unfair that Samson can literally let me live in his house without having a single heart under his name.
Weary, Samson blinks out of a daze, dragging his attention off the death-grip I have on my dress before his eyelids fall closed. “Can’t go.”
My chest squeezes. “Right. Sorry. You never went to any festivals in the game, either. I just thought…well. I mean. I’m trying not to think of you as game Samson.
So I didn’t want to count out the possibility that maybe real you would be different too quickly.
S-sorry.” Maybe Ines would be willing to go with me?
And maybe we could invite Aurelia so I can get some hearts with her, learn dirt on her brother, and plot his downfall?
There were no group outings in the game. Going on one would be a grand time. Assuming I can handle such a social situation.
Either way, this isn’t the end of the world.
And I’m fine.
Honest.
“It’s not because I don’t want to go with you,” Samson murmurs.
“It’s just because Lazul canceled all the festivals until further notice.
We don’t have the funds to squander on festivities while parts of the town are still being rebuilt.
Also, specifically for the cherry blossom festival, no one’s been up the mountain path to see if the usual spot is accessible or destroyed.
It’s a trek. Likely teeming with felled trees and new rivers where paths used to be.
” Samson pushes off the post, lifts a hand from his pocket, and pinches a petal to pull it from my hair. “Sorry, Lemonade.”
My breath stills as my mind turns white.
“If you’d like,” he begins, putting his hand back in his pocket, “we can try to start clearing that path today. It’ll be easier with your void bag and make sure next year the festival is more of a possibility.
We can treat it like a break from trying to find topaz in the mines or clearing more of your farmland.
It’ll be good for Gabbro if we can leave the lumber we get with him, too. ”
I gasp.
Samson’s brow rises. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I just remembered.” Taking a deep breath, I wince. “I ordered a better axe from Austin the day after our first time in the mines. It’s been over a week. I completely forgot to follow up with him. In game, it only takes three days to finish a tool upgrade.”
Samson’s other brow rises to meet the first, then he puffs a laugh. “Well. I guess we know the first thing you’re doing this morning.”
My eyes widen.
“Let’s pay Austin a visit.”
I have no words to express how deeply I do not want to do that, so I merely toddle after Samson when he hits the road toward town.
~ ~
“I put a letter in your box to let you know it was done,” Austin grumbles, arms folded across his leather apron. “Do you not know how to read?”
My grip on my new axe tightens.
Samson’s hand falls over mine. “That’s uncalled for, Austin.” Even as he chastises the jerk, his eyes are on me, beaming into my soul a very clear message: do not hack his head off with your new axe, Lemonade; people take damage here.
Austin scoffs. “You’re too nice to realize she’s taking advantage of you, Sammy. Lia and I grew up in Amecrest, so we’ve seen plenty of city kids like her. They think the whole world revolves around them. They’re a cesspool of entitlement and inconsideration.”
In game, axes only deal two points of damage when used as a weapon in the mines…
Even so, I doubt it would take more than one hit to bring Austin’s HP to zero with the realism mod.
So, I mutter, “Actually, you’re wrong. City kids like me know nothing revolves around us.
We’re just another cog in a capitalist society, grinding away without oil, doing jobs that feel meaningless for too many hours because rent is always due and there’s never enough money for both it and food unless we take every extra shift and every overtime.
City kids like me live in cramped boxes on top of other cramped boxes packed full of people whose names no one knows because the news is filled with murders and anyone could be a culprit.
If you want someone who believes they’re insignificant at the absolute core of their being, find a city kid.
If you want entitlement and inconsideration, well…
” I snarl, “find a blacksmith.” When Samson’s grip loosens, I turn on my heel and march from the boiling main room of the forge.
Sunshine and cherry blossom petals hit me once I’m outside, and I fill my lungs with the sweet scent of spring air. It hurts to inhale. My whole chest is tight. I’m trembling, so I very carefully slip the axe into my bag while holding back tears.
In the past five years, Vale of Gems became my home. My singular comfort. The reason I woke up each morning.
All throughout my life, I’ve never quite fit in.
I had no friends growing up. No one to keep in touch with from high school. No siblings who bothered to return my texts when I reached out. No parents who cared about any of us more than they cared about themselves.
No matter how hard I tried, I was always looking in at relationships I didn’t know how to find for myself. No matter what I did, that precious, ever-fleeting sense of human connection was always just out of reach.
Here, in the pixelated haven of Gem Ridge, I found a fabrication of closeness and community.
But now that I’m here, Austin’s attitude is a brutal reminder of all the loneliness and rejection my silly little game helped me escape.
It’s a loud you don’t belong.
And, given that people normally don’t wake up one day in their favorite video game, I’m inclined to believe he’s right.
I don’t belong.
I can’t belong.
This is a fantasy and a dream, and, one day, people wake up from stuff like that.
Magical things are as fragile as joy when monotony is ever looming on the outskirts of that tender emotion.
The door behind me opens, so I force all the Big Feelings down and ready an apology for Samson.
Except when I turn toward the door, I’m face-to-face with Austin, who is swearing, because Samson’s bulk dominates the space behind him, his fist clutching the scruff of Austin’s shirt and maneuvering him outside.
“Apologize,” Samson grits into the slew of swears bumbling from Austin’s mouth.
My mouth drops open.
“I’m—” Austin curses. “—sorry, okay?”
Samson twists Austin’s shirt. “That was a subpar apology.”
Austin sputters, glowering back at the giant, beautiful, wonderful man. “Well, what do you want me to do? Plead forgiveness on my knees?”
A dark brow quirks.
Stark disgust erupts on Austin’s face as his nostrils flare. “Absolutely not.”
“Try for an ounce of sincerity first.” Samson’s deep blue eyes narrow. “Then, after, we’ll see if Citrus wants you on your knees.”
My hand hits my mouth before I can think twice. I’m almost positive my heart launches into the stratosphere as heavy red floods my cheeks.
To Austin’s credit, his eyes widen and heat that matches his auburn hair skates across his cheekbones, too. Even though he’s an idiot, he knows the weight of what Samson just said.
He knows it was hot.
The stupid blacksmith’s gaze cuts toward me, then down.
He clears his throat as he jerks his shirt out of Samson’s grasp, brushes off his leather apron, and grumbles, “I’m sorry for being insensitive.
It was…cold of me to assume your character based on limited interactions.
However,” he states, strongly, crossing his arms across his chest and wrinkling his nose, “in my defense, you called me an emotionally-immature chipmunk the second time we met.”
Samson’s cough sounds deceptively like a laugh.
I cross my arms in kind and toss my head away from Austin with a high-pitched harrumph. “I don’t deserve abuse for my apt observations.”
Austin snarls, turning to Samson. “Why do I have to apologize for my quick judgment, but she doesn’t have to apologize for hers?”
Is he implying that my judgment was quick? Laughable.
Sir, I gagged my way through your entire romanceable character arc to give you a chance.
Oh the hours upon hours and days upon days I’ve had to judge you.
Making me love him ever more, Samson deadpans, “Because her judgment is right.” Like an endearing older brother, Samson blips Austin’s forehead.
“You’ve got a lot of growing up to do, city kid.
It’s painfully obvious your city roots were kinder to your physical well-being than hers were.
Hating your city childhood doesn’t give you the right to hate her. ”
Austin’s eye twitches, but he mutters, “I don’t have time to hate a random person who wandered into town. I have more important things to do.” Turning, he knocks into Samson’s immovable shoulder in an effort to head back inside. “Good luck, you—” he swears, and the solid door closes behind him.
Silence and blossom petals fill the air between Samson and me. After long, taut moments, I find my breath. “Th-thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He reaches for me, combing a shower of petals out of my hair, then closes his fist at his side. Assured, he strides past. “We’re running out of daylight. Let’s start clearing that trail.”
Shivering, I follow, and when a petal lands in his hair, right in front me, I carefully swipe it free to put in my lemon pocket.