Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
BELLA
Life at Bedd Fellows Farm becomes a blur over the next few weeks. May completely dissolves in a flurry of construction: the stage, a few custom bar areas, new signage for the festival, and more. Seeing the Bedd brothers wandering around with two-by-fours slung over their shoulders qualifies as softcore porn, and watching Jackson build things with his bare hands damn near impregnates me. Good thing Diane has been on hand filming content for when we announce on social media, because once Jackson’s fans get a whiff of him wearing dirty jeans while shirtless, this festival is going to go viral.
Colleen visits with the babies as often as she can, offering input, design suggestions, and layout critiques. Slowly, the stage is finished. Three main covered bar areas are erected, though the massive tents to protect our festival-goers from the sun will be put up closer to Jam day. Molly has completely handled the cleaning and repurposing of one of the unused barns, which will now be used as the educational area. The Strawberry Jam will offer classes: Molly teaching about composting toilets, Diane about seed saving, Gran about indoor gardening, and Bacon with a cooking demo.
In mid-May, exactly one month prior to the event, I send out the formal press release, the same day the time the pick-your-own strawberries operation opens for the season. It’s a tight turnaround, and I know festival goers will complain about the lack of planning time, but it’s intentional. We plan to cap attendance at three thousand, strictly for land concerns.
It’s a good thing we set the limit, too. The Strawberry Jam instantly goes viral after it’s announced. Jackson Bedd— not Single Grain—as headliner makes a splash in all the music spaces. Tickets sell out in a half hour, and the website I created for the event immediately crashes from too much traffic. I shouldn’t be surprised, but a day after the press release and social media video showcasing Jackson’s abs while hoisting lumber, I have almost ten thousand emails and inquiries waiting for me in the special event email I created, demanding to know if more tickets will be released. Based on the response, I double my security plans for the event, including extra protection for Jackson–a bodyguard named Gretchen who is a former collegiate taekwondo champion.
The Bedds are overjoyed with the news—and so is my boss. Everything feels like a success already, but I know better than to tap into that feeling too soon. No celebration until after a successful event wrap. That’s rule one of event planning, at least in my book.
The farm looks like a proper event venue by early June, which sparks ever livelier conversations during Sunday dinners. Jackson starts practicing outdoors with the full band—two of his former bandmates who have been commuting from NYC to rehearse and hang out. His set list is ready, and everything I’ve overheard thus far already has me swooning and rocking out.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited for an event.
It’s the level of buzz I’d envisioned, but turning out so much better than I’d dared to hope.
The same holds for Jackson, too. He and I are like honeymooners—making out in broad daylight, squeezing each other’s asses, running out for cute dinner dates in Climax, which inevitably ends in climax in the other sense. But the closer we get to the festival date, the more I start to worry about what comes next.
I’m strolling the farm one June morning, checking out the progress and refining the to-do list. We’re about ten days until showtime. My boss calls, and I answer with the loud chirping of birds behind me.
“Katerine, how are you?”
“Oh, good, good, just enjoying all of the social media commentary about the Strawberry Jam. They’re calling it the rebooted Woodstock. Man, you really pulled off the announcement of the century, didn’t you?”
The sunshine warms my face as I walk, baking in the sense of accomplishment. “I guess so. I wouldn’t mind this festival going down in history. It just needs to be for the right reasons. Let’s hope we make it through the event with nothing catastrophic bringing it all crashing to the ground.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re a seasoned pro.” Katerine’s words are a balm to the anxieties that have been thrumming through me since we switched to the more complicated—but overall better—task of hosting this festival on the farm.
“I appreciate your belief in me,” I tell her.
“Of course I believe in you,” she responds. “Why else would I recommend you as the assistant director of operations for the southern hemisphere?”
I stop in my tracks, kicking up dust on the road below me. “What?”
“I put in my formal recommendation yesterday,” Katerine goes on. “With how hard you’ve been working and how strong of a performer you are, when the position opened up, I couldn’t think of anyone better.”
I’m too stunned to respond, to blink, to move. Katerine is a regional director, so this promotion would put me en route to her level. This is more than I expected. And “southern hemisphere” implies…
“Oh my god,” I finally spit out. “Thank you. And where, exactly, in the southern hemisphere?”
I can hear her grin through the phone. “Australia.”
I swallow a squeal of excitement. “Are you serious?”
“So serious. I know how much you love the travel aspect of the job. It just seemed like a great fit.”
I’m almost choking, I’m so excited. “Yes, I…wow. I don’t even have words. Thank you.”
“We’ll make it all official once this festival wraps, okay?”
Katerine and I end the call a moment later, and I’m left grinning into the sun in Fork Lick.
Thousands of miles away from where I’ll be in just a few months’ time. Away from…everything. And everyone. Instead of the bouncy bliss I expect, I feel a strange weight in my chest.
I don’t have time to dive into that. There’s too much to do on the farm, too many things to check off the list. I zip around the property, cranking through my tasks for the day. When I finally get a chance to take a break, my thoughts instantly settle on what my life might be next month. And more importantly… where .
This is what I’ve been working toward. This is the big deal. I can’t wait to tell Jackson.
But what about Jackson?
The thought crashes through me like a surprise UFO into a barn. Oh God. What would Australia mean for Jackson and me? Anxiety threads through my limbs, sneaky fast, undoing the high I’ve been riding since my call with Katerine.
I should be nothing but excited about this, but the nagging doubts linked to Jackson have me feeling like a lead balloon. Logistical questions are all I can think of as I visit the stage area and check out the educational barn. How will he come visit with the money he’s making now? He could come once a year, twice maybe. I could probably sneak away once or twice. But is that going to be enough? Does he even want something like that with me?
When I return to the farmhouse, I see Colleen’s car in the driveway. Ethel and Colleen are on the porch, Danny in Colleen’s arms as they look at the potted plants Ethel has just added to the front. Inside, Jackson is holding Cassie.
“Look who it is,” Jackson coos to the baby. “Auntie Bella.”
The sweet term only makes me feel worse. How could I be an auntie from Australia? Still, I force a smile, stroking the baby’s head. Auntie Bella won’t be coming around too much after this is all over, which makes a different type of sadness cycle through me.
“Everything okay?” Jackson’s question feels more like a spear, and I find concern in his gaze as I look up at him.
“Yeah. Why?” I feel caught. The way he’s watching me tells me he already knows something is wrong.
“You just….feel off. Or something.”
Fuck. We’re already at that stage. Guess there’s no hiding anything from Jackson.
I nibble on my lip, trying to find the best words to summarize the news. I want him to understand how important this is to me, but I also want him to know that I realize what it means for us. But I don’t want to assume that he’s looking for something long-term, because we haven’t spoken about it, and, and, and...
"What’s going on?” he urges.
I swallow hard. “I…got some news.” I try to sound bright. I offer him a small smile. “My boss called. She’s really happy with how I’ve been handling this festival, and she said she recommended me for a big promotion as a result. It’s, uh…pretty huge.” I search his face, trying to find some hint there of what he might want for us after the festival. “I’ve been working toward this promotion for a long time, actually.”
“Hey, that’s awesome!” Jackson’s genuine smile distracts me for a moment. “I’m so proud of you, Sweet Pea. It’s what you wanted, right?”
“Yeah. Exactly.” My voice sounds hollow, even to me. “It’s just…kind of long-term.”
“Yeah?”
“Abroad.”
Jackson nods. “That’s awesome, right?”
I fiddle with the baby’s hand, smoothing the pad of my thumb over her smooth skin. This feels like a test to see who will mention us first. But if it’s not on his mind, it shouldn’t be on mine.
“It’ll put me in one spot, which is kind of a surprise,” I tell him. “I’ve been kind of nomadic for a while, but I guess as of next month I’ll call Australia home.”
His eyes widen, and he nods slowly. “Okay. That’s pretty far.”
“Yeah.”
Silence joins the room, broken only by the baby’s little gurgles.
“Are you going to take it?”
“Yeah.” I feel definitive about that. I can’t not .
“If this is your dream, you need to go after it,” he says simply. He smiles again, but it looks strained this time.
Which just confirms what I knew to be true.
Jackson-and-Bella only exists until the Strawberry Jam wraps up.
And I need to start figuring out how to disentangle my heart from this man.