27. Foster
TWENTY-SEVEN
FOSTER
“What are you doing on Saturday?” Sophie asks quietly while we’re standing at the back of the gymnasium. The kids are enthralled by the presence of a couple hockey players from the local junior team.
“I was going to try and give Gary a bath,” I say as casually as possible.
“Wait, seriously?” She pulls away, her eyes narrowing skeptically.
“Yes. When I say try, I mean try and make time. The guy loves a bath.”
“Huh,” she says, looking back at the front. “So how long does it take to bathe a cat? Like is this an all-day thing, or would you have time to go to the farmers’ market with me?”
“I’m sure I can squeeze you in. I’ll have to check with Gary, though. He expects to be fully pampered. Nail clipping, massage, tail fluff, the whole shebang.”
“Okay.” She smiles back. “Check with the cat-in-chief and report back. I figured… Who are you call?—”
I lift my finger up to stop her while raising my phone to my ear. “Hi, yes, Gary, I know… yes, I’m aware I’ve interrupted prime squirrel hour. I… go on… No, that was a one-time thing, I promise. Listen, I know Saturday is bath day… Excuse me? I’m a week ahead? No, that can’t be right… Well, alright, if you insist. So you wouldn’t mind if I go to the farmers’ market with Sophie? Of course I’ll get something for you. Geez, you act as if I don’t feed you ever… Go back to glaring at your nemesis. I’ll see you tonight… Love—” I stop speaking abruptly and pull the phone away from my ear to look down at it. “Well, that was rude,” I murmur before turning back to Sophie. “Turns out I’m a week ahead and definitely have time for a trip to the farmers’ market.”
She’s got both lips sucked between her teeth, clearly holding in a laugh.
“I’m glad you were able to confirm with Gary.”
“So, farmers’ market. Is this our F date?” I ask, stepping back beside her just inside the gym doors.
“It’s lame, isn’t it?” she asks sheepishly.
“Incredibly,” I assure her. “But I love a lame trip to the farmers’ market. Especially with a friend.” Her smile falters the tiniest bit, and I try not to let myself wonder why. She’s made it clear she can’t do more than friendship. I’m doing my best to respect that. “How about we do a two-for-one?”
“What do you mean?”
“Shhh.” A student turns back to the front leaving us speechless.
I gesture with my head for Sophie to follow me into the hallway.
“Did we get shushed by a student?” Sophie asks in disbelief.
“We did. I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud,” I say, leaning back to look back through the door. “What I was going to say before I was so rudely and appropriately interrupted, was we can do a two-letter date night. Friend-date night,” I quickly amend. “We’ll get whatever you were going to get, then I’ll get stuff to make a meal starting with G.”
“You’re going to make me dinner?” she asks.
“Well, I’m going to make us dinner.”
“G.” She crosses her arms and tips her head back in thought. “G… g…g…g…g. Gnocchi? That’s a G, right? Or… Gonorrhea.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh no, god, sorry, definitely don’t make that.”
“I don’t even know where to get the ingredients.” I grin back.
Sophie slaps her hands over her face, and I can’t tell if she’s crying or laughing.
“Hey.” I wrap my hands around her wrists and tug them gently away from her face, “Don’t worry about it, we all mix up STIs and food sometimes.” I can’t even get the words out before I’m laughing, thankfully along with her.
The kids erupt in applause and Sophie leans toward the door, raises her finger to her lips, and gives an exaggerated “Shhh,” which has us laughing even harder.
That laughter carries me through the afternoon. It gets me through one of Pete’s meltdowns, which are thankfully rare. It gets me through a lengthy negotiation at the end of the day with a student who doesn’t want to wear their winter coat despite the light snowfall simply because it’s April. It gets me through arriving home to discover three of my hanging plants smashed on the floor in front of the window. I’m guessing I can blame the squirrel for this.
“I hope it was worth it,” I say to Gary as I sweep up the massacre.
My phone lights up with Heather’s name, after I finish dumping the soil into the trash. It’s unusual for her to text outside the group chat so I’m instantly nervous.
Heather
Yo, the team is into the playoffs. We need a couple extra sets of lungs cheering at the game next week.
What night?
Tuesday is the second game, at our rink.
I’ll see if Soph can make it. I’ll be there regardless.
Love you and all but make sure she comes.
Unless you messed things up already?
Hey! That’s not fair.
What? It’s not like you’ve got a great record. Besides, she’s way too good for you.
Wow… I mean I know but WOW!
Foster, you’re supposed to stand up for yourself. This was a test and you failed!
See you Tuesday at 7:25.
“So,” I say as we get out of the car on Saturday afternoon, “what vendor are we going to first?”
Sophie looks at me like I have three heads.
“What?”
“I haven’t been here before. I’ve always wanted to, but I’m a bit overwhelmed by all the face-to-face stuff.”
“You’re great with people.”
“Yeah, but if I’m looking at their stuff and don’t really want anything, I’m going to feel really bad if I walk away without buying anything.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, I don’t want to let them down.”
I stare at her for a minute. She couldn’t let anyone down if she tried. “Soph, they’re used to that. Hell, there are like three people in there selling dried flowers. Does that mean you’d get something from each of them?”
She shrugs, looking guilty. “Probably.”
“Oh, so this is so much more than shopping for a gonorrhea dinner.”
She guffaws. “Don’t call it that.”
“I don’t know,” I say thoughtfully, “I think it has a nice ring to it.”
“It really doesn’t. It sounds like a dinner that’s all army green or like… something that’s going to give you diarrhea.”
I take the tote from her and throw it over my shoulder. “Stick with me, sunshine, and you’ll only go home with one bunch of flowers.” If this was a real date, this is when I’d reach for her hand.
I can feel Sophie’s discomfort ripple through the air as we walk away from the first table in the market building. It only builds as we do the same at the second.
“If you were selling milk from your parents’ farm here and someone came up and left without buying any, what would you do?”
“Nothing,” she says as she reads the label on a jar of honey.
“Okay, how would you feel?”
She puts one jar down, then picks up another. “I guess I’d think that they weren’t looking for milk.”
“Right, so that’s what all these people are thinking, if they’re thinking anything at all.”
“Hmmm, that’s probably true,” she says, preoccupied by the third jar she has picked up. “Excuse me,” she says to the vendor. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what the difference is between these three honeys. Do they actually taste different, or are they only named after the seasons?”
“Honey that’s produced from the pollen of different seasonal flowers actually have really unique flavors. Would you like to try them?” the woman asks, producing tiny spoons from a container behind the display.
Sophie beams. “That would be amazing.”
We’re both handed a spoon with spring honey. It’s light in color and sweet on the pallet with a hint of floral.
The next is summer, which is slightly darker than spring and gets a reaction out of Sophie immediately. “Oh, this is delicious.”
“You like it more than the spring?” I ask.
“You don’t?”
“I like them both pretty equally.”
Fall comes next, and there is absolutely no doubt that this one is not going to dethrone summer on Sophie’s list.
The vendor laughs. “Fall honey definitely isn’t for everyone.”
“I’m surprised it’s for anyone,” Sophie says before looking horrified. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
The woman leans toward us conspiratorially. “Full disclosure? I feel the same way.”
Sophie buys a summer honey and we make our way to the next table, which is various goat cheeses.
Maybe I can do something with goat cheese for dinner. That would take care of the G component of the evening.
“Care to sample our pepper goat?” the man says, gesturing to the glass cloche.
“Oh. that’s okay.” Sophie backs away. “I’ve never liked goat cheese.”
“What don’t you like about it?” I ask, taking the spoon from the man and sliding it into my mouth. The pepper hits first followed by the rich creaminess of the cheese. It’s the perfect combination as the pepper stands up to the mustiness that goat cheese usually carries.
Sophie leans into me. “It’s how I imagine a goat would taste.”
“Have you had goat before?” I have and can’t figure out how someone could think the meat and cheese taste alike.
“Not the meat,” she says, leaning closer still. “The fur, like if you walked into a barn and licked a goat. That’s how goat cheese tastes to me.”
The visual makes me laugh instantly. “I promise you this may change your mind about that. It’s not as strong as some. And the pepper helps. Try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll never make you try anything again.”
She looks at me for a minute before turning to the man and asking for a sample. I watch as she slowly raises the spoon to her lips and slips it through. Then I revel in the way her expression reveals pleasure and not the disgust I think she had expected to feel. Her eyes close, and a tiny smile appears on her lips.
When her eyes open again, she rolls them immediately. “Okay, that is delicious.”
“You know what it would be good with?” I challenge.
“Crackers?”
“The honey you bought.”
She looks at me skeptically. “You think?”
“I know,” I assure her. “But also I think I’m going to use it for dinner tonight.”
“Goat cheese over gonorrhea. I support that.”
The goat vendor clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. I guess out of context that is a bizarre sentence, but also? Not an incorrect one.
In the end I’ve selected broccoli, onions, goat cheese, fresh pasta, parmesan, lemons, chicken, and a loaf of Italian bread.
“What are you making?” Sophie asks as we are walking back to the car.
“It’s a surprise.” It’s a surprise for me too, I don’t have a clue what I’m making, but I know these flavors will all work well together. It’s some kind of pasta, that’s all I know.
Sophie buys flowers, honey, a German chocolate cake, and in the end some goat cheese for herself as well.
“Can we have the cake for dessert, or does that ruin the G theme of the meal?”
“I think between the starter and the main, we’ll have G covered,” I quip as Sophie pulls the car onto the road.
“I’m excited to meet Gary.”
“He’s looking forward to meeting you too. No promises that he’ll keep his feelings to himself that you stole me away for the day.”
“Hardly for the whole day. It’s only been a couple hours. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“You’d be surprised how needy the guy is.”
Gary is making me look like a liar. The minute he sees I have Sophie with me, he turns and trots to my bedroom. When I go to get him, he wedges himself under the bed, letting me know without a shadow of a doubt that he has no interest in socializing.
“Maybe he knows I’m more of a dog person,” Sophie whispers when I come out empty-handed.
“Don’t tell him, but I am too,” I concede. “Want a tour?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, you’re standing in my formal dining room, kitchen, and foyer. I”—I gesture at my feet—“am standing in the living, family room combo.” I walk to my bedroom, and Sophie follows. “The bedroom, also Gary’s refuge.”
“May I?” Sophie asks before stepping inside when I nod. She takes in my mostly blank walls before stopping at the foot of my bed and staring up at the large piece of art I have above my bed. I let her take it in, wanting to know how it makes her feel.
I’m not a great admirer of art or anything, but this one did something to me when I saw it. An abstract forest that seems to lead to eternity. It’s a print, of course, but I had it professionally mounted which elevates it.
While she looks at my room I look at her. Hair up, light green sweater, jeans that make her legs look even longer than normal. I’m convinced at this point that green only exists for her to wear.
“Not what you expected?” I ask when she makes a tiny noise of approval.
She turns to me, shaking her head slowly. “It’s not that I was expecting racy images of scantily clad women or anything. She shrugs. “It’s… so grown-up.”
“I am grown-up.” I grin back.
“I know.” She laughs. “I remember your old room being very— well, you had Lord of the Rings posters and video game stuff everywhere.”
“You can say it, I was a nerd.”
“Are you saying you’re not a nerd anymore?”
“Nope, definitely still a nerd. I just wear those posters on my body now.”
Her eyes assess me slowly before meeting mine. There’s an odd softness to her expression, yet something heated in her eyes. She can’t be looking at me like that while we’re standing in my bedroom. She can’t be looking at me that way because we’re just friends.