Chapter Two
Mickey
The alpacas were fed and their water trough was refilled. I’d cleaned the house the night before, and the sheets on the spare bed were fresh.
I laid a clean patchwork quilt over it before realizing that Aster might be bringing his own bed linens. He’d been living in Sacramento. Surely he had sheets and stuff.
Ah well. I could always strip the bed if needed.
What else needed to be done? I looked around, taking inventory.
I checked that the fan was in working order.
The house was two stories and all the bedrooms were upstairs. It was built for a farmer with a wife and multiple kids, not me all alone. Harlow was right, the company would be good for me.
I checked the guest bathroom had soap and clean towels, then went into the garden to pick some flowers for the tiny vase Mom had left in there.
Mom had been gone a long time, but doing little things like this was my way of honoring her memory. She would have put fresh flowers in the vase, so I would too.
She probably would have baked cookies as well, but I didn’t think I needed to go quite that far. Besides, my cookies never came out as good as Mom's.
I refolded the towels in the bathroom for the third time, trying to get them right. Which was stupid. Why would Aster care how perfectly the towels were folded? He wouldn't. Why was I fussing so much? Then it hit me. I was nervous.
I’d known Aster forever. He’d been there for Harlow when our parents passed. They’d been best friends for so long, it was as if he was my best friend too. Even if I was only the awkward older brother who crashed their plans, or told them to quiet down...
But now we were all adults. All grown up. And Aster had come out as trans, and he was so fucking hot...
Unbidden, I imagined how he’d looked up on stage at Pride, in his drag king persona of Bloke Lively. He was... transcendent? A parody of masculinity that was hilarious and deeply sexy at the same time.
Better end that line of thought there, though. Especially knowing, as I did, that there was something wrong with me. At least, according to my ex Pete, and I had no reason to doubt him.
He’d left me with the clear message that I wasn’t suited to dating, to any kind of long-term relationship, and it was stupid to even try. That was a couple of years ago now, but I hadn’t looked for any opportunities to date since.
How could I burden Aster with someone who didn’t know what he was doing in love or in bed?
He was a hot young trans guy writer with a promising sideline in drag. He had the whole world ahead of him, and he probably had a ton of hot boy (and girl?) friends back in Sacramento.
Meanwhile, I was a boring farmer who cut Christmas trees whose idea of a good time was knitting and doing jigsaw puzzles.
Besides, Aster was younger than me by almost ten years. The same age as my sister. I remembered Aster and Harlow conspiring together to sneak booze from Mom's stash in the hall cabinet. I remember distracting our parents so they could… I was way too indulgent.
I always had been. I remembered the day Mom and Dad brought Harlow back from the hospital. Grandma had come to stay, to take care of me. Harlow was wrapped in a soft blanket with duckies on it, and she looked so small, so beautiful. I gave her my best teddy bear that night, to help her stop crying.
Mom and Dad joked that Harlow was an accident when they were still alive, but I knew they had wanted her very badly, They’d tried for so long it must have felt like a miracle when she came along.
All these thoughts of Mom. The idea of hosting must have conjured her up.
I went to the framed picture of them on the wall, the one from their wedding day and touched it lightly.
“Thanks for everything,” I said softly. “I’m doing my best.”
Harlow’s car pulled up on the gravel driveway. I went to open the door, feeling every bit the lonely old farmer, welcoming folks into the homestead. Not that the house was that old timey, I worked hard to maintain it and keep the decor up to date, but it was still a farm, and I was the farmer.
Aster got out of the car, his hair ruffled like he’d just woken up. Harlow and Aster carried in a few bags and a rolling suitcase, not a lot of baggage at all.
I helped them in, reminding Aster of the ‘no shoes inside’ rule.
“Hey, welcome, come on in. I’ve got you in the spare room on the south side, you can see across to the lake.”
“Awesome. Thank you.” Aster said.
Harlow gave me a hug and I squeezed her tight, silently thanking her for making this happen.
Aster hugged me next, which I wasn’t prepared for. I didn’t want him to feel unwelcome though, so I gave him one of my best bear hugs.
Aster leaned against me and I felt the muscles in his back relax. In my head I said welcome home. But I kept it in. He’d said temporary. There was no need to get weird about it.
Getting Aster’s things up the stairs and into his room created a flurry of activity. I asked him if he wanted to use his own sheets (he didn’t), and showed him which bathroom he would be using.
Then we all went back downstairs. “I’m headed back.” Harlow kissed my cheek.
“How about I come around for dinner, in a day or two? Once you’re settled in?”
“Sounds great,” my mouth said. My brain had the wild urge to grab her and make her stay, so I wouldn’t be alone with Aster. Which was stupid.
I was too used to being alone.
What did I think was going to happen?
That I would forget how to speak, or Aster would suddenly turn mean?
I needed this more than I thought. I was in serious danger of becoming a weird alpaca hermit.
“Perfect.” Aster hugged her tight and then she was gone, her tidy little jeep pulling out of the drive way.
Silence followed.
Weird, awkward silence with us both sort of staring at the door where she’d just been.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, would you like a tea? Coffee? Cocoa?”
“Cocoa would actually be amazing.” Aster turned, giving me the kind of smile that could be used to sell toothpaste.
I nodded, thankful to have a task to do. “Regular milk, oat or almond?” (Yes, I'd panicked and bought all kinds of milk in case Aster had an allergy.)
“Regular’s fine,” Aster said. “Be back in a sec, I want to unpack some.”
“Oh, sure. I can make it for like, in a half hour if you like?”
“No,” Aster shook his head.
Both of us nodding and shaking heads, staring at each other all awkward. We must look like a couple of Muppets.
“I’ll just do a little, make the cocoa now, please.”
So formal. I barely stopped myself from nodding again and cleared my throat. “Cool.”
“Cool.”
Aster escaped upstairs and I went to the kitchen, getting to work on the cocoas. I made them the old-fashioned way, heating milk on the stovetop and melting chocolate in it... the way Mom always made it. It was good to have the ritual to distract myself with.
I flicked on the radio and hummed along to the Beach Boys. I loved this kind of old dad rock, because I'm uncool. It's fine.
I heard a noise behind me and saw Aster, smiling sheepishly.
“This feels a bit weird, right?”
Relieved, I grinned at him. “Yeah. I can’t think of the last time you were here and Harlow wasn’t.”
The tension between us broke a tiny amount. “I can’t either.”
He stood beside me, looking out the window at the fields where the alpacas were grazing. “How many are there in the herd at the moment?”
“Three dozen, around that...” I mixed the chocolate in with the milk. “There’s a couple of pregnant mamas, so it’ll be more soon.”
“That’s awesome. I always loved the babies.”
“I took to naming them after Disney characters,” I said. “Y’know, since I’m Mickey.”
Aster chuckled. “That’s fun.”
“I’ll take you out and introduce you later, if you like?”
“I’d love that.”
We took our cups of cocoa out the kitchen door.
It opened onto a wooden deck, with a hand-carved picnic table, and steps that led into a modest herb garden, a path that went to the nearest field.
The pine farm, where I grew Christmas trees, was out of sight on the lake side.
To the north was a gently sloping hill towards the mountains.
Aster stood at the top of the steps, looking around. “Is that a herb garden?”
“Yeah, Dad pyt it in.” I’d done my best to maintain it, cutting back the rosemary when it grew too big, ensuring everything had the space it needed.
I’d even continued Dad’s habit of drying bundles of herbs to use in cooking.
Harlow had suggested I save myself some work and pull them up, but I didn’t mind it, really. I’m a bit of a routine follower, and I liked having guidelines set out already for me.
Mom’s roses out the front were more of a challenge, but I’d got used to them as the years went by.
I nodded to the picnic table. “Have a seat.”
I’d sat at it almost every day of my life. Aster had sat at it countless times as well. It was family tradition that if the weather allowed it, we ate out on the deck.
Aster inhaled deeply, his shoulders raising and then falling. “That view never gets old.”
I nodded, feeling proud of the work I’d done to maintain the closest parts ot it.
It was a hazy day, and the mountains looked almost soft focus, keeping watch over us and the alpacas.
I relaxed a little too, chatting about the farm, what had changed and what was exactly the same.
Maybe I had been stressed out for no reason. This might actually be really easy.
Easy company, able to have a chat when I needed it, and Aster getting what he needed — a quiet place to sit and work. I hoped, very much, that he’d find inspiration here, and that whatever he chose to do, he didn’t feel like he had to rush away from Foggy Basin again.
I had a really good feeling about him being here.