揊or apple picking? Of course. It抯 every girl抯 wet dream to go apple picking in Fall. The question is are you ready??I laugh.
揥hat could go wrong??he asks, and I can抰 help the thought that emerges in response: Famous last words.
12
NOW
揝ometimes the road less traveled is less traveled for a reason.?- Jerry Seinfeld
MEYER
揅losed?!?I ask, and it抯 the closest I抳e ever sounded to an appalled teen who抯 just been told that there抯 no WiFi. 揌ow can you be closed? It抯 the height of Fall!?
揥hich is exactly why we are closed in the middle of the week on a Wednesday and not on a Saturday, sir. We抮e closed for a private party.?The teen manning the gate says with a bored look.
揗eyer, it抯 fine. Let抯 just go,?Fee says to me soothingly.
I give the kid another frustrated glare-and-sigh before I turn and take Fee抯 hand. We held hands for most of the two hour drive here, her sweeping her thumb across my skin occasionally, and while I wouldn抰 say it felt natural, it sure as hell felt nice. To me, at least.
She抯 silent as we get into the car, though, and as we pull out of the parking lot. I know she抯 not disappointed in the loss of apple picking, exactly, but I also feel the weird, strained energy blanketing us.
When we抮e together with Hazel, like we were multiple times this week while they practiced for her upcoming recital, things are smooth and easy and normal. Conversation is still fairly easy and normal even when we抮e alone, but the air feels heavier, my pulse feels thicker in my veins. I feel like I抦 holding my breath too much. I抣l start to catch myself filtering what comes out of my mouth or questioning it more because I want her to like me more. The admiration that I抳e always carried has heated to something that I can抰 just veer away from now. It抯 making me feel flustered and awkward. Like I抦 made of teen angst and gurgling hormones. It抯 not exactly unwelcome, I guess. It抯 just?precarious. Unsteady.
In essence, this is already starting to feel like it was a bad idea.
Before I let those thoughts take over （and because I抦 worried that something similar is rolling through her head too） I peel off the side of the road and onto a dirt path.
揗eyer, what are you doing??she asks.
揥e抮e picking some fucking apples, Jones.?
The dust cloud settles around the car, and I turn to Fee抯 bewildered face.
I can抰 even define why I need this to work so badly, but I need this date to fucking happen. It抯 like I can feel the sand sifting through the hourglass on this arrangement, and I want every grain to go un-wasted.
A few too many moments hover in my mind, reminding me of times when something could抳e happened and didn抰。
揑t抯 just that?we drove all this way and we can just walk into the orchard right here and go, right? Let抯 make the best of it??I offer.
The look on her face melts from bewildered into amused. 揝ure. Screw it.?
I grab her hand when we meet in front of the car and we start walking?
揓esus, Meyer,?she pants 揑t抯 too big.?
揧ou can take it, Fee. Just one more.?
揑 have nothing left. My legs are going to give out,?she keens out a whining sigh.
I halt and blink when the playback hits me. Fee stops short and stands up straight, still panting, and starts to laugh.
揑 just heard it too,?I snort, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand.
I turn back to the hill, one of countless that we抳e trudged up so far, and wince. My long sleeve shirt is tied around my waist and I抦 sweating a bit, too, but, Fee is more vocal about her discomfort.
揑 didn抰 dress for hiking, Meyer. I dressed for apple picking. We have yet to pick an apple.?She catches up to my side and bends at the waist, bracing her hands on her knees as she catches her breath.
I抦 aware of how she抯 dressed. I had to stride faster just to get past her in the cute denim getup. It抯 a one-piece outfit thing with buttons all down the front, and it hugs her entire body like it抯 been painted on. My eyes kept veering to her pert, heart shaped ass in the thing when she was in front of me, until I muscled my way around and in front, stomping the ground in frustrated strides as the years of the comments I抳e heard and read about that ass replayed through my mind?
I take in the forest of trees surrounding us. I just wanted to get to the top of the hill to check out what I assumed would be a nice view, capture our 搑equired?pictures梐nother fun little assigned prompt for the publicity stunt梑ut each hill we抳e scaled has just led us further into a labyrinth of trees. It抯 a clustered cloud of varied Fall shades, and in spite of the sheen she抯 sporting and the irritated look, it happens to be a backdrop that looks made for Farley. Browns, russets, yellows, and reds.
I resent the heat that lingers despite it being November. She belongs in some Lifetime channel small town with three months of pure Fall; all her colors. In crisp, cool air even under the sun.
揕。A. in Fall is bullshit,?is all I manage to say.
揌onestly, Meyer, actual apple picking isn抰 really what this was all supposed to be about, anyway.?
揘o??
揘o. I wanted some kind of apple flavored drink, to feel some leaves crunch underfoot, and to eat some god damn pie. I also thought I could get you to pose like a stuffed pig with an apple in your mouth. Maybe make a candle. Churn some butter. Buy a wind chime from a man that whittles wood in his mountain cabin and only comes down to sell his wares at the local craft fair. He抯 a loner with a chip on his shoulder, but has a soft spot for his one-eyed dog and for the woman who runs the bakery厰
揌ang on,?I say, her monologue lost on me. The woman could write a biography for a stranger in her mind if you gave her sixty seconds. I spot something in the distance and decide to cling onto this plan a bit longer. 揑抣l be right back.?
揗eyer!?she whines.
I come back in a light jog, new treasure in hand, feeling hopeful. But when my gaze meets her mildly disgusted one, I frown. 揥hat??I ask, as she looks around me, searching. I start to deflate. 揑t抯 an apple picking tool, Farley. With a?basket thing.?I urge them both toward her, stupidly. 揘ow we can actually collect some apples.?She steps to the side and looks harder, so I turn. 揥hat the hell are you looking for??
揟he time machine or portal you just stepped through to retrieve that.?
I roll my eyes and drop them both.
揗eyer,?she laughs. 揅ome on. Look at that creepy thing. You walked over here looking like that old painting of the angry farmer. I had to.?
I do look, and she has a point. It抯 a petrified wooden pole sporting what looks like Freddy Kruger抯 curled, rusted hand at the end. But, as Fee herself would put it, I抦 just over it now, so I start to make my way back in the direction of the car.
At least, I think I am? Shit, this place is a maze.
揥ait. Are you actually mad??she calls.
揘o, Fee. I抦 not mad.?I say, sounding exactly that.
揂nnoyed, then??I level her with a look as she skips to my side. 揋ood, because so am I. I抦 sure I have blisters on my pinky toes, and sweat stains under my ass cheeks. Definitely working on a GoldBond-required type chafing situation. If this were a real date you would so not be getting to first base.?
揑 guess it抯 good that this is all just fake, then, isn抰 it??I spit, before I can hold it back. I know she was just trying to get a reaction out of me, and I know I played right into it. 揧ou know what厰 I sigh, frustrated and defeated. 揟his wasn抰 supposed to go like this. I抦 sorry. I抦 just trying to make the best of it, and I抦 clearly failing. Maybe you should go with one of the football players.?