Page 15 of Snowballed

Zoe bustles around the kitchen making dinner. I have yet to see her sit down since she got home. Denise takes me upstairs to show me my room. She opens the door on a small, tidy bedroom.

“It’s Derek’s old room. He’s going to be your teammate at Moo U. He’s moved into the hockey house—it’s a big shared place for the team.”

All his personal stuff is gone except a Burlington University Hockey banner. I plunk my suitcase by the empty closet.

“Great. I’ll look for him.” It’s weird though, like I’ve traded lives with Derek. If things had worked out differently, I’d be the one moving into the hockey house or better still, my own place.

“I’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is at six.” Denise seems to be a nice woman, but there’s a faded quality about her. Or maybe I’m used to women who are energetic and driven like those in my family.

I unpack quickly and look out the window. My room faces onto the fields behind the house. Some are plowed, and some are planted. The property is fringed by rows of trees. There’s even a faraway pond. There are so many shades of green here. After living in the deserts of Arizona and California, Vermont looks lush and fertile. But it’s weird not to be able to see a road or a neighbor or even a car. I feel isolated and alone. From what I could see on the drive here, there’s not much within walking distance. With no car and only the insane Cracky as a chauffeur, I’m trapped out here, and it’s almost scary.

This is going to be a huge adjustment.

There’s a message from Chi on my phone.

How’s life in Vermont, farm boy?

So far, the pig and the cat like me. Haven’t met the goats yet. Zoe hates me. She kicked me out of her car.

I’ve wanted to do that myself. Who is Zoe?

Chi is full of empathy as usual.

The daughter here. She’s our age.

Just use that Noah magic on her.

Whatever that may be. Chi believes for some reason that my life is charmed. If so, what am I doing out here in the middle of Hicksville?

I can smell dinner now, and it smells pretty damn good. Then I realize that my restricted diet is going to be an issue. Because if they tell me to buy my own food, I’m not going to be able to afford that. Also, I don’t want to insult them. If their aging cars and this small house are any clues, it doesn’t seem like the Meyers have a lot of money. Which makes sense since they can’t even afford to hire proper help and instead are stuck with me.

“Noah, dinner,” Denise calls up to me.

I wash my hands and go down to the kitchen where we’re eating. The table is covered with food, almost all of it forbidden to me during the season. There’s roast chicken, fresh biscuits, a potato salad, and corn on the cob. There’s a green salad that looks allowable, but even the green bean casserole and roasted squash are too shiny with butter. Between the main platters are small dishes of pickles, herbed butter, and preserves.

“Wow. Do you eat like this all the time?” I ask, as Zoe begins heaping food on my plate.

“Oh no. Zoe wanted to do something special for your first night,” says Denise. “There’s an apple cake too.”

Obviously, Zoe planned all this before she had met me. Based on our interactions today, I could have gotten gruel and water.

My father would have a fit if he saw my plate, but hey, he’s on the other side of the country. Besides, I missed lunch.

I eat the chicken first. I bite into the crispy skin, which contrasts to the tenderness beneath. The juicy meat explodes on my tongue with salty flavor. I chew, swallow, then quickly try more dishes. The corn is so sweet, I wonder if Zoe added sugar somehow. The green beans and squash taste more earthy and flavorful than regular vegetables. Fresh herbs dot everything, even the biscuits.

The question pops out before I can decide if it’s rude. “Why does everything taste so good?”

Zoe allows herself a smug smile. “My dad used to say that the 100-mile diet has nothing on the 100-foot diet.”

“Everything came from your farm?” I ask, eyeing the chicken.

“Well, not quite everything. We used to raise our own roasters, but now I get chickens from a place down the road. Most of the veggies were picked from our garden today.”

“It’s really good,” I repeat. Zoe’s smile now looks more genuine than the high voltage one she wore earlier. I’m surprised that someone my age can cook like this, but her mother doesn’t even add a word of praise. The dinner conversation is polite, with Denise asking me about my trip and hockey. The one bright spot is that Denise works as a bookkeeper and offers to teach me Budgeting 101. I could really use the help.

The evening chores consist mainly of shutting the animals in their various homes and making sure they’re fed and watered. Then Zoe lays the really good news on me: “We’ll milk the goats at 5:30 in the morning.”

Fuck. It’s been years since I’ve had early morning practices, and I haven’t missed them. “Why so early?”

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