Page 20 of Butter You Up
We spit-ball ideas for a while, and when the food’s gone, we pay our tab and leave. We’ve each only had a beer, so it’s safe to drive. Kit moves Trixie’s dog bed back inside, calling her “spoiled princess” just loud enough for me to hear.
We drive past my family’s farm on the way back. It’s hard not to notice the house all lit up, and I can just imagine the Rockwell scene inside; Gran’s home-cooked meal, my brother with his first love presiding over the table, Colleen and Lia getting along like a house on fire.
Molly’s probably in there too, charming my family like she charms my customers.
It makes it all the more depressing when we turn up the driveway to my empty and dark farmhouse.
CHAPTER12
MOLLY
On Monday,I have breakfast with Ethel again. She’s a hoot and alone in the mornings, and she told me she’s happy to feed me breakfast. If I didn’t have to go to the farm shop, I’d love to hang out with her all day. It makes me feel terrible for asking where Alex was last night.
Ethel got sad, Ethan and Lia exchanged glances, and Colleen stared at her plate. I was worried that I’d made some huge faux pas and ruined the evening. “We invited him,” Ethan said gruffly. “He’s got work and Kit visiting.”
Thankfully, the dinner table conversation recovered, and after dinner, Ethel showed me her sourdough starter and her basement garden.
In fact, that’s what I am missing out on today by going to work: Ethel’s agenda is gardening and baking bread.
“I make two, and I’ll save you one,” she says while I sip my tea.
“Two slices,” I say.
“Half a loaf,” she negotiates.
“Between you and Alex, I’m well-fed every day. What am I going to do with a half a loaf? Just give me two slices for my evening sandwich.”
“Fine, two slices,” Ethel allows, and then changes the subject. “Have you heard from your electrician?”
Ugh. “No,” I say sullenly. He was so responsive via email, and we had an entire strategy laid out for changing the batteries, and now he’s ghosting me.
“You should talk to Alex about it,” Ethel suggests. “He’s got all those solar panels, and someone must have done that work.”
I brighten up. “That’s a good idea.” I had noticed the solar panels on the roof of the barn and surely there are batteries somewhere. I haven’t explored the farm enough to find them. Plus, Alex had said he was going to show me his digester, too.
I really need to get started on the battery upgrade. Ordering components and making a plan takes time, and I’m giving up hope of this electrician ever getting back to me. The clock is ticking.
“While you’re at it, maybe you could ask him to Sunday night dinner.”
Ethel holds my gaze, tilting her head slightly to gauge my reaction. Oof. I really don’t know the protocol here. It feels like sticking my nose in the family drama, and I donotknow how to do that. And I’m working for both farms, so that’s putting me between a rock and a hard place.
“I’ll think about it.”
I bike to the farm. The weather is getting warmer, and I break a sweat this time. I am not sure what I’m going to do as summer progresses. The bathroom in the farm shop is only a half bath. I have baby wipes somewhere for emergencies since I don’t always have access to a shower while on the road, so maybe that’s a good start.
There are a few familiar faces throughout the morning, but I’m unfamiliar with most people who stop by. At one, I flip the sign over to closed and intercept Kit coming halfway down the driveway with our lunch on two foil-wrapped plates.
“I have to talk to Alex,” I tell him. “Let’s eat lunch up there?”
Kit does an about-face. “Sure.”
For the first time, I step inside the house. Kit and I immediately toe off our shoes in the mudroom, adding to the pile of dirty work boots. It’s a log-cabin style home, and the kitchen is right off the entrance to the right. It’s a galley kitchen, and Kit leads me through it, following voices into the dining room. The table is long with benches on either side, and the men around the table have paused their eating to watch us come in. Kit introduces me to Perry, the lean, older white man, and Jesús, a shorter, stockier Latino man.
“Please, no sperm talk,” I joke.
Alex chokes on his food. He raises his fist to his mouth, and his cheeks bulge out, trying to contain whatever they’re eating—there’s an enormous platter of it in the center of the table, and it smells divine.
Perry puts a hand on his shoulder, concern etching his face. “Boss?”
