Page 86 of You're So Vine
ChapterTwenty-Eight
CAM
Iwas raised on a farm. We didn’t own it; my dad was the manager. Grew oats, barley, and corn. Got by. Just. People think of Wyoming as cattle rancher country, but there are plenty of other ways to scratch a living out of the land. Blair worked after school as a checkout operator to save up for her first horse. Worked that job right through to graduation, on top of all her farm chores, so she could pay for her horse’s upkeep. Back then, I thought she was crazy working so hard, wasting her teen years, when she could be out there, hanging with the boys, having fun. What I didn’t realize was that, unlike me, Blair could look further ahead than the next day. She’d set her life goals when she was fourteen, and nothing and no one was going to prevent her achieving them.
I’m not exactly sure when goats came into the picture, but she’s turned them into a thriving business. Goat milk, cheese and yogurt, all farm fresh and top quality. She used to sell direct off the farm but that got too busy, so now she sells her products into high-end grocery stores. Blair feels a little conflicted that only well-off people can afford her wares, so she also supplies free milk and cheese to the local mission and women’s refuge. Blair’s not wealthy, but her life is rich. She’s happy.
Which is a long-winded way of saying that I did not grow up with money. We weren’t desperately poor but there were no luxuries. Our family friends were people like us. Blair and I didn’t know any rich kids and even if we had, we’d have avoided them. We were like reverse snobs, looking down on kids who’d never known what it was like to have calluses on your hands and dirt under your fingernails. Who had fancy cars and clothes, and more hi-tech gadgets and gear than they could ever use. Who’d go on to high-paying jobs because their parents knew their bosses. We were a little envious, of course we were, but that kind of life didn’t sit right with us. To me and Blair, it seemed rich people had only one priority: protect their wealth, and if that meant leaving the poor and vulnerable to scrabble in the dust, tough luck. To me and Blair, that attitude was pure D wrong.
Thing is, I’ve never been able to test that belief because I’ve never spent one minute in the company of rich people. Until now.
“What do I wear?” I ask Ava. “And what do I bring? Flowers? Some wine?”
“Relax.”
Ava’s grinning. Glad my social anxiety amuses one of us.
“No one in the history of the world has ever relaxed when someone’s told them to relax.” I try not to sound huffy.
“Fair,” agrees Ava. “Okay, I’m wearing jeans and a long-sleeved tee, both black, naturally. Fully casual, which is what everyone in my family expects from me. You should wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”
“I’m not going to feel comfortable, no matter what I wear,” I say. “Prospect of meeting your parents terrifies me.”
“And you have good reason,” says Ava.
Great.
“But I’ll be there,” she adds. “And so will Nate and Shelby. You’ll have protection.”
Way to make me feel like a coward.
Ava slips her arms around my waist. “Don’t fret. Nate and Dad will probably start arguing, and everyone will forget you’re even there.”
“You’re not helping,” I tell her.
She hugs me tight. “You’ll be fine. Seriously. They will love you as much as I do.”
I want to believe her. I really do. But this is way out of my comfort zone. As I get dressed in my one good shirt and jeans, it occurs to me again how sheltered my life has been here at Flora Valley. Billy, Lee, Shelby, all the crew, they accepted me as I am, an unsociable loner. Okay, Lee did have a try at influencing my love life, but she never scolded me when it didn’t work out. Maybe she should have? Maybe everyone’s been too easy on me, and more enforced socializing would have done me good. Made me more confident.
Too late now. I’ll have to face the Durant lion’s den with what minimal social skills I have. And hope I don’t get mauled.
“Ready?” says Ava.
“Nope,” I reply.
“Me neither,” she says. “Let’s go.”
* * *
I think my nerves are under control until we round the last corner of the Durants’ driveway (or tree-lined avenue, whichever you prefer). Outside the house is Nate’s gray Ford pick-up, but also a red Mercedes sportscar.
“Oh.” Ava sounds guilty. “I forgot. Danny and Jackson will probably be at dinner, too. They don’t leave for LA until the weekend.”
That’s all I need. Dumb and Dumber, world’s shittiest comedy duo.
“I’ll keep Jackson under control,” says Ava.
She read my mind. Or possibly my body language. My hands are clenched so tight I’m having trouble letting go of the steering wheel.
