12. June
JUNE
Easy to Love - Anything Goes
Saturday morning, I channel my best Willow outfit for bartending at the Fair. Black tank top tucked into black denim cut-offs. That way no one’ll notice when I’m covered in beer and sweat at the end of the day.
I Uber to the fairgrounds and desperately wish I could’ve stopped for an iced coffee along the way to wash down my morning ibuprofen. Lower back pain is my new bestie since sleeping on my dorm bed.
While the university’s presence has upped Sadlersburg’s classification from large town to small city, its roots in the rural community run deep.
There’s a strange, yet amicable balance between being an agricultural fair and a cultural event.
Livestock shows and pie judging contests occur throughout the day, and by night, live music plays while people drink and dine at fancier pop-up stalls.
My feet kick up plumes of dust as I walk the grounds. Nick assumes I love running into people we graduated with, but I don’t. They’ll ask me what I’m up to and I’ll say … this . It won’t fit with the idea they have of me in their heads.
And I shouldn’t care about how they see me, the role I play for them. But I can’t pretend the disappointment and pity in their eyes feels good. Just another failed actress.
Back in high school, I wielded my possibility like a shield. Other peoples’ judgement couldn’t touch me because I wasn’t meant to be here. I was meant for something bigger, better. Maybe I played into their idea of me, but I was a teenager, and so insecure.
But now, all my possibility has morphed into expectations.
And while my possibility belonged to me, these expectations belong to others. And if I can’t meet them, then who am I? I want to be loved for who I am, but sometimes I don’t even know who that is.
No, that’s not true. I know who I am.
But I don’t know if who I am is enough.
My feet kick up dust as I head for the beer tent, and I rub my eyes. At least I don’t have to worry about smudged makeup since I didn’t bother wearing any. It would’ve melted off in this heat anyway.
Flimsy wooden bar tops—basically just two-by-fours—line the beer tent to keep patrons in, and those underage out. Dad’s friend sits at the opening, checking IDs and handing out wristbands. It’s slow at first, so I help with tapping kegs, but it gets crowded fast.
And I love it.
This is my element—chatting and sweet-talking people into getting a pitcher rather than just one drink, making sure they drop a tip in the jar, which goes to a fundraising organization every year.
As the afternoon wears on, more and more wasps and bees buzz around the tent, drawn to the spilled alcohol.
A spike of fear jabs me between my shoulder blades every time they fly close. But I packed an antihistamine, in case.
It’s sad how closely I watch the front of the tent, waiting for Nick. He’s my fake boyfriend, and he’s chaperoning campers—he might not have time to stop by.
And that’s absolutely fine.
Ugh, I’m a terrible liar.
My mood sours further when Shaw ambles into the tent. He catches my eye and beelines for me. And Hannah’s nowhere in sight.
I raise my chin. I can handle him. But before he gets close, broad shoulders and a head of dark, wavy hair slips through the crowd and beneath the boards serving as the bar.
“Hey there.” Nick’s breath is warm against my ear as his hands go around my waist.
His lips coast from the shell of my ear to just below my jaw, placing a quick kiss against my heated skin. All the breath escapes my lungs and my heart goes from andante to allegro . “Hey there, yourself.”
What brought this on? I twist to see his face, but Nick’s gaze is locked on Shaw’s. I love taking part in a dick-measuring contest. I blow out a breath, pushing down my irritation. Nick’s only trying to help.
At the last moment, Shaw veers toward another volunteer bartender, and I finally spot Hannah weaving through the beer tent’s patrons.
Nick lets go of me. My throat tightens with tears, but I swallow them.
This is fake , this is fake , this is fake , I chant in my head, but it doesn’t help. Nick’s touch, his kiss, was for show.
But I want him to kiss me . Touch me . Look for me in a crowd, and laugh at my jokes, and—shit.
I step away from Nick, going around the back of the tent and rubbing my eyes as a tension headache bands around my head. Congratulations, Juniper, you caught feelings for the guy who thinks you’re an immature psycho for fake-dating him. I’m totally fucked. Like, Spring Awakening “Totally Fucked.”
“Everything good? Do you need water?” Nick followed me, because of course he did, and it somehow makes everything worse.
“I—yeah. Water.” There’s a cooler of water bottles, so I crack one and take a sip, and practically staple a smile to my face. “Let’s get back out there.”
And now I sound like a T-Ball coach.
“What’s really going on?” he asks, his face and voice so carefully blank.
I’m crashing out because this attraction to you goes deeper than your stupidly hot face and body, and there’s no way it’s reciprocated. “Sorry for being weird. I know you kissed me because of Shaw, and I appreciate it, I do.”
“But you had it handled and didn’t need me staking a claim.”
I squeeze my thighs together and my lower belly heats. Nick’s not allowed to say the word claim again, otherwise I’m going to throw myself at him. “Um—yeah. That’s it.”
“I’m sor?—”
“We talked about the apologizing.”
He smiles. “Right. I wish I could stay, but …”
“Chaperoning, I get it.”
His feet shift like he wants to step closer but thinks better of it. “I’ll come back when I can, okay?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.” The last thing I need is for Nick to worry about me when he’s already dealing with a bunch of sugar-high teenagers.
He ducks out of the back of the tent, and I head for the front, squaring my shoulders to prepare for the onslaught of thirsty customers.
And of course, Shaw and Hannah lean against the bar. I can’t hear them over the crowd, but this is definitely a fight. Shaw’s face is a stony mask, and Hannah’s eyes have a suspicious, tear-like sheen to them.
He slams his fist on the bar top, shaking the whole board, and Hannah jolts. My entire body goes red hot and tight. Fuck pretend ignorance, I’m not standing by while this asshole scares her.
I march over, but they sense my approach. Shaw tears away, nearly knocking into people as he leaves. My gaze lands on Hannah, who’s focused on her engagement ring, twirling it around and around her finger.
I lay a hand on her forearm, squeezing gently. “Hey, you okay?”
“Hmm?” She meets my eye, only for a moment before looking down again. “Yes, totally.”
A customer comes up, slapping drink tickets on the bar. Read the fucking room, my guy. I give him a tight smile and turn back to Hannah. “Just let me deal with this. We can talk if you need to.”
“No,” she says, pulling away. “You’re busy. I should go.”
“Wait,” I call, then gnaw at my bottom lip. I don’t like this. She looks … fragile. And I don’t want her running into Shaw again. But Hannah seems proud, she won’t stay if she thinks I’m pitying her. “You’re right, I am busy. I could use a drink ticket taker?”
She bites the inside of her cheek, but she nods. “I can do that.”
I smile and gesture for her to come behind the bar.
Hannah’s quiet, but we fall into a rhythm together.
She’s actually better at getting more tips than I am, but I mean—look at her.
Her cheekbones could shank me from here, and of course, she doesn’t sweat, she glows.
Every time she smiles, and that dimple pops, it’s automatically five dollars in the jar.
After a while, her shoulders relax and she’s more at ease.
In a rare lull between patrons, I say, “Wanna talk about it?”
Her eyes flit back to her engagement ring. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”
I stay silent, unsure if she means just today or her entire relationship.
“I just—I’m sorry about when we first met.
I thought Shaw …” A customer approaches.
She takes their tickets, and as I pour a pitcher, she moves closer.
“I didn’t realize he acted like that with literally every woman here.
I thought, I don’t know, that there was something going on between you two. So, I’m sorry.”
“I would’ve been upset, too. And he—I didn’t know about you,” I murmur that last part. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Thanks.” A small smile curves her full lips, and there’s the dimple that launched a thousand ships.
She couldn’t be cuter if she tried, so I blurt, “No offense, but why are you with him?”
A wild laugh escapes her, and she runs her fingers through her glossy hair. “I made principal with my dance company this year.”
“Congratulations?” I slide the pitcher onto the bar top and turn to her, hands in my back pockets.
“A dancer’s career is so short. I’ve got maybe seven years left, five realistically. I don’t want to start a family and lose that time. But you feel that biological clock ticking too, right? You and Nick are disgustingly in love.”
My stomach does a weird flip and squeeze. I must be hungry.
“So I put this plan in place for where I should be in my professional and personal life when I can’t dance any longer.”
The biological clock thing I will never understand, but the plan thing? That I get. “You want the guy lined up for when you’re ready to retire and start a family.”
“Exactly.”
The direction of this conversation has caught me off guard, but before I say something too out of pocket, I have the sense to ask, “Can I be blunt?”
“Please.” She straightens, dancer posture on lock.
I nod, running my tongue along my teeth, before saying. “If you’re unhappy with his fuckery now, why would you want to tie yourself to him further with marriage or kids?”
Hannah eyes her hands again, blinking quickly. “I don’t. That’s what our—our fight was about. I’m leaving.”