Page 38 of Wassailing We Will Go
I step out and walk through the orchards for a few minutes, wandering aimlessly through the rows of leafless trees. Apple trees look particularly sad when they’re without their greenery, all twisted and haunted. It’s a cold day, and I can see my breath as I walk, and the combined effect is glum and eerie.
Kate!
I look around to see the source of my name and find it from the last person I expect.
My Aunt Jenn is here. Not in Greece—here in the orchard.
Aunt Jenn? I run toward her, and she pulls me into a hug.
God, it’s freezing, she says. I am decidedly not used to these temperatures anymore.
Tough life, I laugh. I’m so happy to see you, but why are you here so early? Is Aunt Lauren here, too?
I flew in early—Lauren’s going to join us next week, as planned. Barb called me and told me that there’s been quite a few little disasters here recently and that I should consider coming back early.
Barb said that? I ask. She had no right to make that call.
Aunt Jenn shrugs. And I mean, sure. There are a few things that are maybe less than ideal right now—Charlie told me about tank three—but shit happens. I’m not worried about any of it, to be honest. It always sorts itself out, in the end. But I was a little worried about you.
Oh, did Barb go ahead and share my dating life with you as well?
Aunt Jenn raises an eyebrow. No, she did not. Should she have?
I blush. I, uh, kind of dated the cider maker for a while. A few dates, I say, then pause. One date, actually. But it wasn’t a great situation.
See, this is what worried me. Since you took over the cidery, it’s like you went radio silent when you used to text me what you had for breakfast with alarming regularity. I mean, Kate, it’s always croissants.
Okay, I only texted you when they were different kinds of croissants.
But you see what I mean. And then you take this job, and I don’t even hear major life developments. I knew you were busy, and I didn’t want to seem like I was interfering. Lauren and I, we wanted you to know that we trusted you. But…we missed you.
I cry for maybe the third time that day and go in for another hug. Just hugging and crying, that’s me now.
I didn’t want you to worry, I say through some light sobs. I feel like a teenager again. I wanted you to relax! That’s why you and Aunt Lauren retired in the first place.
And it was the right decision for us, no doubt about it. We’re happier than ever. But we’re still here for you. I’m sorry you felt like maybe that wasn’t the case.
I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad we’re talking, but I’m still furious at Barb, I say, wiping my eyes.
Aunt Jenn sighs. I think in addition to maybe not being the best at communicating with you, we maybe haven’t been the best friends to Barb, either. We had coffee this morning when I first came in, and she mentioned how lonely it’s been here without us. Thank goodness she knows enough about cider to step in and help Charlie for a bit until we can hire someone new.
I didn’t realize she knew so much, I say. I mean, Barb’s great at a lot of things, of course. I just didn’t know that was one of them, too.
Oh sure, in the early days, we were all figuring it out together. She had just married Hank, and their farm had rows of apple trees. That’s what started everything. We started making cider for fun, and I fell in love with it. But in the earliest days of experimentation, it was a lot of cider with either too little alcohol, or too flat, or too vinegary. Thank God we found Charlie to help us, or we never would have had the confidence to buy this place, she says, motioning to the trees around us. I gape at her, still piecing together everything she just said.
I need to run an errand, I announce.
Um, alright. Is everything okay? asks Aunt Jenn.
Yep. Great. Be right back! I practically run out of the orchards. I need to find Harrison.
I SIT IN MY CAR in the parking lot of bitter&sweet for quite a while before I muster the courage to go in. Their tasting room is busy, and I see Ryan leading a small group around, giving a tour while several of their staff pour samples to the awaiting tour groups.
I walk by the grilled-cheese-and-soup station, and it does, I have to admit, smell amazing.
I don’t want to interrupt anything while they’re busy, and consider chickening out, but when I turn, there’s Brittney. At first, she’s just surprised to see me, and then her expression turns to one of annoyance.
Can we help you? she asks.
