Page 35 of There's Pumpkin About You
I place the pumpkin on the outdated counter and wince. I’m not even holding the pumpkin on my bad shoulder and yet the effect seems to jump between my shoulder blades.
A few deep breaths, a second to close my eyes and acknowledge the pain and even though it doesn’t make it any better, it does make it easier to bear.
I don’t think Doctor Shakari will be too pleased at my next appointment.
I mentally tick the delivery off in my head and hope that I remember to physically tick it off when I get back to the farm. Some days I think it’s a good thing I don’t have any staff anymore because my head appears to be all over the place. I’m forgetting one thing after another.
I start to leave and pause just before heading out the back door. I picture Nigel with the bad back he thinks no one notices trying to cut this pumpkin into smaller pieces for that pie he wants to make. He won’t be able to handle that. Neither will Simone with that hip. But why do I care so much? I’ve spent years sitting comfortably in my mindset that I would prefer to avoid everyone in this town, even the ones that either feign niceness, or actually are nice.
It’s easier this way. It’s easier to think to myself that if I avoid people then there isn’t a reason for me to anticipate disappointment or cruelty from others. So why am I hesitating? Why do I almost feel compelled to help when I usually feel so content leaving people to their troubles the same way they leave me to mine?
I know the answer before I accept it. It’s because of a pair of hazel eyes that looked almost green as the surprise flashed across them when she found out how I broke my arm. The way she found it so hard to even for a second believe me capable of being good enough to try and save an innocent animal has rubbed me the wrong way more than I thought it would.
Why am I so concerned about her opinion? The woman gets on my nerves more than anyone ever has before, and that’s a difficult title to earn. She acts as if I’m the Devil’s spokesperson and yet I care what she thinks? The logic is so backward.
Maybe we had a moment, and maybe it is making me have certain thoughts about Wren that really shouldn’t be passing through my head…
… Okay maybe I was having those thoughts before that moment…
… And the moment we shared before that…
… Whatever.
Mathematically, logic isn’t necessarily on my side either. If my calculations are correct there would be around a fifteen percent chance of me feeling this way towards Wren after the initial meeting we had. That’s only when you take into account that the way in which our meeting panned out could have been avoided if we had settled our differences straight after.
My current problem is that when you add in the fact that we are about to have consistent interactions with one another, it introduces a probability of something more that I’m not ready to acknowledge.
And of course, because my mind has been spending the past ten minutes overthinking everything simply due to my hesitation at the door, I only now realize that I’ve cut the pumpkin into smaller pieces for Nigel and put them in the fridge.
And of course, because my mind has been on a certain woman for nine of those ten minutes, I end up leaving Nigel’s house with a tiny smile on my face and a blossom of pride in my chest.
* * *
Just as I finally begin to settle down and work my way through pile seven of the paperwork on my desk, my phone rings beside me. Typical.
I pull it out of my back pocket and freeze, wondering if, despite my glasses being on my face, I’m somehow reading the name wrong.
I press decline and toss my phone onto the table. Immediately, it starts ringing again.
“For fuck’s sake.”
I reluctantly accept the call.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I need a reason to call?”
“Everyone calls for a reason, asshole.”
My father sighs. “Always nice talking to you, August.”
“Don’t try and act like I’m the problem, Winston.”
“Show some respect, boy,” he snaps.
“Earn some.”
He sighs again, as if this phone call is somehow inconveniencinghim. I refuse to let this silence make me squirm. If he’s the one that’s called me then he can get the guts to tell me why.
