Page 23 of The Idiot

“Do you want ice cream on this?” she asks, completely disregarding my musings.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Here comes another five pounds. If Murph ever decides to speak to me again, he won’t recognize me.

Something’s got to give. I can’t keep trolling past his house in Delores like a stalker. I’ve wanted to just show up and start helping him pick like I always do, no matter what he says. I know he’s been stressed out over keeping up with things since his dad died. I should be there, letting him know he doesn’t have to do it alone. It’s killing me, seeing how many of his trees are still loaded with apples while we’re close to winding down our season.

Mom slides a plate in front of me. The scoop of vanilla ice cream is starting to melt its creamy goodness into the warm pie, making my stomach growl in approval. Once again, food is the closest thing to happiness in my life since Murph left it.

Laying a hand on my shoulder, Mom squeezes. “Maybe he’s got something going on. Just talk to him. Sometimes people just need someone to listen.”

It’s not the end all be all of advice, but I can certainly do that. If he lets me. I’ll be the best listener to have ever listened.

Digging into my comfort food, my brain churns for an in. I might only get one shot. My stupid texts about the weather, our picks, and local gossip have all gone unanswered minus his dumb thumbs-up emojis. I need to poke the bear, stick my neck out, offer up a white flag of truce that gets me an audience with him.

Friends don’t need time apart. Friends figure shit out together. Murph needs to see that I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for him, no matter what.

Just as soon as I finish this pie.

CHAPTER 5

Murphy

“Son. Of. A. Bitch. I don’t freaking need this right now!” Growling, I watch my wrench sail into the weeds underneath one of the apple trees.

Brilliant way to cope. Now I have to go get the damn thing.

Sighing, I heft up off the overturned bucket that’s serving as my makeshift stool to work on the tractor. Two more weeks. It couldn’t have just held out for two more weeks for me to get the harvest finished.

Stomping across the lane and into the grass, it doesn’t escape my notice that Auggie’s not hot on my heels for once. He’s usually my trusty shadow. I’ve been so surly lately that he keeps his distance during the day, only curling up with me at night when he knows I’ll be too comatose to grumble to myself.

Throwing him an accusing glare, I feel smaller as soon as I’ve done it. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed how your tail wags whenever he drives by,” I call out, causing him to huff pathetically and his head to burrow deeper in between his paws where he’s lying.

First Jesse, now the damn tractor. Can’t I catch a break this year?

It’s difficult enough to ignore the fact that you somehow fell for your best friend and have been in denial over it without the added temptation ofsaidfriendsending you random text messages. First, it was about that cold snap we had two weeks ago. I assume he was trying to warn me in case it impacted my harvest, but made myself squash the idea that he cares—cares the way I didn’t realize that I care about him.

Next, it was to inform me that Randall Bennings got a new toupée as horrid looking as the last. I refused to be sucked into the comfort of our old nonsense, our conversations that made the pace of life fly by,nothingsthat always felt likeeverythings. I’ve had to remind myself that it was likely just me who felt that way, and to Jesse, I’m just… a distraction.Company. Someone to visit with until he ever decides to grow the fuck up.

I thought his benign messages were just more guilt, but the one he sent me last night is still burning a hole in my pocket on my phone. He wants to see me. Actually wants to see me again even after the way I acted at the café.

I want it to mean that we’re still friends, but I don’t trust my judgment anymore. Not after the come-to-Jesus moment Mom dropped on me a few weeks ago.

In lovewith Jesse Carver…

As much as I’ve tried to deny it since she planted the idea in my head, I can’t. She didn’t plant it there. All she did was unearth it, unearth it from a lifetime of me burying a truth, bigger and bolder, and more undeniable than the one I admitted to Jesse.

Of course, I fucking love him. God knows why. He’s a pain in the ass most of the time, but… he’smypain in the ass.

JESSE:Whenever you’re done not talking to me, can we do something together? I miss you.

That damn text he sent earlier won’t stop haunting me. Sighing, I bend down when I spot my wrench. He misses me. Which me? Pre-gay Murph or I’m-gay Murph?

Every fiber of my being wants to see him again, watch that bright, mischievous smile stretch across his face, and hear his cackly laugh, but it terrifies me. I don’t think I’ll be able to look at him the same way anymore, just like he couldn’t look at me the same since I told him my secret.

Will he know I’m checking him out? Will I check him out?

Stalking back to the tractor, my throat closes up, knowing I might not be able to avoid it. It’s harvest season and all the implement dealers are booked up solid working on emergency repairs for every grower across the county. I need Jesse in more ways than one right now, and I’m not proud of it. While I went off to play Army, he got his mechanic’s certification even though the little grease monkey didn’t need it. He’d been taking shit apart and putting it back together ever since we were kids. If anyone can fix Dad’s so-old-it-should-be-in-a-museum-tractor, it’s Jesse.

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