Page 17 of Kiss Me Now
Chapter Six
Brooke
The basket on my armwas heavy with more butternut squash as I slipped into my kitchen. I was finally coming to believe Miss Lily’s assurances that her garden produced far more than even both of us plus Mary could eat.
“Why plant it all then?” I had asked that afternoon when Miss Lily plunked a third squash in my basket.
“I bring the extras over to the church. First Presbyterian. Lovely pastor. You should come with me.”
“I might do that one of these Sundays.”
“Anyway, we don’t have a lot of great need in our congregation, but people sometimes get too busy for keeping a garden, and I love to bring them freshly picked vegetables to enjoy.”
I smiled, remembering her answer. Miss Lily reminded me so much of the generous souls at Landsdowne when I’d volunteered there in high school. I was sure I’d gotten far more from the experience than the seniors I’d been assigned to befriend. Old people were my hands-down favorite, and Miss Lily was quickly becoming my very most favorite of all.
I settled in at my laptop to research butternut recipes, wondering if I was brave enough to try handmade pasta, when my phone vibrated with a call from my mom. I eyed it and considered sending her to voicemail. But she’d keep calling, leaving increasingly sad messages until I gave in and called back before I collapsed under the weight of all the daughter guilt. Best to get it over with.
I allowed myself a long, preemptive sigh before I answered. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, honey. What are you doing?”
“I was out working in the garden.”
“For that woman next door? Surely she can afford to hire someone.”
I rolled my eyes. “Notforher, Mom.Withher.”
“But why? You complain about how busy preparing for the school year keeps you so that you can’t come home, but then you spend all this time in the garden. Which is it?”
Linda Spencer did this often, simultaneously playing prosecutor like she had for five years out of law school before she stayed home to raise me, while also playing the role of neglected mother who needed her child to come dote on her and fill her empty nest.
In reality, she had an active social life, busy with home decorating, entertaining, and volunteer work. What sheactuallywanted was for me to abandon my job in sleepy Creekville and return home to McClean, take up the political career I’d left behind, and polish up the tarnish my stint in Senator Rink’s office had left on the Spencer name.
I would absolutely not be doing that.
“The garden is giving me all kinds of ideas for lesson plans. And I might look into forming a club at the school where the kids put in a community garden on campus. We could even partner with the home ec class to have them cook things we grow. There are so many possibilities that I’m giddy just thinking about them.”
This was met with a sniff, then silence as she marshalled her next argument.
I waited patiently, knowing there was no use trying to deflect it.
“Well, if you’re already this busy, I can’t even imagine how bad it will be when school starts. We won’t see you until the holidays, and it’s already been forever since you came to visit. You should come this weekend, before you’re so overwhelmed that you can’t get away.”
“I was there a month ago,” I reminded her. She had insisted we eat at the country club, nagged me into dressing up, then had conveniently run into a judge friend and his wife who had their son—an attorney my age—in tow. We’d ended up sitting together, me and the son who’s name I’d already forgotten, soldiering on in polite conversation and trying to ignore the sidelong glances of our parents monitoring our progress.
“It seems so much longer,” she complained. “And it’ll be so long before you’re here again. Come home this weekend.”
“I can’t, Mom. I have so much to do.”
“The garden will be fine if you don’t pick things for a couple of days.”
“That’s not true. It’s important to pick things at their peak and no later. See all the things I’m learning already?”
