Chapter 15
The next morning, despite waking up in Blaire, the sun still shines and time marches on. Apparently I was wrong. Living in Blaire for the unforeseeable future is not the end of the world.
I eventually muster up enough energy to get out of bed.
A quick glance around tells me Gavin is in the bathroom and my parents are outside.
In the kitchen I find a film-covered plate of breakfast on the table.
Today it’s an egg omelet with a tangy sauce drizzled on top.
Knowing it’s going to be the best and only good part of the day, I savor every single bite. That is, until I’m rudely interrupted.
“What?” I hiss at Gavin, who is now lurking in the kitchen with his lips curled up at the corners.
“Nothing. It just seems like you’re enjoying breakfast.” And there it is again—a creepy smile.
“What’s with the smirk?” I stare at my plate skeptically. “Did you lace it with something?”
“El, I need to tell you about something,” he says somewhat seriously, which gets my attention.
“I think I know what you’re going to tell me.”
“You do?” He seems nervous and slightly embarrassed, which is understandable if this is what I think it’s about.
“Yeah,” I say. “I saw the Rogaine in your bag of toiletries.”
“What?” His head jerks back. “That’s not what I was going to tell you! And that’s preventative—” He stops himself, drawing in a calming breath.
“Then what is it about?” I ask, more confused than before. The Rogaine was a pretty big deal to me when I discovered it.
“Honestly I was just trying to make conversation. But forget it.”
Make conversation? What’s his deal?
After he leaves the room, I eat the rest of my breakfast in the privacy of a Gavin-free space. No sense in wasting good food. As soon as I clear my plate, I’m summoned outside.
While Mr. Ahn is working on filing for bankruptcy, Mom and Dad are home for the next few days, and they waste no time getting to work on the house. Which, due to recent events, makes sense, since this is their retirement plan. What doesn’t make sense is why Gavin and I are involved in their plans.
“Now that our future is less certain, we have to find a way to monetize this farm. And we all have to pitch in.”
“You want us to be farmers permanently?” I flail. Haven’t we suffered enough?
“I thought this was for your retirement. Not the retirement plan.” Gavin is as shocked as I am. “Don’t you have a 401(k) or a Roth IRA?”
“Aside from your college funds, I’m not sure what the IRS will determine we can keep,” Dad says.
“But don’t worry. I’m sure whatever we’re left with, we’ll be fine,” he quickly adds.
“And it’s a good thing no one’s responded to our listing to rent out this property.
Because now we can start planting metaphorical seeds as well.
By using my business sense and my farming background, we can start a lucrative side business before going back to It’s Ok!
Then we’ll be back in business and better than before.
” Dad puffs out his chest, unusually confident for someone in his position.
“I thought farming the land was for when you retire,” Gavin says.
“I’m with Gavin. This sounds like a you problem.” I point to Mom and Dad.
“Well, none of us is working now, so we may as well get a head start on it,” Mom not-so-delicately points out.
“Help me unload the equipment,” Dad says, handing Gavin a shovel.
Not only is Dad going to build a farm, but he’s going to make Gavin—a guy whose idea of manual labor is switching out his closet from his winter wardrobe to his spring one—help him.
Now, this is a plan I can get behind. I lean against the tractor, settling myself into a comfortable position. This is going to be good.
“What are you doing?” Mom hovers next to me. “You don’t think we’re going to sit by and do nothing, do you?” She motions for me to follow her. And just like that, the joy drains from me.
Mom drags me into the house to get some supplies. I take notice of a few unrecognizable items among her things.
Mom’s essential items:
A bulky kitchen appliance unfamiliar to me
A bag of unidentifiable red powder (Is Mom an underground drug dealer???)
A heinously large sun hat
Pink rubber gloves that go up to her elbows
A large bowl big enough to hold a toddler
A few minutes later, against my will, I find myself walking with her to the herb garden on the side of the house. She’s wearing the sun hat, which has a visor that’s almost as big as the bowl she’s carrying.
“Nice hat,” I say in a sarcastic tone.
“It may not be fashionable, but it does a very important job protecting my skin. You should at least wear daily sunscreen if this type of hat is not to your standards. I saw some early signs of sunspots. Then it’s only a matter of time before the wrinkles start to appear.”
I’m too young to have sunspots. Aren’t I? And wrinkles?
I have the sudden urge to run back into the house and stare at my skin in a magnifying mirror, but my mom stops me. “We need to turn the soil and prepare it for a new harvest. But first we have to clear the old one.”
I give her a blank look. I mean, she may as well be speaking another language.
“It’s easy,” she says, taking my cue. “All you need are gloves and a good attitude.” I’m about to point out that I don’t have either of those when she tosses a pair of gardening gloves to me.
“These are green onions.” She shows me a row of tall green stems growing out of the dirt. “They’re fully matured and ready to be picked.”
“Okay, how do I do that?”
She reads my face, trying to tell if I’m making a joke. When she sees that I’m not, she says, “You just pull them out.” Then she shows me by doing literally just that. She dusts the dirt off the white roots and places them in the large bowl. “See?”
She’s right. It’s not that hard. But after a million of them (okay, probably dozens), my back hurts, the sun is scorching, and I’m covered in dirt.
I glance over at my mom, whose face is completely covered by the shade from the brim of her hat and, more notably, sweat-free.
I hate to admit it, but I kinda, sorta do envy my mom with her ugly visor.
After I clear the planter and trim the rosemary bush, the chives, and the other herbs, she finally calls it a day.
I follow my mom into the kitchen to do…“More work?” I exclaim as my mom hands me a bag of groceries from the fridge.
After being covered in a film of dirt on every exposed part of my body, I thought we’d earned ourselves a break or, at the very least, a hot shower.
“Who did you imagine was going to cook dinner for us? Carolina?” Mom cocks her head at me, exasperated.
I bite my tongue from responding. The truth is, the thought never entered my mind.
Now that Mom and Dad are home, I sort of expected the food to just…
be there. God, I miss Carolina. I have enough sense to know my mom would be disappointed in me—more than she already is—if I admitted that, so instead I say, “Can’t we DoorDash something? ”
My mom doesn’t dignify my question with an answer. “Help me unload the groceries.”
I do as I’m told and begin taking out the contents of the bag. Staring at the inventory, all produce and meat, I frown. “I don’t remember buying any of this.”
“I had to go to the store when I noticed there wasn’t anything but snacks and instant food.”
“That was because I thought we were going to be here temporarily,” I counter.
“Exactly my point. Now that we’re going to be here for quite some time, I need to teach you how to take care of yourself. Starting with the basics.”
Of course it’s my luck that, after years of ignoring me, Mom is choosing now to all of a sudden start paying attention to me. Before I can let out a squeak of disapproval, she disappears into her room. When she reappears, she’s got some kind of kitchen appliance in her hand.
“What’s that?” Out of habit, I say it in my signature high-pitched voice. The only people who aren’t amused by it are my family, which is being made super apparent by the apathy in my mom’s expression. So I correct myself. “I mean, what is that thing for?”
Mom studies my face. “You really don’t know what a rice cooker is?”
“I know what a rice cooker is.” Now. Honestly Mom has been acting weird since we got to Blaire.
And it’s not just the apparent undertone of disappointment that’s odd.
Her behavior is off, too, like bringing a rice cooker and a giant bowl when we were told to bring only the essentials.
I’ve never seen Mom use either of those things in the entirety of my existence.
“You eat a wide variety of cuisine at various restaurants, Elena. How is it that you don’t know anything about the things that you eat?”
“I think you answered your own question there. I eat at restaurants. I do not cook.”
She shakes her head, tutting in disapproval. “Is that how little you pay attention? Food is one of the basic requirements of survival.”
“I pay attention. I don’t eat at places that don’t have at least four and a half stars on Yelp.”
Mom ignores my response and shoves a carrot in my face. “Peel this.”
“Okay,” I say, grabbing it from her. Only to realize belatedly that I agreed to do something without knowing what it meant. “How do I do that?”
She gives me another seriously? look, handing me a knife.
“Okay, but how do I peel it? And don’t give me that look again, Mom. I’ve never had to peel anything before, and you know it.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Use the sharp edge of the knife to cut off the skin.
” Her tone, though measured, has bite to it.
And I’m nothing if not good at picking up on subtle cues, so I don’t ask any more questions and start peeling the carrots while Mom is prepping the other vegetables and rinsing the rice.
When she is about to open up the meat package, I hand her the carrots.
“Done,” I say, presenting the final product on the cutting board with a grand gesture.