Chapter 12
When you live on a farm, you don’t get to sleep in. It was Sunday and I wanted to lie next to Fancy a little while longer, but duty called. After fifteen minutes of me trying to untangle myself without waking up Fancy, I headed downstairs and was shocked to see the dishes and fruit all over the floor. What possessed me to do that shit, I’ll never know. Circling the kitchen island, I cleaned up before pulling out a broom to sweep any remaining pieces of glass.
If she wasn’t still in my bed, I would have sworn last night was a vivid hallucination. Sure, I’d imagined sex with Fancy hundreds of times. Saying it now sounded pathetic, but for me, Fancy was always the one. Everyone else was a place filler for the real thing. I’m not saying there weren’t women who made me forget about Fancy. My last real girlfriend Mari and I were happy until we weren’t.
Pouring myself a thermos of coffee—the programmable coffee pot was the best birthday gift ever—I headed out. In the barn I loaded up on feed and water and drove off in my UTV. I could perform this loop in my sleep. First, I visited Scout, I pulled up a stool and milked her as we talked. She let me do most of the talking. After changing out her water and food, I headed over to see my goats. They came with the purchase of the farm. When I walked near their stall, they acted so excited to see me and it gave my tired ass a boost of energy.
Last was the chicken coop. I checked on the hens and collected the eggs. And before walking away, I thanked them for their sustenance. The whole circle of life thing was in full effect. Eggs and milk my animals produced would be used as fuel for my body and that connection and reliance on nature and the earth wasn’t lost on me.
When I made it back to the house, Fancy was on the porch steps with a cup of coffee.
“Morning.” Her gaze didn’t meet my eyes.
The muscles in my jaw ruminated. “Good morning.” After sex clarity was a motherfucker. I already knew sleeping with Fancy was a mistake because she’d effectively ruined me for everyone else. When I told her I’d probably end up settling, I meant it because if it wasn’t her, I didn’t really want it. Maybe after fucking me, she’d realized she needed to head back home and fix her relationship with old boy.
A rush of air escaped her lungs. “Can I just say … that … last night I said some things … and you said things. We both made statements in the heat of the moment and maybe we said things we meant … or not. But we definitely said some things.”
The corners of my eyes tightened. “Did you practice that?”
“I did not.”
“So when you told me I could put it anywhere was that just a thing you said?”
Her eyes finally met mine and there was longing behind them. “No, I fucking meant that shit.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Fancy surrendered her hands in the air. “The crying Edison … I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m not going to hold you to your excited utterances or tears.”
“Do you have a lot of women boohooing over your dick?”
“I mean maybe one or two.”
Her head drew back quickly. “Hmm, okay pussy whisperer.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Cradling her mug, she announced, “I think this is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks, it’s a mixture of different beans. I grind them fresh.” I took a seat next to her and stole her mug, taking a sip.
“Where’d you go?”
“To feed and water the animals.”
“You should have woken me up. I would have helped.”
“Woman, I know you. You would not have helped. You would have complained. You would have made jokes. You might’ve even broken a nail, but you would not have helped.”
“I wasn’t built for physical labor. I mean look at my arms. Like chicken wings. I’m more of a bring lemonade to the crew type of girl. For a while there, Daddy tried to make me into a horse trainer, like Oz, but he gave up. He told me I was an unserious person. And thinking back on it now, that was a fair assessment.”
“Sometimes our parents know us better than we know ourselves.”
“I think that’s true when we’re younger, but as an adult I don’t think my father has a clue about what motivates me.”
Her words unlocked a core memory for me. The last time I’d had a semi real conversation with my father was right before I went off to college. My mother encouraged him to check in with me. Our stilted discussion included him reminding me to always use a condom, don’t fall to peer pressure, and whatever I did to not sully the family name. That was years ago. Today our conversations focused on three topics—sports, the nursery, and food. My father would probably forget my birthday if my mom wasn’t around to remind him.
Fancy cast her eyes in front of her, looking off into the distance. “This is a nice view.”
“I bought the house because of that view.”
Fancy leaned her head on my shoulder and started to hum low. Not going to lie, I almost creamed my pants. This was perfect. She was perfect and in the short time she was here, she made this house feel more like a home, despite the frilly drapes and dog-shaped umbrella stand.
When she started to sing, I just closed my eyes and listened. Singing was like sharing a piece of your soul, oftentimes telling the listener more about a person than just words alone could. Anytime Fancy sang a cappella you could sense her vulnerability in each note. She was the reason Whiskey Wild was so successful, because from the first guitar string she hooked you.
“Sing with me,” she requested.
I grimaced with a slight shake of my head. “You’re doing fine.” We used to sing together all the time, but nowadays I only sang after several glasses of liquid courage.
“Please.” Her big mink eyes pleaded.
It was nearly impossible to say no to that pouty face. Humoring her, I sang along with the familiar words. I could carry a tune, but my skills were no match for Fancy’s. She was a powerhouse and when her deep raspy voice sang a song, you felt it in your bones. Fancy just came alive when she sang. Tapping my foot on the steps, we fell into familiar cadence.
She swayed from side to side, beaming up at me as my bass harmonized with her soprano. Fancy couldn’t help but perform, shimming her shoulders and rocking her hips. We didn’t need an audience, she would entertain the trees, and they’d pendulate in appreciation. Fancy jumped up, dancing barefoot in the dirt while I slapped my knee to keep the beat. Our melodies drifted into the soft morning breeze. She was the fire, and I was the match. Without her flame, I was useless.
Fancy fell into my arms as the last refrains died on our lips. “It doesn’t make sense but love rarely does.” She kissed me and my heart was set ablaze. The way her mouth moved was deliberate, like she was giving me time to grasp the unspoken words behind our lip lock. Her fingers fumbled over my belt buckle and I was ready to fuck her in front of God and Katt who stopped for a lazy stretch before continuing on her way. The landline in the house rang, interrupting the action.
“Ignore it,” she begged.
Pushing her hair from her face, I objected. “Can’t, it could be important.” I wanted to. I really did, but not many people called the house number, so when it rang I picked up. Standing, I carried Fancy inside, depositing her on the couch.
“Hello?” I said.
“Good morning, Edison, sorry to call so early on a Sunday.” It was Fancy’s mother, and I felt like a kid who’d got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“No need to apologize ma’am.”
Fancy rolled her eyes mouthing the word “Ma’am?”
“Is Fancy with you?”
“Yes Mrs. Palmer, I’m looking at her right now. Do you want to speak to her?” I hit the speakerphone and Fancy’s back straightened.
“Oh no need to bother. I just wanted to make sure she was safe. Didn’t want to assume.”
“I apologize. We should’ve called. I feel awful about making you worry.” I noticed my belt was still undone and cringed like this was a video chat and I’d been caught red-handed trying to diddle the rancher’s daughter.
Fancy chimed in. “I’ll be back Monday morning Momma.”
“Is that okay with you Mrs. Palmer?” I asked respectfully.
“You don’t have to clear anything with me. I’m not keeping tabs.”
“I totally understand.”
“Well, I better run. I have meat to season and a pie to make.”
“Bye Momma,” Fancy yelled from across the room.
When I hung up the receiver, Fancy’s eyes grew wide. “You know what this means right?”
“What?”
“She knows you fucked me.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
“I slept over at your place.” Her voice was incredulous.
“You could have just fallen asleep. She doesn’t know.”
“Oh, she knows your penis has been in my vagina … and my mouth.”
What was it about parents having confirmation of your sexual activities that made shit weird? I remember back in high school when my mom walked in on me and my then girlfriend having sex. Mortified wasn’t a strong enough word. We never talked about it. But one day before dropping me off at school she asked, “Are you being safe?” and I answered, “Yes ma’am.”
“Wait until I give her the play-by-play,” she teased.
Fancy and her mother’s relationship was open door policy, and they shared information most mothers and daughters didn’t, which I always thought a bit weird.
“You better not.”
Her breathing pattern shifted as she clutched her chest. “I’m going to tell her about the funny noises you make when you come.”
Grabbing a floral pillow from a nearby chair, I hurled it at her. “I don’t make funny noises.”
“It’s the combination of noises and faces that I like the most.”
“You are such a fucking brat. If you tell your momma about this dick, you ain’t getting no more.”
Fancy shut her mouth, turned an imaginary key and threw it away before dissolving into a laughing fit. When she wiped the tears from her eyes, she asked, “What do you want to do now?”
“Let’s take a shower and make some funny noises,” I said, chasing her up the stairs.
After lazing around the house most of the morning, we made a quick run into town for groceries. Fancy was wearing one of my T-shirts and a pair of jeans I found that might’ve belonged to Willa. My property didn’t have internet service, not because I was choosing to live off the grid, but because it wasn’t a priority to me. I wasn’t a big TV watcher, and I preferred music or silence over anything else.
Anytime Dial or Cyrus visited, they’d complain because they were forced to talk to me and couldn’t disappear into their phones. Annoying my siblings was reason enough to never get Wi-Fi. When we took to the road, Fancy’s phone popped out as she searched for a signal. She even went as far as to stick her phone out the window in hopes a bar would appear.
“These back roads are essentially dead space,” I informed her.
Rolling up the window, she turned her phone over in her hand as if she was scheming a way to MacGyver cell service with paper clips and gum wrappers. “How do you doom scroll at night?”
“I don’t.”
“What do you do before bedtime?”
“I read, listen to music, play solitaire.”
“On your phone?”
“No actual cards.”
Her eyebrows folded inward as she crinkled her nose. “I mean, I guess. But why? The world moves so fast I’ve already missed several news cycles.”
“News is the worst. Everything is breaking, urgent, must-see TV. Come to find out it’s just a mundane story about a world leader making threats. Shit that’s a Tuesday in America.”
“Your house is like a horror story. Secluded farmhouse, no neighbors for miles, and no Wi-Fi. All you’re missing is the maniacal killer.”
“Gee thanks.”
“I’m not saying your place is a death trap … but?—”
“Sometimes disconnecting is a good thing. You discover what’s truly important and what’s just noise.”
“How am I supposed to keep abreast on the newest lip shimmer, nail trend, or whozeewhatzit without internet?” she teased. “I don’t know I like something until the internet tells me I should.”
“I know you’re joking, but for a lot of people that’s their reality. They need validation from faceless masses to confirm their next move.”
“So you’re anti social media and the world wide web?”
“Nope. I just think that shit is nuanced. And while it can keep us connected, it can also pull us apart.”
Fancy scanned her phone again. “I just need the serotonin boost staying connected provides. I haven’t even done my WordBop of the day.”
“What’s that?”
“You’d know if you had fucking internet.”
“You want the internet? Here’s the internet … check out my outfit of the day. Someone asks complete strangers if he’s the asshole for doing XYZ. Spoiler alert, he is indeed the asshole. A video tries to convince you to buy this amazing chair, cheese shredder, or pair of butt lifting jeans. An influencer with over a million views gets ousted as racist. And people are going back and forth about who should pay for the first date.”
“So you are on the internet.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Once we hit the edge of town, the bars went up and Fancy’s interest in me went down. The cab was flooded with dings, chimes, and whistles to signify all the calls, messages, and alerts she’d missed in less than twenty-four hours. She quietly scanned through emails and texts, her face neutral. If the world was burning down, I couldn’t tell. Parking, I exited the truck and made my way to the passenger side to let her out.
“Is it okay if we hit up the hardware store first, I have to get a few things?”
“Uh-huh.” At Morton’s she stopped short. “I’m just going to hang back and reply to some messages.”
“Okay.”
“Could you tell Mr. Morton I said hello?”
“You could just come inside and tell him yourself.”
“These replies aren’t going to send themselves. But I’ll stand by the window and wave.”
“Yeah, that’s just as good.” I went inside, not waiting for a response. Let’s start with the obvious, Francesca owed me nothing. We weren’t a couple, we’d had a one-night stand. It’s not like I was shopping for tuxedos or making plans. I knew what the fuck this was when I invited her home. Now that being said, I was pissed. Was I the asshole for wanting my attention to be reciprocated? Probably. Shit, was spending time with me so unbearable she needed to virtually be anywhere but here? For a brief second, I allowed myself to wonder if she was hoping for a message from her ex begging her to take him back.
Outside the hardware store, I was treated to a big smile. “All done?”
“Are you all done?”
“Yes?” She lifted a bag with a smile. “While you were in Morton’s I dipped into Sweet But Sinful and got us some taffy.”
Damn, I am the asshole. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wasn’t sure which flavors you like so I just got a little bit of everything.” Pulling her in, I kissed the top of her head. “Hmm, you do know this is how rumors start.”
“You’re right, I probably shouldn’t have—” Fancy’s phone ringing cut me off.
“I need to take this.” She shook her cellphone. “I’ll meet you at the market.” Fancy called over her shoulder while walking away.
I was relieved when we were back on the road on our way home. After a few miles, service became shoddy and she tossed her phone into her purse.
“It’s going to be a nice night to grill,” she said, her arm halfway out the window.
“Uh-huh.”
“I can’t wait until you taste the grilled pineapple. You’re going to love it, just add a little cinnamon or honey.”
“Yep.”
Fancy side eyed me. “Is everything okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
My voice was saying unbothered, but my body language was giving anything but, with my tight jaw and bobbing Adam’s apple. It was clear that everything was not okay. My knuckles gripped the steering wheel tightly as I just stared forward into the empty road. Fancy allowed me to stew, focusing on the vast nothingness that passed us by.
When I pulled up to the house and cut off the ignition. Fancy turned to me and said, “Did I do something wrong?”
“How could the perfect Fancy Palmer ever do anything wrong?” I climbed out of the truck and headed to the flatbed to collect the bags.
She followed me, her hands settling on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
There was a tightness in my chest as my body temperature increased. “Let’s just forget it.”
“No, your attitude is kind of hard to ignore.”
“My attitude?” I had to laugh to stop myself from going feral.
“Yeah, you’re being rude.”
“I’m not being rude. Rude, is complaining about the lack of Wi-Fi. Rude, is incessantly checking your phone for bars or signs of life. Rude, is steadily focusing on your phone while I was just hoping for a chill afternoon.”
“Excuse the fuck out of me for having a life that consist of more than just a cat and a few goats.”
Words like quaint and cozy were just code words for ugly and boring. One minute she’s gushing over how cute my house is and complimenting me on the beautiful views and then in the next breath my animals were unremarkable and my life meaningless. “Oh, so now you hate the farm.”
She lowered her chin to her chest while slowly shaking her head. “I never said that. Edison can we just take a beat?”
This was me hurt. I was never her first choice, not back then and not now. “Did your boyfriend call you? Did your message last night fire him up? Is he finally ready to fight for you?”
“Where is this coming from?”
My shoulders slumped and the tightness in my chest became almost unbearable. “I don’t like being used, Fancy.” Being upset came with unavoidable discomfort because it almost always meant my feelings had been hurt. Which is why I probably stuck to myself. Because letting people in also invited an uneasiness that was difficult to shake.
“Used? I’m not?—”
My voice was shaky, and my tone was harsher than I’d intended. “You couldn’t wait to get to town so you could check your messages to see if he’d called or texted you. I was right fucking there. You could’ve at least waited until I went into the hardware store.”
“Okay … okay I’ve hurt you.” She looked toward the sky in search of the right words. “Whiskey Wild is my baby and right now everything is sort of up in the air. The record label is asking about the tour. People are talking and there’s all these rumors and I just needed to get ahead of that. Was there a part of me hoping for a response from Chap? Yes. I want a heartfelt apology. Or some sign he was suffering with the fact he fucked up and lost me for good. He hurt me and I wanted to hurt him back. And I know that sounds crazy and I shouldn’t care, but the wounds are still fresh.”
“Listen to me. You know how much I care for you. So while this may be brief it’s not a game to me. My very real emotions are all tangled up in you like creeping vines. When you head back to LA, I want to be left with fond memories, not regret. If you can’t promise that, then I don’t want this.” I shoved the keys to the truck in her hand. “If you can’t offer me that, then take my truck and go home.” I grabbed the bags and headed for the house.
In the kitchen, I silently berated myself for losing my cool. We both knew eventually Fancy would return to her normal life. But if we were going to spend time together while she was here, that time had to be the best time of our lives to compensate for the heartbreak that would follow. I wasn’t asking her to give up her life in LA any more than she was asking me to leave Hume. But it couldn’t feel like I was a void filler. It had to be real.
I stood staring out the kitchen window, for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the whining of the motor, the rumble of the engine catching, and the wheels turning over the pavement as she drove away. I’d asked for too much. She was looking to have fun, take her mind off her life back home and I was over here, a bleeding wound begging her to consider me.
When the front door squeaked open and Fancy entered the kitchen, I was finally able to breathe unfettered. She dropped my keys on the counter and wrapped her arms around me from behind. “Edison?—”
“It’s okay.” I turned to face her. “We’re okay.”
“Do you mean that? I need you to know there is no place I’d rather be than on this farm with you.”
“Even if we get terrorized in the middle of the night by masked assailants?”
“Shit, just call me Kevin McCallister cause we would boobie trap this place like Home Alone.”
I chuckled.
Fancy brushed her finger across my bottom lip. “Listen, I’m crazy about you, Eddy. I don’t know what that means. But I know what I feel.”
Nodding, I soaked up her affirming words like a parched philodendron. “We should probably marinate the meat first to give it a chance to sop up all that good flavor.”
“While you do that, I’ll start boiling the potatoes for the potato salad.”
Fancy selected a bluegrass record and turned it up loud as we got to work. Prepping the food, we danced around the kitchen sneaking kisses. It was like the quarrel out front never happened. I felt like the only one. Like I was her choice and not just the nearest option, and I loved that for me.