The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (311 page)

And it wasn’t just the plants. Everything had gone haywire since leaving Virginia. I’d battled a cold the first week after arriving, made worse by the draft coming through a broken window I’d found in my apartment—which had turned out to be the second story of a weather-sealed barn. The barn loft had actually been a plus, until I realized weather-sealed in South Dakota really only meant it kept the snow out. My bed was cold as hell at night.

I tried not to let my mind wander to the other reason my bed felt cold these days.

I moved to the next box. From another bag, I dropped seeds into tiny holes made with my finger in the dirt. When I’d dropped all the seeds, I covered and watered them before wrapping the entire box in plastic. By the time I’d finished and locked up, the sun was setting and the temperature had plummeted.

I pulled my jacket around me as I made the walk back to my loft. Darla was parked around the side with a cover over her. Not much need for driving here. Not much else going on either between the expanses of space that made up this quiet farm. The growing season was shorter than Virginia’s by a couple of months; harvest time was long gone—along with the seasonal crew. All that remained was the owner and his wife and a few goats they kept in the barn for milk. I’d had worse neighbors.

I took a breath and let it out, stopping behind Darla’s tailgate to stare at the view. I had to admit, the scenery had been worth a trip. The rolling hills to my left seemed to go on forever, one tumbling against another like ocean waves. To my right and straight ahead were flat plains that made up hayfields during warmer months. Now, it was barren and dormant until the spring thaw.

I’d been surprised to discover the topography here wasn’t unlike the farmland I’d left behind on the east coast. Except for the healthy layer of snow that already covered the ground, I couldn’t have told them apart.

Snow. In early November. After a lifetime spent in warmer climates I thought I’d be glad to see it, but I couldn’t bring myself to appreciate the stuff. It seemed more like a barrier to me, blocking the memory of what I’d left behind. It masked every similar detail, muffled every noise. The quiet of the tiny farm made me miss the raucous noise that accompanied mealtimes with the Heritage crew. The buzz of conversation around the coffeepot in the mornings and the water cooler in the afternoons. And despite the fact that I’d hated every second of that damned humidity, I missed the hot Virginia sun—and her. God, I fucking missed her.

Like every other time I pictured Summer’s face, my chest ached. There weren’t many seconds of the day I didn’t have her face in my mind, but today it hurt worse. Sharper. I coughed. Leftovers from my cold—or from the pain radiating through my chest like a heart attack.

As long as I lived, I’d never forget the look on her face when I’d told her no. Living with the guilt became my penance. I deserved it and so much worse.

My phone rang, echoing against the stillness. I fished it from my pocket as I headed inside and checked the screen. My mom. Again. I was all out of fake cheer today. Voicemail would have to do.

I stomped the snow from my boots, kicked them off, and hurried upstairs to the heated loft above. Inside, I peeled out of my coat and took a beer out of the fridge. The sound of the can popping open made me think of beers consumed while standing in the garage, to the soundtrack of Casey cursing and beating on the belly of the tractor with a wrench. How was it possible I missed that so much?

My phone buzzed again. I moved to silence it until I saw the name on the screen. My fingers hovered over the touch screen, stilled by nerves that all but knocked the air from my lungs. Even though it wasn’t
her
—I hadn’t spoken to her since that day on the hill—it was the next best thing. My stomach jumped into my throat, making it hard to swallow that last swig of beer before answering. I cleared my throat, determined to sound normal.

“Hey, man. I was just thinking about you,” I said after swiping the screen with my thumb.

“About me, huh?” said the voice on the other end. “Damn, the heat of one summer with me and your brain is so baked, you forgot who you’re supposed to daydream about.”

I laughed around another swig from my can. “Casey, you ass. What do you want?”

“Just checking up on ya. Are your fingers too frozen up there to text a guy back?”

“Nah, I’ve just been busy settling in,” I said, shaking my head at the hard time he was giving me.

I deserved it. Casey and I had been tight by the time I left. We’d promised to keep in touch and then I’d gone and ignored him these past few weeks. It was too tempting to ask about her, though, and I couldn’t do that. Not when I hadn’t so much as called her. But I couldn’t do that either. She’d made it clear this would be easiest for her. A clean break. I wasn’t sure how cutting your best friend off “cold turkey” made the transition easier, but she hadn’t called me once and although I’d pulled her number up on my phone countless times, I’d never hit the “send” button. Not yet.

“Yeah, settling in. Sure, we’ll call it that.”

I frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means. Have you had enough yet or what?”

“Enough of what?”

“Being miserable. Making her miserable.”

“She’s miserable?”

“Bro.” Casey laughed humorlessly. “Banging my head against the wall makes more sense than you do right now.”

“You sound like my damn mother,” I growled.

“For once, I’ll take being compared to someone’s mother. Now get your shit together and get back here.”

“Casey ...”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“I can’t come back.” Saying the words out loud pained me like an arrow to the right ventricle. This conversation was exactly why I hadn’t called or texted.

“Why not? Oh. Right. Living the dream. And how’s that working out for you?”

I gritted my teeth. Not because he was wrong, but because he might be right. South Dakota had been a stepping stone in a dream journey. A life I wanted—no, needed—to experience outside the confines of a home and utility bills and someone waiting for me to come home at night. I’d seen that growing up and while he never said it, I knew my dad wished for more. And had settled for me. I wouldn’t do the same.

I would go. Travel. See the world. On my own terms. My own schedule. It’s why I’d given up everything back in Grayson to come here, even though all I wanted was her. I told myself it would fade over time, the pain, the sense I’d lost the only thing truly worth holding on to. But so far, the only thing that had faded was my own happiness. And my so-called “dream” was officially making me miserable. But I wasn’t about to admit that out loud. To Casey or myself.

“I need to be on my own,” I told him, my tone harsher than I’d intended. “Free. Not tied down.”

“If that’s what you call being with her, then you’re a horse’s ass and you don’t deserve her.”

The click as he hung up was audible. I tossed the phone aside and chugged my beer. Casey was right about one thing. I was a horse’s ass.

Summer

“Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.” —Dr. Seuss

––––––––

T
he ringing of my phone was nothing short of a siren’s call. I had no doubt that if I answered, the conversation would eat away at my guts. And if I ignored it, the result would still be the same. I took a steadying breath and willed my voice to sound normal, unconcerned, carefree even.
Okay, don’t get carried away.

“Hello?” I said.

“Hey,” said Ford.

The sound of his voice was a punch to the solar plexus. I couldn’t breathe. All of my coolness evaporated. “Hey.” My response came out sounding like I’d just thrown up. It was a distinct possibility right now.

“Are you busy?”

“No. Uh, I can talk.” I hit the button on my computer, shutting it down. I couldn’t think, much less pretend to work while I talked to him.

“Good.” A beat of silence and then, “How is the numbers business?”

“Dad still likes to write checks from the wrong account. Keeps me on my toes.”

He chuckled.

“How are you?” My heart pounded in anticipation of his answer. Was he great? That would suck. Was he miserable? Part of me wished he was. But a small voice in my head wanted him to be happy, no matter the cost to me.

“I’m ... settling in,” he said, a strange note in his words.

“Has it snowed yet?”

“A few times. I went sledding yesterday.”

A pang of sadness hit me. He’d made a memory without me. That knowledge was like a fresh cut. “Sound like fun,” I managed. I couldn’t take much more of this. Why was he calling? We’d had a deal.

“I have a question for you,” he said almost immediately.

“Okay.”

“Do you believe in an afterlife?”

I paused, the sob in my throat dying away in favor of confusion. “We haven’t spoken in six weeks and you’re calling to ask me if I believe in ghosts?”

“I’m calling to ask if you believe in a life after this one.”

“Why?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I believe ... we go somewhere, yes.”

“And is that place probably based on our actions here on Earth?”

“I think so.”

“Like karma?”

“Yeah, I guess. What is this about, Ford?” My frustration was evident now. Of all the things to call me and talk about—

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you and I—”

“You have?” I couldn’t stop myself from interrupting or from being furious about the direction of this entire conversation.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked quietly.

“Well. Yes. Six weeks without a peep and you want me to believe you’re up there thinking deep thoughts about me? About us?”

“You told me not to call. I tried, I swear to God, I tried. But you’re all I think about,” he admitted.

Maybe it was his honesty, but I couldn’t continue to yell. Not after he’d said that. I squeezed my eyes shut. “You’re all I think about too,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

I bit my lip to hold the tears away, at least until I could hang up. In that moment, I understood. He wasn’t calling to say he wanted me back. He was calling to make amends for hurting me. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t take any of it back. Not a single day.”

“No regrets?”

“None.”

“You’re amazing, Summer Stafford.”

I sighed. “That’s what I hear.”

We made small talk after that. It hurt so deep inside my gut I knew it’d never fully heal. Not just losing him, but having to shelve him in a part of my life that required small talk. What I felt for Ford O’Neal should’ve never been reduced to meaningless chit chat. But here we were. And I let him—because I knew that’s what he needed.

He told me about his plants, the ones that’d made it and the ones that hadn’t. I told him about my mom and how we were experiencing life as an adventure—together. He laughed when I told him about our most recent experience.

“You seriously drank all six beers right there on the fifty yard line of Grayson High School?” Ford asked. “And no one called the cops?”

“Well, I personally only drank three. Mom drank the other three. And who’s going to call the cops? Anyone else out there that time of night is just another delinquent looking for a place to drink.”

“You realize you just referred to you and your mother as delinquents.”

“Yeah, that’s another item on the list.”

We both laughed. It felt good. And it broke my heart.

“Listen, I better get going. I have to close up before this storm hits or I won’t make it out of here tonight,” he said.

My smile died. “Yeah, sure.”

“It was great to hear your voice, Summer.”

“You take care of yourself up there. Wear a hat.”

“We’ll talk soon.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant it but I let it pass and nodded even though he couldn’t see me; I didn’t trust my voice.

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” I whispered back.

I disconnected and sat, my feet still tucked underneath me in the desk chair. I didn’t get up or move for a long time.

He sounded good. Happy. No, content. It’s all I wanted for him. If it couldn’t be me that gave it to him, at least he’d found it. I told myself that’s what mattered. His happiness. No matter where it took him.

And then, with methodical movement, I lay my head down on my desk, and I cried.

Summer

“Love and life belongs to great risk.”

—Chuck Palahniuk

––––––––

D
own the hall, a chair scraped across the floor followed by Mazie calling, “Summer!”

I looked up from my computer, scowling as my concentration was broken for the millionth time this week. Just when I’d begun to reach a place of focus again—at least when it came to work—Mazie had taken it upon herself to cheer me up. Or at least that’s what she seemed to think she was doing. In reality, it amounted to her calling me into the kitchen every five minutes to ask me something stupid about the Thanksgiving dinner she was preparing for the end of the week.

The entire crew and their families had been invited. Our dining room was big, but it wasn’t that big. I wasn’t sure how everyone was going to fit, but Mazie had accepted the challenge with determination. Probably for the same reason my dad had invited them—for me.

I hadn’t argued. That would take more effort than just accepting the fact that the entire town had decided they were going to do their part in the “make Summer better” campaign. Rule number one, don’t talk about
him
. Even Leslie had been careful not to ask about him, including whether he’d called or written. Which, other than that one train wreck of a phone call, he hadn’t. So I guess not bringing it up was the safest.

In my better moments, I’d started to convince myself the gift of those few months wasn’t necessarily Ford but the idea of him. During our time together, I’d learned just as much about myself as I had about him. Maybe more. Never again would I make a life decision based on the picture of marriage or career or family that my parents had unwittingly created. My life wasn’t a carbon copy and I shouldn’t try to make it one. My life and my choices were my own. I was the only one who could create my happiness. And I wouldn’t settle for less than that ever again.