Page 29 of Apple of My Eye
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nick
WEEK FIVE
Julian: Nick, you gotta get back here, man. We’re getting swamped in pickup.
Isaac: Dude no were not. We’re doing fine.
Julian: We’ve lost the past three weeks in a row.
Isaac: But that’s because those teams had Bryan and that other guy that just graduated from LSU.
Nick: If I could come back tomorrow I would.
Isaac: Trouble in paradise?
Nick: Didn’t say that.
Julian, in a separate thread without Isaac: Everything good, man?
Nick: Yeah, just tiring out here. Long days.
Julian: Well, I can’t wait to visit!
Nick: I’m excited for that too.
Julian: Three weeks until we’re there. Then you’re basically home.
Nick: Yeah.
Julian: If it makes you feel any better, not that Isaac will admit it, but his internship is running him into the ground. He’s been working twelve-hour days.
Nick: Haha. Makes me feel a bit better. Thanks, dude.
Julian: Np.
Isaac would have a field day if he knew how much trouble there was in paradise.
It’s been three days since the farmers’ market and Eloise has not spoken to me once, despite my going over to her house every morning.
On Tuesday I left her a lavender latte on the porch, a gesture of goodwill, with a note that said Hey, can we talk?
and had my phone number scrawled across it.
All day I was glued to my phone. I felt in my bones she would reach out.
But the day ticked along, a chilly morning making way for another bright fall afternoon, a crisp breeze floating through the apple trees, which turned into a brisk evening, only for my phone to stubbornly stay silent.
This morning when I woke up I decided I’d had enough of her freezing me out. If this is the way she wants to play it, then I’ll let her know who she decided to play against.
I was iffy on whether or not to release this campaign at all—it does involve significant work on Mrs. Parker’s part, but now I have nothing to lose and everything (revenge on Eloise) to gain.
In a flurry of TikTok’s I announce the ‘Day in the Life’ competition, where a lucky winner will be chosen from the list of people who like the video and follow our account.
They’ll get a chance to come up to the farm, meet the pigs and Mr. and Mrs. Parker, and they’ll get to take home a basket of home-made goods.
To top it off, Mrs. Parker will cook every single meal, as farm to table as you can get it.
And the lucky winner can bring a guest with them.
Mrs. Parker, for her part, is thrilled. When I show her how many people have entered the competition so far she claps her hands together with glee.
‘You’ll have to tell me what to make,’ she says, putting down her crotchet.
We’re on the porch, as we are every evening, all three of us gently rocking back and forth in rocking chairs.
Heat emanates from the cups of apple cider that rest at our sides, a fall tradition for the Parkers.
I’ve already asked Betsy for the recipe, although recreating this type of fall magic in my studio apartment in San Francisco will be impossible.
Betsy looks so small under the chunky quilt that she’s pulled up so high it almost reaches her chin, and I feel a swell of affection for her.
‘All of your meals are delicious,’ I say emphatically.
‘I could do my roast chicken.’
Joe grunts from his chair. He loves her roast chicken. Betsy glances at me for approval.
‘That’s a perfect idea,’ I say.
I only let the competition run for one full day before I enter the applicants into a random generator at the end of Wednesday night. I’m exhausted, but I sit straight up, my eyes almost popping out of my head when I read the name the generator outputs: Anna Park .
No. No. No. Anna of all people? How on earth did she win this?
I let my mouse hover over the ‘spin again’ button wondering how unethical it would be to just pick someone else.
The last thing I want is for Anna to come up here sniffing around, making small talk with Mrs. Parker.
For all I know Anna will probably reach out to my mother and bring her too .
Suddenly I feel like I bit off way more than I can chew.
But when I go to click the mouse, I hesitate.
It doesn’t sit right with me to manipulate the contest so much.
Maybe having Anna won’t be as bad as I thought.
A familiar face could be nice. Plus, I know what I’m getting myself into.
I type out a message to her: You’ll never believe it!
.?.?. ignoring the nagging feeling that I’m allowing the winner to be Anna for an entirely different reason than it could be nice to see a familiar face—a reason that has everything to do with the fact that this is the perfect way to irritate the hell out of Eloise, who just so happens to be irritating the hell out of me.