CHAPTER 4
Jesse
The only thing worse than being shunned from Friend Island is being shunned from Friend Island while you’re surrounded by happy people. Pete and I legit just walked into Mom’s kitchen thirty seconds ago after finishing up the pick for the day and he’s on Cameron like a moth to a light. Wrapping his arms around him from behind, it’s a surreal sight to see my brother so over-the-moon for someone. Murmuring, giggling—they’re disgusting, absolutely disgusting.
I’m so happy for him it hurts.
I was disgusting three weeks ago when I had a best friend that spoke to me. Now, I’ve been demoted to the thumbs-up emoji the few times I’ve texted Murph since the café debacle. I miss being disgustingly happy.
What the hell is with the thumbs-up? How much time does he need before I get actual responses? I know he said he wanted some time apart, but it’s not like a text message is invading his personal bubble.
Sinking into one of the kitchen chairs, I drop my head in my hands. I’m never this tired after a day on the orchard. I think the stress of being in limbo with Murph is sapping me emotionally. If this keeps up, my will to live may be next.
Does he miss me as much as I miss him? We’ve never gone this long without seeing each other while we were in the same zip code. I still can’t figure out what I did wrong.
When I thought he was into rodeo, I bought him rodeo gifts. When he shot that theory out of the water with his confession about going to Seattle, I shifted gears and tried to bring a bit of Seattle to him by taking him to Un-bean-lievable.
Worst coffee ever, by the way. I got the shits so bad from that wheatgrass smoothie, it’s not even funny. Crap. I forgot I need to buy more toilet paper.
Whatever. The point is I tried my hardest, and I’m being punished both body and soul because of it.
I don’t get why he was so mad? I was trying to show him he can let me in on his life and his interests. I wore my best shirt to make more of an effort than I usually do, and he even turned his nose up at that. I don’t get it.
He said he goes to The Dew Drop to hang out with me, so I thought it’d be nice to take him somewhere that wouldn’t have as many distractions to return the compliment. I wanted to hang out, but he seemed like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. If I’d known he wanted a steak, I’d have bought him a steak. Anything. Geez!
Ugh. Men are so confusing.
Something nudges my chair, jostling my hands against my face. Peering up, I find Pete’s scrutinizing gaze looking down at me.
“Do I even want to know what’s wrong with you or is this an act?” he asks.
After thirty years, when I finally have Pete’s attention, the attention a big brother should give a sweet, caring little brother, I realize I don’t want it. I’m not about to ask him what he’d think of my dilemma. If Murph hasn’t told anyone, I’m not going to fuck up what’s left of our friendship by diming him out.
“Miserable people problems,” I inform him, tracing a scratch on the wood surface of the table. “You wouldn’t understand.” A few weeks ago, he might have, but not now that he’s the happiest man on the planet since he met Cam.
“Good luck with that,” he mumbles carelessly.
Jerk.
At least Cam flashes me a sympathetic smile before they disappear through the doorway. Listening to their happy voices as they ascend the stairs to the second floor, my insides squirm with jealousy. If Pete, my grumpy-ass brother, can find happiness and learn how to navigate socializing with someone who’s gay, I should be able to as well. I’m personable and giving and affectionate and…
Aren’t I?
My mother’s form flits by my peripheral, wiping down the counter where she’s been teaching Cam her culinary skills on his and Pete’s weekend visits to the orchard. I don’t have to tell her what’s going on, but perhaps offering up some generalizations might provoke her motherly wisdom. I mean, who else knows me best besides Murph?
“Mom?”
“Hm?” she hums, glancing over her shoulder.
The lump in my throat has me afraid to ask. What if I don’t like the answer?
Suck it up, Jesse. This is Murph who’s on the line. You need to do some inner reflection if you want to figure out how to fix this.
“Do you think I’m a bad person?”
Her hand with her dishrag stills on the counter. Her brow furrows, and her mouth sets in a frown. “What did you do?” she asks warily.
What did I do? That’s her gut reaction? That can’t be freaking good!
My heart drops into my stomach like a lead weight. I guess that says it all if my own mother assumes that I did something wrong when I ask her opinion about my moral compass.
Shit.
“Why do you assume I did something?” I counter, hating how petulant it sounds.
“Well, you just asked me out of the blue if you’re a bad person, and you’re sitting there looking like you did that time you painted my bureau with my nail polish.”
“I was six! I didn’t know it wouldn’t come off! How many times are you going to bring that up?”
As she studies me, I feel squirmy watching her eyes scan my face. It’s like she knows, knows that I did something even if I don’t know what I did.
“What’s the problem?”
Sighing, I reach out for the pie that’s sitting in the middle of the table and break off a piece of the crust. Popping the flaky golden dough into my mouth, I mumble around it as I chew, “Murphy’s mad at me.”
“About what?”
Shrugging, my shoulders relax as the buttery taste envelopes my taste buds. I think I’ve gained five pounds since Murphy dumped me at the café last month, but food has been my only comfort.
“I don’t know,” I half-lie because I don’t, and she certainly won’t understand our café argument. “But he won’t talk to me.”
“Well, did you apologize?”
“How can I apologize if I don’t know what I did wrong?”
Breaking off another section of crust, I shake my head. Is she even listening to me?
A hand swats mine, leaving a sting over my knuckles. The pie crust crumbles under my touch, leaving a smattering of crumbs on the checkered placemat.
“Stop picking at that! That’s Cam’s.”
Did she seriously just deny her own child sustenance? Gaping up at her, aghast, I’m wounded by the severity of her expression. She’s serious.
“Violent much? Says the woman who just told me to apologize!” I remind her, rubbing my hand.
Frowning, she absconds with the pie like I’ve been replaced by Pete’s boyfriend. Well, this is some bullshit! I opened up for wisdom and compassion and got abuse and hostility instead.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to ruin it,” she says more calmly. “It’s the first one Cam made all by himself. I’ll cut you a slice.”
“I’m not hungry,” I mumble, picking at the crumbs left behind as she takes the pie to the counter.
Glancing over at me, her expression is doubtful, like I’ve just spoken blasphemy. I’m always hungry, and she knows it. She gets one redemption point for that. When I see her open the drawer where she keeps her pie serving utensils, a thrill of vindication dances in my chest.
Fine. Maybe she does still care.
Sighing as she plates a slice, she says sagely, “Well, I can’t offer you advice if I don’t know what happened, but Murphy Malone is the most patient person I’ve ever met, so I’m sure if you just talk it over with him, you’ll get to the bottom of it. You two have been friends since you were in short pants.”
“Why do people use that expression? I’ve never worn short pants in my life. And he hasn’t seemed very patient lately.”
“Do you want ice cream on this?” she asks, completely disregarding my musings.
“Fine. Whatever.”
Here comes another five pounds. If Murph ever decides to speak to me again, he won’t recognize me.
Something’s got to give. I can’t keep trolling past his house in Delores like a stalker. I’ve wanted to just show up and start helping him pick like I always do, no matter what he says. I know he’s been stressed out over keeping up with things since his dad died. I should be there, letting him know he doesn’t have to do it alone. It’s killing me, seeing how many of his trees are still loaded with apples while we’re close to winding down our season.
Mom slides a plate in front of me. The scoop of vanilla ice cream is starting to melt its creamy goodness into the warm pie, making my stomach growl in approval. Once again, food is the closest thing to happiness in my life since Murph left it.
Laying a hand on my shoulder, Mom squeezes. “Maybe he’s got something going on. Just talk to him. Sometimes people just need someone to listen.”
It’s not the end all be all of advice, but I can certainly do that. If he lets me. I’ll be the best listener to have ever listened.
Digging into my comfort food, my brain churns for an in. I might only get one shot. My stupid texts about the weather, our picks, and local gossip have all gone unanswered minus his dumb thumbs-up emojis. I need to poke the bear, stick my neck out, offer up a white flag of truce that gets me an audience with him.
Friends don’t need time apart. Friends figure shit out together. Murph needs to see that I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for him, no matter what.
Just as soon as I finish this pie.