Chapter 13 #2
Harrow’s brows shot up before one lowered again in careful consideration. “You have a skillfully articulated facade, yes.”
“Well, I’m going to schedule an appointment with Nadia this week.
But…” she leveled a deadpan look of skepticism at her sister.
“Don’t let this go to your head—you were right last night.
There’s something between Grier and me that, at the very least, deserves to be explored.
I texted her and offered to explain myself, and to thank her.
I thought I’d cook for her, and we could talk—without the pressure of rushed flirtation. ”
Harrow stood and joined her in the kitchen, settling across the counter from her. She didn’t say anything at first, just watched Tobin. The silence stretched until Tobin began to squirm under her sister’s silent appraisal.
Finally, Harrow’s sober expression softened, the corners of her eyes crinkling as a soft, genuine smile appeared, “I’m proud of you.”
Tobin offered her own eye-smile back, taking a sip of coffee to obscure the small blush forming over her cheeks. Tobin was the older sister, but somehow Harrow’s approval and support had always carried more weight than anyone else’s—including LoLo’s and Eddie’s.
They had grown up thick as thieves, with a picturesque childhood: two loving parents, solid friendships and family vacations.
They’d spend most weekends at the cherry orchard, their father wanting to return to his literal roots and expose his daughters to the salt-of-the-earth lifestyle LoLo and his father emanated.
Their summers were devoured by the orchard, neither girl missing their lives or friends back home enough to protest.
Under the canopy of cherry trees, the girls grew into themselves.
They rose with the sun and slept beneath the open stars.
They worked alongside the orchard staff—planting, pruning, watering, and picking.
They made friends with the neighboring farm kids, experienced their first losses, and some of their hardest.
It was against a shaded trunk that Tobin first told Harrow about her sexuality, and Harrow, in turn, shared her own bisexuality.
It was against another trunk that Tobin sobbed when she learned of their father’s cancer.
Later, after fleeing his burial at the family cemetery, LoLo found her there—curled against a trunk, her knuckles bloodied from the assault she’d unleashed on the all-too-willing tree.
Losing her father laid the first row of bricks in the armory of walls that guarded Tobin’s heart—and it was the thickest. The love she’d grown up witnessing between her parents and her grandparents had set the bar so high she’d felt the burden of its near-unattainability since childhood.
She knew both couples had their disagreements, but their love was unmistakable—in the gentle banter, the soft touches as they passed each other, and the way both her father and grandfather always sought their wives’ eyes first in any room.
She had been raised in a fairytale and refused to settle for anything less—to the point that she decided to remove the unpredictable variable of a partner altogether, to guarantee her children would never have to witness a failed relationship from such proximity.
Their mother was only forty-five when her husband died.
Briefly, she withdrew into herself after his absence.
The girls stayed with LoLo and their grandfather on the farm for several months.
LoLo, Tobin, and Harrow grew together in their grief, then grew outward as they healed.
Their mother returned—to the farm and to her daughters—and their love grew too.
She never remarried, always saying she’d already lived her love story; now, she just wanted her girls to find theirs.
Neither Tobin nor Harrow ever officially came out to their family; there was never a need to.
They were raised with the innate understanding of unwavering love and support—no matter the context.
Tobin began talking about crushes in her early teens.
Harrow followed a few years later, slower to bloom into herself and naturally quieter about the things she held close to heart.
With the freedom of that support, the girls were encouraged to explore themselves, and their ambitions blossomed early.
Tobin found herself drawn to the kitchen, learning from LoLo and their mother.
Though the farm was paternally linked, LoLo and their grandfather had adopted the girls’ mother long before Tobin and Harrow were born.
She belonged to the farm as much as the rest of them, and found a comfort in the land and the buildings where her love for her husband—and their family—had taken root.
While Tobin ultimately decided she didn’t want the lifestyle of a professional chef, her love for food—and love through food—remained a defining part of her life, and a dependable outlet for her emotions.
Harrow’s ambitions were born on the orchard, too.
The summer a blight threatened the crop, she dove into research, learning how pesticides, soil treatments, and runoff affected the farm and the earth.
Her impassioned campaign for environmental sanctions germinated into a fervent pursuit of environmental law—and why she was working on a Saturday morning.
Tobin’s phone buzzed on the counter between them, and she couldn’t staunch the rush of adrenaline at the thought of Grier’s response. She reached for it with gratefully steady hands and flipped it over where she and Harrow could both see Anchor’s name across the screen. She physically deflated.
“That must’ve been some kiss!” Harrow crowed, unable to resist the tease.
Tobin looked at her, unblinking, before unlocking her phone, and retorted in short, clipped words, “It was.”
Harrow smirked, one eyebrow raised, an inquisitive glimmer in her eyes. Tobin kept her waiting and instead read the text from Anchor.
ANCHOR—8:01 a.m.
Morning!!! Just checking in? Are you okay???
We’re all really worried about you…
Tobin often forgot how young Anchor was—until she texted. The girl, in her mid-twenties, had an exuberant fondness for punctuation that none of Tobin’s peers shared.
TOBIN—8:03 a.m.
I’m doing much better this morning.
Thanks for checking in.
TOBIN—8:03 a.m.
How are the new residents settling in?
She set her phone down, well aware that Harrow hadn’t averted her gaze and was still waiting for Tobin to elaborate.
“If you’re waiting for details,” Tobin said dryly, “you’ll be waiting a long time. I’m not as vulnerable as I was last night.”
“You shouldn’t have to feel vulnerable to share a little detail with your favorite sister.” Harrow’s grin curved knowingly. “Come on, T! It’s been so long…” She let the sentence dangle.
“Yeah, well. Last I checked, you are just as capable as I am of acquiring…” She paused, contemplating. “Trysts.”
She took a sip of coffee, eyeing Harrow over the rim of her cup. “Maybe you should take your own advice and let loose a little.” Steam curled between them as she raised her eyebrows.
Harrow’s shoulders slumped, realizing she would not be getting any more details.
“I cancel my whole night for you, force myself to work on a Saturday after taking care of you all night, and you won’t even give me one teensy, tiny detail about the most romantic encounter either of us has had in months? ”
Tobin smirked. She knew she had the upper hand—and she couldn’t resist teasing her, even at the expense of disregarding her own boundaries. Though reluctant to break precedence, she decided to share one tiny, seemingly innocuous detail.
She rolled the words off her tongue, elongating an unnecessarily short delivery. “Upside. Down.”
Then she pushed off the counter and strolled out to patio to drink her coffee in peace.
Just as expected, Harrow chased after her. “What do you mean, upside down?” she whined.
“Nope. That’s all you’re getting.”
“Tobin! What the hell! You can’t just dangle that in front of me and then refuse to elaborate. I have questions!” Harrow exclaimed, exasperated.
“I can. And I just did.”
“Tobin!”
“Don’t you have work to finish? Or something?” Tobin countered, just as the unmistakable buzz of her phone vibrated against her thigh.
Again, she was disappointed.
ANCHOR—8:07 a.m.
They’re doing really well. No fights, and only
two are on hunger strikes!! I’ll be spending
most of the day with those two, trying to earn
their trust.
TOBIN—8:08 a.m.
That’s great news. I work M-W this
week, but I’ll come out on Thursday to
see how things are developing.
ANCHOR—8:09am
Great!!! Have a good week until then. SOOO
glad you’re doing better.
Tobin looked up from her phone to see Harrow still watching her expectantly. “Well?”
“I’m not giving you any more details,” she smirked. Harrow flopped dramatically on the couch. “Fun hater.”
Tobin smiled at her sister, silently grateful for her constancy.
Her phone buzzed. She picked it up hand froze, registering the name on her screen. Grier’s name popped up again, with a secondary text. Then a third.
Harrow nudged her. “Most people don’t send multiple texts in a row if it’s bad. Open it.”
Tobin stared at the three lines of text, holding her breath as if even the slightest exhale might alter her reality.
GRIER—8:13 a.m.
Yes, I like food. Is that even a real question?
Do you not
GRIER—8:13 a.m.
Do you not remember my speech at the gala?
GRIER—8:14 a.m.
Sorry, my hands were wet and my phone
slipped before I could finish the first message.
Tobin had more questions than answers. She set her coffee on the table and gripped her phone with both hands, unable to tear her eyes from the screen.
TOBIN—8:15 a.m.
Should I ask why your hands are wet?
That sounds… involved.
GRIER—8:15 a.m.
Avoiding both my questions, I see.
TOBIN—8:17 a.m.
Yes. It was a real question.
TOBIN—8:17 a.m.
I was buying time. I had to remember
your speech. If you’ll recall, I suffered an