Chapter 31 KELSEY MEETS THE IN-LAWS
Chapter 31
K ELSEY M EETS THE I N -L AWS
When I step onto the porch the next bright sunshiny morning, Randy is already waiting for me in work boots, jeans, and a T-shirt. I refuse to allow my brain to put a price tag on this outfit.
Too late. $125, dang it.
I’m practical in denim shorts, a white cotton shirt with cap sleeves, and tennis shoes. With a bow on my ponytail, of course.
Only when I hear the neighing sound do I realize we’re not alone. Two horses pull a wood box cart with a high seat in front.
“Oh!” I say. “ Two horsepower!”
He chuckles like that joke is even a tiny bit original. “Your chariot, our master decorator.” He bows low and gestures to the step to the seat.
Oh, boy. I look for places to hang on, but there aren’t many. I fit my shoe on the narrow step, which is really high for me already, but when I try to rise, I immediately fall back again.
Randy comes up behind me to help, moves his hands as if trying to figure out where to safely grab me, then decides he can best assist me from up top.
He jumps into the seat and leans over to extend a hand. I manage to pull up and plop into the seat with a lot less grace than I imagined.
I’ve gone Hollywood soft. Maybe this is why everyone in Beverly Hills does Pilates.
“We didn’t have a horse cart on the dairy farm,” I tell him.
He grins. “I bet not. Ours is mainly for show. It’s not the fastest way to get from A to B. But people love it.”
And I admit, I do, too. The clop, clop of the horses’ hooves on the concrete drive is a merry soundtrack as we cross the front of the house. There’s a double-grooved path in the yard off to one side that has clearly always been there for this very purpose.
At first, we appear to be headed straight for the trees, but as we get closer, I realize a narrow channel has been cut through the forest.
“We’re taking a shortcut,” Randy says, and for the first time, I realize I’m going deep into the piney woods with a perfect stranger.
Am I going to end up on a missing persons billboard? Who would buy the billboard? Not my dad. Not the Demon. Could Zachery make the police do it?
What picture would they use? It better not be the one from the Forty-Seven Dead Men premiere, where my stupid dress made me look six months pregnant, prompting calls from all my siblings when the designer tagged me in the photo, which wouldn’t have happened except in the upper corner, comedian Mitchell Barinski was making a silly face.
He’s the reason the photographer bothered to upload it.
To make matters worse, I was experimenting with dramatic eyeliner wings when I should not have been. At least not by my own hand. My shaky, unpracticed hand.
They will totally use that photo on the billboard.
My fingers graze the lump of phone in my pocket. I’m tempted to tell Zachery to make sure they don’t use that bad photo, even though it’s one of the few up on Getty Images.
But if I do that, he might figure out I have billboard fears. Then he’ll show up, and he’s already proven he’s ready to punch someone, no questions asked.
Sometimes he might benefit from asking a few questions first.
“You all right?” Randy asks. “Penny for your thoughts.”
Oh, hell no. These are $10,000 thoughts, minimum, if the tabloids pair them with the right photo of Zachery.
I peer up at the towering forest. “What kind of trees are these?”
“Mostly you’re seeing aspens, but we’ll go through frasers, grand firs, and blue spruce.”
“Which ones are the best for turning into Christmas trees?”
“I’m partial to the firs because they have that holiday pine smell. But a lot of people like blue spruce because the limbs can handle heavy ornaments and pets don’t tend to eat the needles.”
He’s clearly asked this a lot in his line of business. “I think the smell might be important. I don’t have any pets.”
“Not a pet person?”
Should I be?
“I can’t have pets where I live.”
He tilts his head. “In Alabama?”
Oh, I’m going to dig myself a hole. “Apartment lease. At the dairy, the animals all had a job. Mousing. Herding. You get it.” That’s all true.
“I reckon you’re pretty handy, growing up on a farm. We have quite a few dogs roaming the grounds, but they all end up in someone’s bed come evening time.”
“Lucky dogs.” Only after I say it do I realize it sounds like a come-on.
Randy grins. “Ol’ Blue is my favorite, even though technically she belongs to Jack. She’ll sniff me out in a hurry once we hit the retail portion of the tree farm.”
It isn’t long before the trees become sparse, then orderly, and soon, there are rows of them in varying sizes, from the seedlings in box beds to the towering ones near the forest.
A square, rough-hewn wood building squats near the center of the rows. On either side, red tents are in the process of being erected, the sides flapping in the breeze, not yet tethered to the ground.
“We’re here?” I ask.
“We are. The hayride will start at the main building. We’ll have a food tent and a Christmas tent.” Randy shakes his head. “I’m not sure what we’re selling in that one since we don’t have new stock in. Mom’s in charge of that.”
“It’s so organized!”
As we ride along a more traveled path between rows, heading for the building, a blue-gray heeler breaks away from a trio of dogs and runs straight for us.
“Is that Ol’ Blue?” I ask. The dog is seriously strong and bounds at us like demons are chasing her.
“Sure is.” Randy stands. “Come on, baby girl. Get on up here.” He slows the horses.
Blue doesn’t miss a step, but leaps straight onto the seat and into Randy’s lap. She eyes me warily, like I’m encroaching on her man.
I reach over to pet her, but she growls. I pull my hand back.
Randy shifts the reins to one hand and rests his palm on the dog’s head. “Now, Blue, don’t be jealous. This is Kelsey. She’s all right.”
Blue drops her head on Randy’s thigh, but she keeps her eye on me.
That part would never make the love story. The dog has to love me!
We pull up to the tents. A midfifties woman comes out of the building, arms full of light strings. “Oh, good. I wondered where you’ve been. I need you and Jack to hang these.” She glances at me. “Who’s your lady friend?”
Lady friend!
I hop off the seat, landing with what I hope is at least a modicum of grace. “I’m happy to help. I love Christmas in July.”
“Except it’s only going to be June,” says a younger woman, frowning as she tries to step around two collies that keep weaving around her legs. “Georgie, Finnegan, please!”
The dogs sit for a moment, as if trying to prove they can behave, but within three steps are back to getting in the woman’s way.
Randy rounds the back of the cart. “That’s Mom and my sister, Gina. She’s not thrilled with our summer endeavor.”
“I’ve barely recovered from Christmas. July makes more sense, but I know, I know. We want to make it an end-of-school thing.” Gina sets a pile of heavy wire rings on a long table outside the closest tent. “Am I really making pine wreaths in this heat? They’ll wilt in a day.”
Their mother looks up at that. “You’re right. Don’t do natural wreaths. Maybe make some out of ribbon. And maybe not Christmas colors. Summer.”
Gina separates the wire circles into piles. “Did we order ribbon for this? And I guess I can google how to make them?”
Their mother places the light strings onto the table. “Isn’t the internet full of tutorials?”
“Kelsey here’s good at decorating,” Randy says, and if he were anybody else, I would have kicked him. I’m not ready to perform in front of future in-laws!
His mother turns to me. “Excellent. You and Gina figure out some sort of wreath that will hold up for seven days. We need a dozen of them to decorate the light poles on the main path.” She gestures to the narrow road that extends from the buildings to the forest. Each row has an old-fashioned lamp pole at the end.
“Happy to,” I say, even though I’m anything but. I might kick him after all.
“Kelsey grew up on a dairy farm in Alabama,” Randy says. “She’s staying at the homestead.”
“How lovely,” his mom says, walking forward to extend a hand. “I’m Carrie Hanover. How long will you be in Glass?”
Her hand is rough and strong, like my mom’s once was. It knocks me slightly off center. “We’ll be here a week, maybe a little more.”
“We?” Carrie’s head tilts.
Oh, crap. I quickly add, “My coworker, Zachery, and I.”
“I mentioned them the other day after I accepted the reservation,” Gina says to her mother. “A man and a woman, separate rooms.”
“Is the master bedroom downstairs still getting renovated?” Carrie asks.
Gina nods. “We have to fix the shower.”
Carrie turns to Randy. “You should get to that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Gina turns to me. “You’re from Hollywood?”
And there it is.
I think fast. “Zach grew up there.” Still true while admitting nothing.
But Gina is persistent. “But you two work together?”
“We do.”
“Don’t grill her, Gina,” Randy says.
“The girls can talk about things while they make wreaths,” Carrie says. “You and Jack are hanging lights.”
Oh, boy. Now I’ll not only be trying to impress the future in-laws, but I’ll also be separated from the future husband I barely know.
I wish Zachery had come with us. He’s so good with people. He could easily deflect questions and put on the charm. Maybe I’ll text him an SOS.
“We’ll have to go into town to get ribbon,” Gina says.
“I’ll come, too,” Carrie says. “I need to make sure all the apple cider has come in, plus check on the pies.”
Gina pulls a set of car keys from her pocket and spins them around her finger. “You’re going to get a proper tour of the town.”
As we head toward a dark-green truck, I glance back at Randy.
He’s getting an elbow to the ribs from his brother as they each sling rolls of lights over their shoulders.
What have I gotten myself into exactly? Is this an accepting bunch, or is this how they recruit free help around here?
As we arrange ourselves in the front seat of the truck, me squished between Randy’s mom and sister, I think of Midsommar .
If someone puts a wreath of flowers on my hair, I’m jumping out of this damn truck.