Page 103 of High Density

She seems nice.

A total contrast to my sister—who shares my dark coloring—her fiancée, Rachel, is a true California blonde. She’s very pretty and smiles a lot, most of the time aimed at Una. It’s clear the woman adores my sister, who seems nervous.

“What kinds of apples do you grow?” Janey asks, twisted around in the passenger seat so she can look at her.

“A lot of varieties: Fuji, Granny Smith, Pink Lady, Gala, Jazz, Honey Crisp, Braeburn.”

“Honey Crisp and Jazz apples are my favorites,” Janey shares. “My mouth waters just thinking of them.”

“Harvest will be in full swing by next week and runs well into November. I’ll ship you a crate.”

That’s right too. I hadn’t realized we’re coming into what is probably the busiest time of year for Rachel, who owns an orchard.

“You don’t have to do that,” Janey protests.

“But I want to. I ship out a lot. It’s part of my business. During harvest months I send out gift boxes with a selection of apples all over the U.S.”

“Like jelly of the month,” Una explains. “Except only for three months. It’s been growing in popularity like crazy.”

I glance in the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of my sister, who looks at Rachel with pride. It’s a different side of her. Una has always been such a prominent presence in our family, the center of attention, but here I can see her happily standing on the sidelines, shining a spotlight on her partner.

I hope Ma and Pa get a chance to see her like this as well; happy and in love. It’s as obvious as the look on her face.

“Do you favor one apple over another?” Rachel draws me into the conversation.

“I like apples. I’m not a fan of mealy ones, but I like them crisp and juicy. That’s all I know,” I admit.

“My brother is the least label-conscious person you’ll meet,” Una shares on my behalf. “If he hadn’t picked Janey, I’d say he has no taste at all. I want to bet he doesn’t even know the brand of clothes he wears.”

“My jeans are Wrangler, which is all I need to know,” I fire back.

“Don’t all cowboys wear those?” Rachel wants to know.

“All self-respecting ones,” Janey contributes.

“Damn right,” I mutter under my breath.

When I pull into the driveway of my parents’ place, I can almost feel the tension in the back of the truck rising.

“It’ll be fine,” I tell my sister, catching her eyes in the rearview mirror as I pull up to the house.

Ma and Una have apparently talked quite regularly this past month, and I’m guessing our mother pushed for this visit. I think my sister might’ve preferred holding off a little longer, but thisweekend was the last chance before Rachel’s business would tie her up for the next few months.

Ma seems to have mellowed a bit with both her kids in serious relationships. I know she loves Janey and I have no doubt she’s going to love Rachel as well. Ma has a healthy appreciation for strong, independent women.

It’s harder to get a read on our father, but I’m guessing as long as his kids and his wife are happy, he’s happy. Love is not a word that he uses often, if at all, but we can feel it.

While Janey and I grab the bags from the back of the truck, Ma is already folding Una in a bone-crushing hug on the front step, with Rachel looking on. Then my mother hands my sister off to Pa, and turns to Rachel.

“So,” I hear her say in a stern voice, “you’re the one who wants to marry my daughter?”

I hold my breath as both Janey and I rush to flank Rachel on each side, just in case. But the pretty woman does not intimidate easily. She lifts her chin, which gains her maybe another half an inch on her petite frame.

“Yes, I am,” she states without even blinking. “Next spring at the orchard.”

Ma nods, but her face remains impassive.

“Are you gonna make me wear a damn dress?” she snaps, one threatening eyebrow raised.

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