Page 46 of The Ballad of Us
Within minutes, we've formed a pumpkin brigade, passing the gourds from car to cabin like we're handling precious cargo. Rhea directs the operation with the efficiency of a woman who's clearly put thought into this.
“Okay, those three big ones go on the kitchen counter.” She points to the spot she’s indicating. “The medium ones can go on the dining table, and the little ones wherever they look cute.”
“What exactly are we doing with all these pumpkins?” Wyatt asks, settling a particularly hefty one on the counter.
“Carving them, obviously. It's almost Halloween, and this place needs a spookier atmosphere.” Rhea heads back to her car. “But that's not all.”
She returns with two large boxes that she sets on the kitchen island with a flourish. “Halloween decorations. I figured you guys probably don't have any, and the village goes all out for trick-or-treaters.”
“Trick-or-treaters come up here?” Cody peers into one of the boxes.
“A few brave families with older kids make the trek. But more importantly, you're all volunteering at the Mountain Mornings Cafe booth in the village on Halloween night. Emma and I could use the help.” Her bossing us around arouses me in a way that makes it difficult to think of anything else but her ordering me around in the bedroom. We’ve never fully had a lot of time to experiment in the sex department because I was drunk for a large part of our relationship.
Parker's head snaps up so fast I'm surprised he doesn't give himself whiplash. “Emma will be there?”
Rhea grins. “All evening. We're serving hot chocolate and cider, along with some Halloween-themed pastries. And before you ask, yes, you all must dress up. No exceptions.”
I catch the way Parker tries to look nonchalant about Emma's involvement and file it away for later teasing. Apparently, Zep isn’t the only one developing feelings for a local woman.
“What happens after trick-or-treating?” Andrew’s already unpacking fake spider webs from one of the boxes.
“The adults take over. There's this whole parade down Main Street, kind of like Mardi Gras but with more ghost costumes and significantly less nudity. Very family-friendly debauchery.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say, and I mean it. The thought of joining in small-town Halloween traditions and being part of a normal, wholesome event, and far removed from the music industry appeals to me more than I could’ve guessed.
For the next three hours, we turn the cabin into a Halloween wonderland. The scent of pumpkin and a hint of woodsmoke fills the air, making everything feel cozy. Rhea has thoughts on everything, from where to put the fake ravens to how to hang the spider webs. She’s clearly in her element, leading the decorating with the same focus she uses when making coffee.
“The skeleton needs to be more slouched,” she tells Zep, who's attempting to pose a plastic skeleton in one of the deck chairs. “He's supposed to look relaxed, not like he's at attention.”
“How exactly does one slouch a skeleton?” Zep inquires, but he's grinning as he adjusts the bony figure.
“Like this,” Rhea demonstrates with her own posture, slumping back in exaggerated relaxation. “Dead guy on vacation vibes.”
Once the decorating is done, we move on to pumpkin carving. Rhea spreads newspapers across the kitchen table and arms us each with carving tools that she's apparently been collecting for weeks.
“I expect creativity,” she announces, settling in front of the largest pumpkin. “No basic triangle eyes and smile mouths. We're artists here.”
“Some of us are artists,” Parker corrects, already sketching out intricate designs on his pumpkin. “The rest of us are just guys with knives and questionable judgment,” he adds, winking at Cody, who pretends to aimlessly poke at his pumpkin like it's a balloon ready to pop.
“That's the spirit.” Rhea laughs, shaking her head as she sets her tools in order.
Watching my girl work is mesmerizing. She approaches pumpkin carving with the same careful attention to detail she brings to everything else, sketching her design in pencil before making the first cut. Her tongue pokes out slightly when she concentrates, a habit I remember from our early days together that still makes my chest warm with affection.
“What are you making?” I try to peer around her protective stance.
She swats at me, smiling from ear to ear. “Hey, buddy! This is none of your business over here. No peeking until everyone's done.”
My own pumpkin is taking on a shape that vaguely resembles a guitar, although the proportions are questionable, and one of the tuning pegs looks more like a tumor than anything musical.
“That's either a very sad guitar or a very happy banana,” Cody observes, working on his own creation.
“Constructive criticism is not welcome at this table,” I reply with mock dignity.
“What about destructive criticism?” Wyatt asks.
“That's encouraged,” I answer.
The afternoon dissolves into the kind of easy camaraderie I haven't experienced in years. There’s no pressure, deadlines, or expectations beyond creating fun memories together. When Rhea suggests making caramel apples with the bag of apples she's somehow produced from her car, we attack the project with the enthusiasm of children.
