Chapter 2 #2
Fall has arrived. This year I’m even helping run the pumpkin patch, which opens on Saturday. A month of shrieking children and giant slides and hay bales, of pumpkin launching and candy throwing and a mini hayride in the back of a tractor.
I went every year as a kid and then as a teen. I’m beyond excited to spend time there.
When I’ve finally collected myself enough to put on a brave face and a smile, I return to the bar. Alvina is still there, of course, taking dainty sips of her drink. When she sees me, she waves at me with one bony, pink-nailed hand.
“Come here,” she says, even though I’m already approaching. “I want your thoughts on something.”
Alvina rarely wants my thoughts. She wants someone else to echo her own thoughts.
“About what?” I say as I resume my seat. This time I make sure I’m not slouching, partly because I know she’ll say something about it but also because slouching hurts my back.
“About fall in Autumn Ridge,” she says. “It’s such a magical time of year, don’t you think?”
That, at least, is one thing we agree on. “It is,” I say.
She gives a brisk nod, and not one hair on her head shifts with the motion. It remains perfectly coiffed, perfectly in place, as only Alvina’s hair could.
“What I need from you is ideas about amusing things to do around here,” she says. She takes another sip of her drink and sets it down on the bar with a clink. Then she turns to face me more fully. “Romantic places to go, sights to see, enjoyable outings.”
So…date ideas. She wants date ideas for her and her new boyfriend.
I find myself wondering if we even live in the same version of reality. But I hold back my sigh, because letting it out won’t do any good. Alvina is going to do what she wants, when she wants, and she’ll shamelessly ignore anyone who disagrees.
“The pumpkin patch opens on Saturday,” I say, reaching for my glass of water and taking a sip. “Bugelbach’s Pumpkin Farm. I’m working there until it closes at the end of October. It’s always fun.”
Alvina blinks at me, her perfectly penciled brows lifting. “Oh, are you? You should have said something.”
I did say something. She wasn’t paying attention.
But I simply nod. “Yeah. The pumpkin patch is great.” I’m about to suggest the drive up to the Ridge—more commonly known as Make-Out Ridge—before I remember my mother is the one asking, and the last thing I want is to encourage her to play tonsil hockey with whoever she’s found this time.
So I pause, forcing myself not to think about the weekend when Dom and I came to Autumn Ridge and did these things ourselves.
“The Fall Festival starts in a week and a half,” I go on.
“Lots of stuff there. And over at Horseshoe Holler they do a Sleepy Hollow thing too that’s pretty cool. I’m not sure on the dates.”
When Alvina stares blankly at me, I speak again.
“Horseshoe Holler. The stables,” I clarify. “Run by that guy who used to do the rodeo stuff? Over by the maple farm.”
“Oh,” she says as her expression clears. “I do remember something about that, yes. He’s young, isn’t he? And handsome.” Then she nods. “Could you send these to me, please?”
“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. “I can—”
But I break off at the sound of the bell over the entrance, and my mother whirls around, straightening up like a prairie dog. Her eyes go wide and bright, and a breathless smile spreads over her face.
She’s beautiful, my mother, but never more so than when she’s genuinely happy.
“Oh, he’s here,” she whispers to me, reaching over to pat my leg but hitting my arm instead because she’s still looking at the man.
One last lighting-fast pep talk and then I look at him too, ready to see the new beau in my mother’s life. He’s just come through the doors, but I only get half a glance at him, because instead of heading toward us, he grabs a booth.
“Let’s go, then, sweetheart—come on,” my mom says, gathering her purse in one hand and her drink in the other. “I want you to meet Daryl.”
Daryl. I don’t like that name, although I might just be petty.
I grab my drink too and follow Alvina to the booth, half-waiting to make sure she doesn’t teeter right over in those heels. But she makes it just fine, beaming at the man—
No, I realize as my brain stutters to a halt. My mother is beaming at the men. Because next to Daryl, pushed to the inside of the booth, is none other than Dominic freaking Harper.
He doesn’t look up when my mother and I arrive, but even with his face downturned I can tell he’s as thrilled about this as I am. A sick, horrific sense of dread sinks low in my gut as I try to make sense of what’s happening right now.
What is this? What’s going on?
I take another drink of water, trying to give my mind a chance to work.
“Darling,” my mother says to me—she only calls me darling when she wants to sound sophisticated—“I would like you to meet someone very special to me. This is Daryl Harper, the man I’ve been seeing for a couple weeks.
” Then she turns to me with a radiant smile and speaks the nine most horrible words I’ve ever heard in my life:
“And this handsome young fellow is his son, Dominic!”
I try to stop it, but it happens too fast. In one hacking, spitting, coughing mess, every last drop of water spews out of my mouth—and all over the table, my mother’s new boyfriend, and my ex.