10. Bills, Bills, Bills （And Not The Destiny’s Child Song）
TEN
bills, bills, bills (and not the destiny’s child song)
Wesley
“Come by the house when you have a minute,” Jasper shouts into the barn.
After I finish mucking the last stall, I toss the shovel aside and head to the main house.
Jasper leans against the kitchen counter with a set jaw and arms crossed.
He looks stressed, but honestly that’s been his norm for the past few months.
“All good?” I sit in the bar stool across from him, when I notice the bills strewn across the counter. His demeanor makes more sense now.
He nods towards the bills. “Big Al’s is in the red.
The orchard isn’t producing enough to cover the cost of maintaining it.
The bank’s banging down the door about past due loans, and if I see one more piece of mail with a godforsaken red stamp of overdue on it, I’m gonna get thrown off Rage on purpose.
” Rage, being his smoky Morgan horse, at odds with his namesake as the sweetest horse ever. “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”
Granted, this isn’t the first time Big Al’s has come up short, considering the hodgepodge of horses we’ve got and the litany of incomplete repairs.
The income the farm does generate comes from the orchard, Aunt Lorraine’s bakery booth at varying farmer’s markets, and the seasonal events Amber throws together to draw in crowds.
I don’t have the slightest clue how to fix this, but I hate seeing Jasper like this. Gruff and irritable? Sure, but seeing him defeated over his family’s legacy hurts.
“I’m sorry, Jas. Have you talked with either of your parents?” I ask knowing he likely hasn’t.
“They don’t need to worry about this, this is my shit to worry about. I’m telling you because I trust you not to run your mouth to them, or anyone else for that matter.”
“I get it, but they have a right to know what’s going on with their family’s farm, especially if this shit is piling up. This isn’t solely on you.”
“And I have the right to protect my parents from worry. We’re not involving either of them, end of story.” Jasper slams the metaphorical door on the conversation while I continue to wrack my brain for something to say.
“Okay, well what can we do? You reached out to the bank yet? I wonder if Sammy’s orchard could absorb ours? It’s certainly small enough and we make next to nothing on it.” Sammy and his partner own the property backing up to our orchard and they’re basically family.
He looks at me like I’m speaking German. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? Why the hell would I give up our orchard to Sammy? I shouldn’t have told you about this shit anyway.”
Like always, he’s shutting me out as soon as he lets me in. Jasper’s hardened over the years and he may very well be emotionally constipated with the way he can’t get a feeling out. He surprises me by changing gears, likely a deflection on his part. “You still hanging out with Dahlia?”
I try to mask my expression, not wanting him to read into why her name makes me clam up. “Yeah, we have plans this weekend to go to a show in Jersey.”
“Long way to drive for a friend.” He spits the word like it personally offended him. Jas and I typically don’t talk about romance or anything of the like. Not like he’d share anyway. I’m wondering why he seems so hostile towards Dahlia when he provides the answer.
“I don’t know man. She doesn’t seem right for you. What are you gonna do? Up and move to the city? She gonna move here? I don’t see this working out.”
Instantly, my defense shoots up. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
I say as much. “Friends, Jasper. Not planning on marrying each other and running off into the sunset. Why the fuck do you care anyway? Not like you’re off with a million prospects for love. I don’t see why this is your problem.”
“Just saying. I need you here. The farm is part of your life too, part of your responsibility. I can’t run this shit alone and you agreed to do your part.
I don’t want you losing sight of what’s important here because of some friend you wanna fuck.
” The way he stretches the word friend has me ready to drive my fist into his nose, but it would only make things worse.
“I get you’re worried about the farm, but who I do and don’t want to fuck is none of your concern.
I’m focused on the farm, this is my home too.
If you have something to say about that, fucking say it with your chest. Quit blaming this on Dahlia.
She’s got nothing to do with my life here.
” I’m off the bar stool before I realize it, gripping the counter with white knuckles.
I don’t want to fight with him, but he’s crossing a fucking line.
I realize my slip up when Jasper says, “That’s what I thought,” before slamming the back door behind him.
I cool down with some deep breaths and return to the counter top where the bills lay.
I really don’t know what to do about this and I still don’t agree with leaving Stone and Lorraine out of this, but I won’t betray his trust either.
I’m at a loss for options, but the obvious choice feels like cutting the dead weight—the failing orchard.
Rubbing my hand over my mouth, I scoop up the bills and bring them back to my room in an effort to find some way to help this place.
In my room, I crash face first into bed.
I hate feeling helpless like this. Like what I do doesn’t matter at all and I’m left to the current of life without a choice.
I pick up my phone and read through my messages with Dahlia, ignoring the desire to text her and tell her how shitty I feel right now.
I know she’ll understand, but she can’t fix this.
When I scroll up, there’s a selfie of her with her tongue out in another silly shirt, this one a picture of the Waffle House logo.
Remembering the reaction and subsequent beat off I had to the photo the first time I saw it, my dick perks up.
Though, I also remember the internal conflict I faced as I stroked myself thinking about how good she’d feel, how pretty she is—how much I said I was okay with being just friends.
That kind of mental anguish makes for tortured foreplay and all the guilt for crossing an invisible boundary with myself. Good to know even in my depressed state, my body craves Dahlia’s softness.
As if she knows I’m rereading our messages, a text comes through with a corny motivational poster—a cat hanging from a tree branch. I snort reading the text: hang in there.
Dahlia
Today sucked mega dick, hope yours was better
Wesley
Can’t say it was. You okay?
Dahlia
Yeah, same shit is all. Are you busy?
I’m not and my heart skips at her question.
Wesley
No, I’m lying down.
Dahlia
Any chance you want to talk on the phone? Or we don’t have to talk? I don’t really want to be alone right now and Daphne is working.
Kindred hearts and all, I guess.
Wesley
Of course, call whenever you’re ready.
My phone instantly starts ringing and Dahlia’s tired voice fills the line.
“Figured I’d see if you wanted to hang out. Over the phone.” She gives a small chuckle.
“Anything for you, Dahlia. What’s on your mind?”
She starts to tell me about the chaos of her day at school, tripping and almost eating shit down the stairs of her building, and how she’s worried for the future.
I hang on every word and if my cell phone was a landline, I’d be twirling the cord around my fingers like a teenaged girl in a bad sitcom.
We stay on the phone, each doing our own thing—her working on her thesis outline and me drawing.
Tonight, I’m drawing two hands holding in a variety of poses, trying to capture the intimacy of their connection. We stay on the phone well into the night and I only hang up when her soft snores come through the phone.