Page 26 of Apple of My Eye
Chapter Nineteen
Eloise
[FOR EVAN] List of Must-Trys at the Fall Festival
– Mom’s apple pie (I guess you can get this at home, but yk what I mean)
– Apple cider donuts from DeeDee’s Donuts (we can go get these Sunday, but you will want to get them twice)
– Cherry hand pies (Mrs. Marple makes a great one)
– Kettle corn (Lyle and Son’s Potato Farm, don’t ask me how they execute on this, but trust it)
– Apple cinnamon barbecue (ribs or brisket sandwich)
– Carmel apples (Moody’s or Hal’s)
‘I told him.’
‘What?’ Evan’s mouth drops open, revealing a mouth full of kettle corn. He is carrying a half-eaten cherry hand pie and the remnants of a brisket sandwich. He swallows. ‘Which thing? You told him about the farm? Or Amie? Was it Amie? You’re such a martyr.’
I roll my eyes. ‘I am not . I told him both.’ I raise my eyebrows. See , I think, I can have hard conversations.
Evan’s eyes widen. ‘Damn, girl, you executed quick.’
‘Well, you got in my head! I had a nightmare about him finding out. And then I saw him this morning and he was helping my mom, and I thought about him fixing Mrs. Parker’s potholes and how much he loves his mom, and .?.?. well .?.?. it just kind of came out.’
Evan completely stops moving, unable to talk and walk and eat. ‘OK,’ he processes, ‘so you felt bad lying to an angel, which for the record, I would have too.’ He creates a small pileup behind us as we take up most of the sidewalk. ‘What did he say when you told him the truth?’
‘Come on—’ I tug his elbow ‘—we’ve got to get back to our stand. I’ll tell you on the way.’
I start by explaining how confused Nick seemed by the idea of Amie asking him out.
‘Confused as in he’s into you—you know that, right? Don’t be another one of those dumb girls who can’t read the obvious signs.’
‘Well, we did make out in the laundry room last week,’ I mumble.
‘Eloise!’ Evan gasps so loudly the woman in front of us jumps. ‘You made out with him and then told him someone else was going to ask him out? That’s insane behavior.’
‘Ugh,’ I groan. I cover my face with my hands, peeling apart two fingers to stare at Evan with one eye. ‘He is a really good kisser,’ I whisper.
‘I could have told you that,’ Evan declares ‘and I haven’t even met the guy!’
‘It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even live here!’
‘Exactly. He’s only here for the summer, so maybe the two of you should consider a no-strings-attached summer fling.’
I sigh but I don’t try to fight it. ‘It was just weird,’ I admit, ‘the way he reacted to me wanting to buy the Parkers’ farm.’
‘I don’t blame him at all. If what you’re telling me is right, and who knows these days because you’re hiding some stuff as of late, you made out with him, never discussed it, told him a different girl wanted to ask him out, and then you also told him you have all these weird feelings about his job. ’
I squirm.
‘So,’ Evan prompts.
We swing around a gaggle of teens queuing for donuts. ‘He was so .?.?. nice about it.’
‘Why is that weird? Everyone has been practically screaming about how nice he is. God, I can’t wait to meet him,’ Evan adds the last part under his breath. ‘Nick Russo, Adonis extraordinaire.’
‘He is nice,’ I say, ‘but something felt different about it. Like he was nice and also sad? I’m not sure .?.?. I’m definitely overthinking it.’
‘Definitely,’ Evan agrees. ‘Maybe he was just bummed you hadn’t told him sooner?’
‘Maybe.’ I shrug. ‘He said “business is business, right?” and I just sort of agreed and that was it. Then we drank our coffee.’
Evan slows down, glancing at me curiously. ‘Do you really believe that? That business is business?’
‘I guess .?.?. I mean .?.?. it has to be. I think it’s both of our first priorities.’
‘It sounds like something only rich people say.’
‘Nick isn’t rich,’ I say quickly.
Evan raises his eyebrows at me. ‘Coming to his defense pretty quick for someone you have such mixed feelings about.’
‘All I’m saying is he has a point about the business is business thing. We probably need to have some sort of truce while we each try our best.’
‘Business just happens to also be your family,’ Evan reminds me, like there’s any chance I could forget. ‘But I guess if that’ll work for you guys—’ he elbows me ‘—and leaves things open.’
‘It’s already feeling messy without opening up that can of worms, no matter how much I want to. Plus, it’s not like he’ll actually accomplish anything. He’ll leave, and I’ll get what I want.’
‘That’s the confidence I’ve been wanting to see!’ Evan fist pumps into the air.
I can’t help but smile as we near our tent.
The chilly early morning turned into a balmy afternoon.
The sun is high in the sky, but the air is dry and a gentle breeze ruffles the row of white tents.
The whole place smells like fall—fried food, apples, and fruit.
I reach around Evan’s shoulders and give him a hug.
I’m happy he’s here to see this, a larger version of the farmers’ market where I’ll spend my weekends all through September.
I spot my mom sitting at the front of our tent, fiddling with the brim of her hat, her twin braids thrown over her shoulders.
She’s in our farmers’ market uniform—a loose pair of denim overalls over a white branded T-shirt.
Mom and I upgraded a few years back after Lily convinced us to ‘capitalize on the hippie moms.’ It worked.
We instantly sold more apple butter and apple marmalade.
Women in pigtails and with long braids flocked to our stall.
Evan and I pass Dahlia, whose stall is next to ours, and I have to tug on his elbow gently to keep him from stopping.
Dahlia tries a new thing every year. Last year it was crystals, the year before it was essential oils.
One year she sold soap, the next she sold jewelry.
This year, it seems, she’s doing candles.
And she’ll talk anyone’s ear off. If I let Evan linger, he’ll be there for hours.
‘You’re back!’ Mom says excitedly. ‘It’s gotten really .?.?.’
‘Crowded,’ I finish for her, looking around. It’s markedly different than it was when Evan and I left an hour ago. Snippets of conversation float in the air towards us. I see various groups of young adults I don’t recognize, most of them women, and the street is congested with people.
Mom and I are still looking at each other, confused, when a young woman approaches our booth, glances at the sign and squeals, ‘Apples!’ before she asks happily ‘Are you guys the Parker farm?’
We shake our heads. The girl apologizes and leaves, exiting the shade of the tent and returning to her cluster of friends. I watch as she communicates the news and they move on.
Mom and I look at each other. She eases herself out of her chair and stands in front of our tent to crane her neck down the street. Something she sees makes her go completely still. ‘Lou,’ she says, ‘come see this.’
I’m by her side in seconds. My jaw drops.
There is a line snaking from our tent down about two blocks, ending at a dinky, off-white tent at the end of the farmers’ market. In all my years at the market I have never seen a line so long.
‘You have to go see.’ Mom elbows me sharply in the side.
‘Ow!’ I cry out. But I obey. I can’t help myself.
I’m being pulled towards the line like I’m magnetized, Evan following hesitantly behind me.
I’m beginning to realize the mass of people all look to be about the same age.
Younger than me, late teens, early twenties, dressed like they googled farm chic beforehand.
About half are in overalls. One girl is in cutoff jean shorts that show the goosebumps dotting her legs.
Impatiently, I weave around them. I know what I’ll see beyond the line but I’m unprepared anyway.
At the very front, manning the helm of the Parkers’ tent, preoccupied with helping a teenage girl get a selfie with a pig, smiling from ear to ear, is Nick Russo. Beside him, Betsy is beaming.
My stomach drops. ‘I’m going to kill him,’ I seethe.
‘Lou?’ Evan says slowly. ‘What happened to business is business?’