Page 50 of Over the Edge

“I didn’t demand,” Evelyn interjects, and I wonder if she remembers what I’m talking about. Not that she was drunk that night, but that it might not have been significant to her.

“Fine. You didn’t demand, but you asked and I handed it right over. She disappears, and you know what I see a few minutes later? She comes back wearing it as a dress. You know I never got it back.” And however good she looked in the dress, she was incomparable in my suit jacket.

“I can fix that, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. My clothes have a tendency to look better on you even if I get them custom made.”

There’s one thing I leave out about my recollection of the night, the real reason Evelyn started to really drag me under. It was the first time I noticed that tell of hers. That stupid forced smile. For a moment, when she dashed away from the crowd and she looked at me, it was gone. It was like I was a solution, not just my jacket, but me. That’s all it took. I don’t know what she was pretending to not care about that night, but I’m happy I was there all the same.

After a dinner on the porch of their farm to table restaurant, the Barlowes take us out to the fields just as dusk paints the sky. Strategically placed string lights give the transition into night, a gauzy, fantastical feeling as we meander through the bushes. Millie and Evelyn wander up ahead picking berries. This is likely the last weekend tourists and locals alike will be able to before fall rushes in and the fields are closed to the public.

“You two were quite the treat. Come back next year and you might actually be together with all that’s going on between the two of you,” Porter says, and I nearly stumble over my own feet.

“Excuse me?” I choke out.

“We got a little ask from the folks in town to give you two a push,” he says plainly. “Hold your apologies. I don’t give half a damn if you two are a couple or not. It was a good afternoon and you can’t buy one of those.”

“Any chance there was money involved in other ways?” I hedge my guess about the situation we’ve gotten ourselves into.

“I might have been promised a bit of a matchmaker’s fee. But I don’t think I’ll take it. This place is a little bit magic; I can’t take credit for it or maybe it will slip away.” The older man looks toward his wife.

It’s not that I want their life, exactly. I don’t think I could ever have that. I wasn’t raised in a way that I can ever see myself having a family without living in a constant state of fear that I would repeat the mistakes that made me feel the weight of resentment so much of my life. I’ve made plenty of choices to prevent that. But I want that, to belong with someone so unquestionably you can see it in a passing glance.

“Garrett! We still need a picture. Come here!” Evelyn calls out, her hand waving overhead.

What we have is mutual exchange, even if some roots have grown deeper than intended. But maybe for this next week I can let myself enjoy it. It’s fleeting. The moment that holds the last few seconds of your favorite song that has to end, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t.

I stride over and claim the spot next to her, a spot that I force myself to remember shouldn't feel like mine. My arm loops around her waist and I pull her to me so her side is flush against mine. She nestles closer to me, the heat from her body is welcome against the chill whisper of fall. Her soft curves look sogood wrapped in my old sweater with my hands pressed into the time softened cotton.

Her face tilts up to look at me. “What are you doing?”

“Let’s take one together this time. Today was worth remembering, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I think it was.”

Before she lifts her phone to take a picture, I already know this one will never make it to Holt.

This is just for us.

19

Evelyn

The Barlowes walk us to the parking lot. My hand is twined in Garrett’s partly for show, but mostly because I want to. Because we did this together and it’s been so long since I’ve not felt like I was standing alone.

At the end of the tour of their fields, they told us the list of drinks to expect to have to be picked up next week. From what I could read of Garrett’s expression, we won them over. The victory hums through me, or that could just be the small currents I’ve felt each time Garrett and I touch.

For my own sake, I’ll say it’s victory. I’ve grown to value my time with Garrett and I don’t want to ruin that with my proclivity to fall for people who show even the smallest amount of interest in me. He's a good actor, he told me so himself, but I think my body has missed the memo.

“You good?” Garrett asks, his thumb running over my knuckles as we walk across the pavement. There are barely any cars left since the farm is about to close. The Barlowes are stillstanding on the edge of the sidewalk in front of the visitor center, idly chatting to each other.

“Oh, yeah.” I bite at my lip. “Just thinking that today was fun.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“I guess you were able to put up with me as a girlfriend for a day. Hope you didn’t suffer too much.”

I take a step forward but his hand tugs against mine as he stays in place. “Eve. Promise me something.”

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