Page 32 of The Cabin

The first row of stalls are all award-winning fruits and vegetables. After a few stops to look at what the vendors claim are, ‘the reddest strawberries on the east coast,’ or, ‘cantaloupes the size of your head,’ or Grayson’s favorite, ‘eggplants like you’ve never seen before’ (*cue crude joke*), we are face to face with a pumpkin that is taller than Grayson. “Oh my god, we have to get a picture, come on!” I drag him by the arm and shove him in front of the pumpkin, holding my hand out for his phone. He tries to stand there and look grumpy, but I cross my arms across my chest giving him my best teacher face and he rolls his eyes, standing up tall and smiling. “Perfect!”

“Here, I’ll get one with the two of you together!” An older woman motions for me to hand her the phone and join Grayson by the pumpkin.

“Oh, that’s okay –”

“Come on, Sol. Come get a picture with me so we can put it on our Christmas card!” Has anyone ever told him what an ass he is?

“Oh! That will be so cute, yes, head on over!” This poor, sweet, old woman.

I begrudgingly make my way to where Grayson is standing, stopping a good three feet away from him and grimacing at the camera. “Now, don’t be sour, sweet cheeks. Get real close and show us how much you love each other.”

“We do NOT–”

Grayson pulls me into his arms. “Yeah, sweet cheeks. Come here and show me how much you love me.” He tucks me in close, wrapping his arms around me from behind. If this lady wasn’t right in front of us, I’d punch him. Maybe I should just do it anyway.

Through gritted teeth I fake a smile and say, “I’m literally going to murder you,” under my breath.

“Can’t fucking wait,baby.” Oh, he’s really gonna get it now. I am going to hold onto that goddamn bull so tight its head is going to pop off and I’m going to laugh my own head off pretending it's Grayson’s.

He keeps me trapped against him, waiting as our stupid photographer walks over to give Grayson his phone back. Okay, she’s not stupid. I just hate her.

“You two are so cute!” She shows us the most recent photo and I almost puke. Wedolook cute. “Make sure to try the key lime pie, ya hear?” She knows we’re in Pennsylvania, right? Not Kentucky. Pensyltucky.

“Key lime pie is her favorite. Isn’t that right, fuzzy wuzzy?” Itisactually one of my favorites. He pretends to rub our noses together. “We’ll definitely stop by.”

I slam my foot down onto his and it shocks him enough to release me.

“What’s wrong, snookie poo?” His whole face has been overtaken by the loony grin he’s sporting.

“You look like a dufus.”

“A dufus in love!”

“Okay, goodbye.” Stomping off, I pass by the rest of the vegetable tables and run into a brand-new section of the fair that has my entire mood changing. “Awwwwwwwww!” I’m gushing and climbing up over the low, makeshift fence as soon as the attendant beckons me in. “They’re so cute!”

The moment I sit down, I’m surrounded by baby pigs. They all want cuddles and they all want kisses and this is suddenly the best day of my life. It’s probably twenty full minutes of laughs and squeals and snorts and smiles before I even remember where I am. I‘ve got a particularly tiny piglet sleeping in my lap, petting it and cooing at it, when I finally look up and make eyes with the attendant. He just gives me a thumbs up, not bothered at all that I’ve completely taken up residence in his pig pen. Well! That settles that.

There’s a second little baby climbing up on top of the first to get their nap in when I notice some movement out of the corner of my eye. Grayson is standing there against the fence, face soft, a small smile on his lips. He looks so sweet, so open, that I pat the spot next to me. He only hesitates for a moment before climbing in and sitting down.

I hand him one of the pigs and it snuggles its way right into his arms. “Aren’t they so sweet?”

He watches his piglet for a moment, running a finger along its belly. His eyes lift to meet mine and he answers, “Yeah. Really sweet.” I’m caught up in his stare for a few seconds too long.

Clearing my throat, I return my gaze back to the precious little creature in my arms. The others made a pile in the corner of the pen, and they’re equally as adorable all curled up together. “I would have a pig if I could.”

Grayson answers in a baby voice, talking to me, but directing it at his pig. “Really? You would?” he coos.

Sorry, hi. Ovaries? Knock it off.

“Yeah, I’d love to have a ton of animals.”

“Like what?”

“Mmm. Dogs and cats. I love pigs and horses and cows. I think goats are kind of ugly though, I’m going to be honest.”

He chuckles, “I do too.”

“It’s the eyes!” We say it in unison and I would very much like to pretend that didn’t happen. We cannot afford to have things in common. And we’re already connected through our lackluster opinion of Disney World.

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