Chapter 3
Maybe this exact moment is why people don’t listen to fortune cookies. —Noah Hardaway
Noah
I had my Zoom with Gabe Gomez. He’s a really nice guy. Sounds like I have a job.
Milo
Should I be welcoming you to Devon Falls?
Noah
…
Noah
…
Noah
Yeah. I think so. Yeah. I’ll be there in August. Just have to finish up my externship first. I’m working in their summer school program.
Milo
Congratulations, then, Chucks. I’ll look forward to working with you for a few months.
Noah
Just a few months?
Milo
I’m only here until the center opens. I took a leave of absence from my practice in New York.
Noah
Oh, yeah. That makes sense. Orthopedists probably don’t normally open up community centers, huh?
Milo
Strangely enough, community center leadership isn’t a big part of med school, no. But I’m enjoying the work. I think you’ll like it up here. DF is a good place to be.
Noah
Ezra got super weird when I told Uncle Stan we’d be working together.
Milo
Weird or controlling?
Noah
Definitely both. But Uncle Stan thinks it’s great. He loves your mom. He keeps talking about how he doesn’t even care if he wins the primary, as long as your mom wins instead. He likes her plans for New York a lot.
Milo
I’m guessing Ezra doesn’t agree with that sentiment.
Noah
He thinks Stan won’t last in politics if he doesn’t develop more of a killer instinct.
Anyway, he’ll probably be happy to hear we’re only working together for a few months.
I think he’s convinced you’re going to spy on me or something.
Like, try to find things your mom’s campaign can use against my uncle. Does that actually happen?
Milo
…
Milo
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Milo
You might be surprised. Some people forget that politics is supposed to be about making life better for individual people. Power corrupts absolutely, blah blah blah.
Noah
Your mom’s been in politics a long time. She doesn’t seem corrupted.
Milo
Nope. She’s not. Doesn’t seem like your uncle is either.
Anyway, I know you want to get away from all that BS here, so I told Ma not to make it public knowledge that we’re working together.
Otherwise, the media might get too much into our business if or when your uncle decides to run. Make us a story, you know?
Noah
Ezra also wants to keep us working together quiet. But not because he cares about me having privacy. He thinks the story could steal thunder from Uncle Stan’s campaign announcement or something. Uncle Stan hasn’t even decided to run yet. He still wants a few more months to decide.
Milo
Well, I might be back in New York City by the time he decides. So let’s not worry about any of that for now, okay? You’re just taking a job with some dude you met in an elevator. Happens all the time, Chucks.
Noah
Are you going to keep calling me that once I get there?
Milo
Not if you don’t like it.
Noah
Actually, I like it. A lot.
Milo
Then I’ll see you soon, Chucks.
“You sure you want to take a job so far from home, kiddo?”
Uncle Stan is frowning, arms crossed, as he stands at the bottom of the steps to the small Cape Cod-style house we’ve shared for over thirteen years.
The yellow paint job on the place is fading and peeling, something Ezra has mentioned a few times.
He’s not sure if the fact that Stan refuses to buy something bigger and fancier—or at least get a new paint job—makes him more relatable or less reliable in terms of public image.
I think he even ran an informal poll asking that exact question.
I run my hands through my hair. “No. I’m not sure of anything right now.
But Milo says Devon Falls is a good place.
” I shrug as I look up and down the street, at our neighborhood, which is quintessential Pottsville: bicycles, older-model cars, and toys strewn in between houses the size and shape of ours.
“If I’m going to take a step out of the nest, it might as well be there, I guess. ”
“The Warners are good people. I trust them.” Uncle Stan steps forward and wraps his arms around me. “But kiddo, the second you feel like this isn’t the right choice, come right back, okay? You can always work at the feed store while you figure things out.”
My throat clenches slightly. The feed store, the one Stan’s owned since before I was born, holds its own set of complex memories for me. Plus, that’s not the kind of work I want to do.
I want to help people. I want to be their port in terrible storms, just like Uncle Stan and other social workers once were for me.
I let myself cling to Uncle Stan for just a moment longer as tears pool in the corners of my eyes. Finally, I manage to pull away, and Uncle Stan gives me a hard pat on the back.
“You’ve got this, kiddo,” he says gruffly. “I believe in you. Always.” He turns, fast, and heads back to the house.
He told me earlier that he wasn’t going to be able to watch me drive away.
I blink back my own tears as I jog down the steps and over to the driver’s seat of my beat-up Subaru. I pause there and take a moment to feel in my pocket for the little slip of paper I’ve been carrying around since I first got it with my order of Chinese food back in that Albany hotel.
You will find the change you seek.
That silly fortune, the one I threw away at first. For some reason I still haven’t quite figured out, I fished the stupid thing out of the trash, and I’ve kept it ever since.
When I was trying to decide whether to take this job in Vermont, I put it on my dresser, and I looked at it every single day.
I was staring at it when I texted Milo to tell him I was taking the job.
I’m rearranging some bags on the front passenger seat when I hear footsteps behind me. “Uncle Stan? Do you need—”
But when I turn around, Ezra’s standing there.
I recoil backward, bumping up against the car. “What are you doing here?” Ezra’s based out of Albany, but he makes the drive up to Pottsville far too often for my liking.
“Your uncle wanted to meet with me here today so he could say goodbye to you.” Ezra raises an eyebrow at the boxes stacked in the back seat of my car. “You’re really going to work behind enemy lines, huh?”
“Uncle Stan loves Lilah Warner,” I remind him.
Ezra shakes his head. “Your uncle’s way too nice a guy, Noah.
” He pokes me squarely in the chest. “Whatever you do out there in Vermont, don’t fuck up this primary campaign for him, okay?
Don’t cause him any problems. Stan needs to run in this primary race, and he needs to win.
He’s going to do good things for this state.
Things people need done. We both know that. ”
So will Lilah Warner, I say in my head. But as usual, I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud.
Saying words like that to Ezra will cause an argument, no doubt, and trouble for Uncle Stan.
So I just stand there, perfectly still, trying not to flinch against the index finger he’s got lodged against my chest. “I’m not going to cause trouble for him,” I finally say.
Ezra waits a long moment before he finally steps backward, nodding. “Have a nice trip, Noah. Remember what I said.”
I manage to drive away without looking back.
“Okay, Noah. You can do this,” I tell myself again.
My car’s dashboard doesn’t answer me as I make the final turn onto a main street with a large wooden sign sitting proudly at the side of it: DEVON FALLS, HOME OF THE DEVON FALLS LEAF FESTIVAL.
Immediately after Milo told me he was living here, I started doing research, so I know more than a little bit about the town I’m coming to work in.
Devon Falls has a population of less than fifteen hundred.
It’s best known for its annual leaf festival, which is attended by people from all over New England and beyond, and its poop emoji statue has gone viral at least four times.
It’s also home to a much-beloved bakery and Thai place that’s so good it’s made national headlines.
All my reading suggested that Devon Falls, VT, was going to be more interesting than Pottsville, NY, at least. We’ve never had Thai food in Pottsville. Or a poop emoji statue.
I drive down the main street. There's a large sign filled with information about the town’s farmers market, which is right next to the town square.
I crane my neck for a glance at the infamous statue, but I don’t see it.
I’ll have to visit it after I get settled in.
The sides of the street are dotted with shops and a few churches, and—wait.
Does that church have a rainbow flag flying from its doorway?
Right away, my mind moves to Milo and my stubborn attraction to him.
I’ve never told my uncle that I’m interested in men.
But not because I don’t think he’d be supportive.
Uncle Stan’s got more than one rainbow flag hanging right in his office, and he’s worked hard to support equal rights for LGBTQIA2S+ communities in New York, despite the fact that not everyone in Pottsville is as supportive of equal rights for all as he is.
The reason I haven’t said anything is that my sexuality is totally theoretical.
I’ve hardly dated anyone at all, and the few relationships I have tried—all with women—haven’t been very successful.
“Needy” and “co-dependent” are words that came up in my last breakup.
Since then, I haven’t bothered trying to date.
No doubt Milo would have similar words to use if he ever actually wanted to date me.
Not that he would. Heck, I don’t even know if Milo likes men.
And even if he does, he’s a doctor in New York City, for crying out loud.
I’m sure any boyfriend of Milo’s would be strong, powerful, and effortlessly sure of themselves.
I’m the exact opposite of the kind of partner someone like Milo would be looking for.