Chapter 10
10
TORE
So far, I’d been content to ride along with Luke or other teammates to anything off campus. But I’d quickly discovered that America was not a world that could be conquered without a vehicle, as the distances were vast, even within towns, and public transport was nonexistent.
That had convinced me to purchase a car. My father, who was quite the car aficionado and the owner of several British classic cars, would have a fit if he saw my humble Subaru Crosstrek, but it fit in nicely with the other vehicles on campus. I needed something with four-wheel drive to be able to drive in the snow, according to Luke, who would know, having grown up in Ohio. And I’d wanted to avoid standing out by getting a car no other student could afford.
Did I miss the sleek BMW i8 that was, for now, parked inside our garage back home? Absolutely, though I could only drive it a few months out of the year in Norway as well. But for now, I was content with this dependable car. At least the color, a flashy orange, stood out.
Now that I had my own transportation, it was time to do some more exploring. I’d hoped to do that sooner, but I’d had to fly back home for a few days. My parents had celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and I had been expected to attend. It had been lovely to see my two younger siblings and sneak in a quick visit to my best friend, Andor, but at the same time, being home had felt strange.
Had I truly gotten accustomed to living in the US that quickly? Even in those three days, I’d missed having a roommate, soccer training, and camaraderie. And it had been weird not thinking as much about Farron. That should have been a relief, but it had left me feeling strangely unmoored. Not something I wanted to spend too much time figuring out.
Anyway, I was back, and it was time to venture out on my own. I’d always been curious about the fabled Walmart, its mythical status solidified by endless scrolling through the People of Walmart social media account. The photographs of shoppers in outlandish attire were the sort of spectacle that, in my mind, couldn’t possibly live up to reality. Only one way to find out, right? Luckily, Hawley had a Walmart Supercenter right outside of town, so I didn’t have to drive far.
The sliding doors parted with a whoosh, and I was hit by a blast of air-conditioned air. The moment I crossed the threshold, the hum of fluorescent lights and a cacophony of sounds embraced me. My eyes widened as I took in the sheer vastness of the space before me.
To my left, a tower of discount DVDs teetered precariously—an eclectic mix of B-movie horror flicks and forgotten romantic comedies. Straight ahead, a kaleidoscope of cereal boxes painted the aisle in vibrant hues, boasting every combination of sugar and grain imaginable. Rows upon rows of shelves stretched as far as I could see, stocked with everything from toilet paper to televisions.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered under my breath, earning a strange look from a woman pushing a trolley—cart, I mentally corrected myself—past me.
As I turned down the cereal aisle, my eyes were assaulted by a riot of colors and cartoon characters. I picked up a box adorned with a grinning leprechaun. “Lucky Charms,” I read aloud, bemused. “Magically delicious? I highly doubt that.”
I tossed the box into my cart, along with a few other curiosities from other aisles. Something called Twinkies, a jar of marshmallow fluff—What on earth was that?—and a disturbingly large container of cheese puffs.
I wandered past an endcap adorned with an army of plastic blenders, the price so low, it made me wonder if they’d simply blend themselves apart upon first use. Nearby, a gentleman heaped his cart with enough toilet paper to survive an apocalypse—or perhaps a particularly dodgy takeaway.
As I weaved between families and solitary shoppers, my gaze fell upon a stack of flannel shirts, their patterns loud enough to startle any wildlife within a ten-mile radius. And then there were the gadgets: aisles dedicated to electronic devices that promised to simplify life, all for prices lower than I’d ever seen. Norway was relatively expensive, but this was insane.
I kept scanning the other shoppers, half-expecting to see someone in a bathrobe or dressed as a superhero. But aside from a few questionable fashion choices—Was that man really wearing socks with sandals?—everyone looked normal. People might not be as weirdly dressed as I had anticipated, but Walmart was everything I’d expected and nothing like I’d imagined all at once. It was too much, excessive, yet strangely compelling. A microcosm of America itself, perhaps.
It was all at once overwhelming and fascinating, a consumerist carnival where every possible need—or want masquerading as need—could be met under one massive roof.
I turned around the corner of yet another aisle, one with endless rows of bottled water, and came to a full stop. There, methodically scanning items with a handheld device and putting them in a cart that held several shopping baskets, was Farron.
My heart skipped a beat. What on earth was he doing here? I hesitated, unsure if I should approach him. But curiosity got the better of me, and I pushed my cart toward him.
“Farron?” I called out, my voice a mix of surprise and confusion. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He looked up, his eyes widening slightly before his expression settled into something more neutral. “What are you doing here?”
I felt a flush creep up my neck. “Oh, exploring, I suppose. But do you work here?”
Farron’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, I do. So?”
I blinked, taken aback by his defensive tone. “I didn’t know you had a job outside of school and football.”
“Soccer, you mean.”
I winced. “Yes, soccer.”
“Not all of us can afford not to work,” he said, his voice clipped.
I felt a twinge of discomfort, suddenly very aware of the stark differences in our backgrounds. “That must be challenging, balancing work with your studies and soccer.”
Farron shrugged, turning back to his task. “You do what you have to do.”
I watched him for a moment, feeling a strange mix of admiration and guilt. Here I was, treating Walmart like some exotic adventure while Farron was here out of necessity. “I thought you had a full scholarship. I heard someone say that,” I added quickly when he shot me a look that could curdle milk.
“Yeah, and that pays for school. Doesn’t put food on the table or keep the lights on at home, does it?” He shoved a six-pack of water bottles into the shopping cart with more force than necessary. “I’ve got a family to support.”
His words struck me with an unexpected force. Surely, he didn’t mean he had kids, did he? “A family?”
“My mom works two jobs. I’ve got three younger siblings who need stuff like school supplies, clothes, food.” He gestured around the store. “So here I am, picking groceries for rich folks who can’t be bothered to do their own shopping.”
He didn’t mention a dad, and I was afraid to ask. Technically, it was none of my business.
“My dad died when I was thirteen,” Farron said with a sigh. Maybe he’d seen the question on my face anyway. “He was driving me home after soccer practice when a drunk driver hit our car.”
“Oh, Farron, I’m so sorry. That’s awfully young to lose your dad. How old were your siblings?”
He looked at me for a few seconds as if gauging if my empathy was genuine. “Caspian was nine, Rowan five, and Calista only three. The youngest two have no memories of him, which sucks because he was a great dad.”
“That’s so young. I’m sure you’ve been sharing your memories with them, keeping him alive that way.” He stared at me with a frown, so I plowed on. “The ancient Greeks stated that as long as someone was alive in people’s memories, they weren’t truly gone. So your dad is still with you and your siblings when you share your stories with them.”
“That’s…” He swallowed. “I like that thought. And yeah, I’ve done my best to tell them about him. He was always supportive of my dreams to become a pro soccer player. Drove me to every training, every clinic, every game. Never complained.”
My father hadn’t been quite so understanding. When I’d been little, he’d been fine with it, but the older I got, the more he protested football was taking up too much of my time. And in the end, he’d been the one who’d axed my dreams. “I envy you for that.”
“You envy me?”
I nodded. “My father forbade me to accept an offer from a European club.”
His eyes widened. “You had an offer from a club?”
“Ajax, a Dutch club.”
“I know Ajax.”
“I was accepted into their youth program, but my father put his foot down.”
“Why?” Farron seemed stunned.
“Family obligations that were more important. He didn’t want me to move to the Netherlands, even though I had friends there.” Floris’s family had been more than willing to take me in, even providing extra security if needed, but my father had still said no.
“Dude, that sucks.”
It was the first time that Farron had expressed any kind of sympathy for me, and the rush of it cruised through my veins. “It did, and I still resent him for it.”
“Yeah, no shit. I mean, what kind of family obligation could be more important than a chance to play professional soccer at that level?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. As much as I wanted to tell Farron the truth, I couldn’t. Not only because I wasn’t sure how he would react but also because of the security risks it could create. Right now, no one knew who I was, but once word got out, I wouldn’t be able to live in the anonymity I enjoyed now. “He gave me no choice.”
“I’m sorry,” Farron said.
Never had those words meant more to me.
“Thank you. And thank you for sharing your story with me,” I said, and even I could hear how oddly formal that sounded, like a phrase I’d been taught to say—which I had been. “It must be quite the balancing act with all your responsibilities.”
“Balancing act?” He snorted. “More like a damn circus, and I’m juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle.” The image conjured a brief, unexpected smile from both of us before his expression shuttered again.
“Still, it takes a remarkable amount of strength to manage all that. I admire your dedication.”
Farron shot me a piercing look, discomfort flashing across his features. “Don’t,” he said flatly. “It’s not a choice. It’s a necessity.”
The honesty in his tone struck a chord within me. I’d never considered the relentless pressure of such responsibilities. My own worries felt embarrassingly trivial by comparison. “And what of your dreams, Farron? Outside of soccer?”
He paused for a moment, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes gone as quickly as it appeared. “To make sure those three have more options than I did. That’s all that matters.”
I nodded, understanding that drive all too well. In my own way, I was also bound by duty and expectation, though the chains that tethered me were golden, not iron. “That’s admirable.”
Farron’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he busied himself with his scanning device. “Yeah, well… Thanks, I guess. But I don’t need your pity or your praise, all right?”
I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond to that. If he didn’t want me to admire, praise, or pity him, what was left? “Anyway, thank you for sharing. It was eye-opening.”
He nodded curtly, not looking up from his device. As I turned to go, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d somehow managed to offend him, though I wasn’t quite sure how. I pushed my cart away, my earlier excitement about Walmart fading, replaced by a nagging sense of unease.
After everything I had seen and learned in my education, my travels, and in my role as representative of the Norwegian royal family, I’d thought I understood the breadth of the world, with its myriad struggles and joys. In truth, I’d only skimmed the surface. Farron had unwittingly held up a mirror, revealing my ignorance and privilege in stark relief. It hurt, yet I was grateful he’d shared a little bit of his personal life with me. I’d have to try harder to understand him since, clearly, there was much more to him than his gruff surface.