Page 41 of Joy to Noel
I give him a skeptical look. “Allthe expert doctors rolled into one, huh? So important.”
Liam’s lips twist into a wry smile. “I mean, doctors are notorious for having poor bedside manner, so I suppose the illustration fits.”
Turning back to the stove, I dump the pasta into the peppered butter, followed by grated Parmesan cheese and the reserved water. “Bedside manner doesn’t always matter when you’re saving someone from certain death, though. I’m sure the people you work with are grateful you come in and save their company from destruction.”
He leans his back against the counter next to me as he says, “Yeah, as long as you’re not one of the limbs getting amputated. They generally don’t appreciate being told they’re getting cut off.”
My stomach lurches. “Is that going to happen here?” I ask tentatively, avoiding eye contact as I stir the chicken and zucchini into the pasta.
“That’s not my goal. Beau and I are actually trying to graft on a new limb, if possible. I think the execs are going to go for it,” Liam says.
“All right, we’ve taken the medical metaphor too far. Normal words explanation, please,” I demand. After turning off the stove, I hand a plate to Liam and scoop pasta onto my own plate.
“We’re hoping to expand production here, not cut it back. More jobs, not less,” Liam says as he dishes up food. He follows me to the table as he continues explaining, Hamlet at his heels. “It’s not official yet, so don’t go around getting anyone’s hopes up, but we’re trying to get a second production line started for freeze-dried food. I pitched the idea while I was in Houston. The Pure Fur All exec team already has their work cut out for them trying to recover from their incompetency, though, so it’s not a guarantee they’ll go for the idea.”
“Is that why you’re staying here longer?” I ask.
Liam makes an appreciative sound as he takes his first bite of pasta, and I absolutely let the indirect compliment go to my head. He swallows before answering, “Yes. Well, partly yes. My extended presence was already on the table simply to fix what was broken at the plant and give Pure Fur All time to get their act together. But suggesting this idea would certainly make a longer stay even more necessary.”
“And how do you feel about that? I seem to remember someone being rather eager to get out of backwoods Arkansas,” I press. Hamlet meows from under the table.
Liam’s fork pauses midway to his mouth, just long enough for me to notice the hesitation. “Situations evolve,” he answers cryptically. We chew in silence, but I watch for any sign that he might offer up more information.
Unfortunately, the dictionary of metaphors would have a photo of Liam Park next to the “steel trap” entry. And I’m more disappointed by that than I should be.
“I don’t want to live on the farm because I don’t like the idea that making a mistake could literally derail your entire livelihood,” I say. Maybe he’ll be more honest about whatever past he’s running from if I open up first.
Liam looks at me quizzically. “What are you talking about?”
“At the store, you asked why I didn’t want to go back to my family farm. That’s why,” I say.
“Okay, but that statement requires a lot more explanation before it makes sense,” Liam says.
Taking a deep breath, I sigh out a long exhale. “My older sister and I are flip-flopped as far as birth order stereotypes go. I’m the responsibleone, not her. Well, she’s much more responsible now as an adult and mother. But in childhood, I was the one always picking up the slack and keeping everyone in line.”
Liam pauses eating, setting down his fork and leaning in. I continue explaining. “As kids, one of the responsibilities on the farm that we helped out with was watering the corn during the hot summer months. In the morning, you ride a four-wheeler out to the fields to tap open the ‘gates’ on the irrigation system with a hammer, but you have to remember to close them a few hours later. One time, when my dad was out of town at a farm equipment auction, my sister was assigned to the task. But she never remembered to go close the gates. The water ran for three days straight and rotted the roots of the corn. It ruined the entire field, not to mention creating an astronomical water bill.”
I can hear my dad’s voice yelling at my sister, clear as day. Clear as if it were happening right now, not decades ago. “My dad drilled into us that mistakes like that can cost a farmer everything. And, of course, in a small farming community, everyone talked about it for weeks afterward. It didn’t seem to bother my sister that much, but I was mortified that people were talking about her failure. As the more responsible child, I became the one tasked with the irrigation job, and my dad constantly reminded me of the importance of not messing it up.”
Spearing a piece of zucchini with my fork, I say, “I don’t like making mistakes, ever. But I don’t want an entire livelihood riding on my ability to not mess up.”
Liam leans back in his chair, watching me. I’m suddenly very self-conscious of my chewing. Finally, he says, “That’s intense. No wonder you don’t want to go back.”
Swallowing, I add, “Don’t get me wrong. My family is great. I love my parents and my siblings. I don’t hold it against my dad in the slightest—farming is an extremely stressful profession. There’s so much beyond your control, and profit margins are slim. My parents raised us in a loving environment, and I always enjoy seeing them when I go back to visit. It’s not like they traumatized me or anything. It’s simply the explanation for why farm life isn’t for me.”
Liam takes another bite, and I wait for him to offer up his own “why I hate small towns” explanation.
I wait. And wait. We eat in silence until Liam asks, “How’s Madison Joy Editorial going? Everything running smoothly with your clients so far?”
All right then, no reciprocal sharing happening tonight.
Stabbing a large bite of pasta with my fork, I use the lengthy chewing process to give myself time to decide how to answer his new question. Just last night, I’d painted a rose-colored version to my parents when they called to voice their concernsagain.
Don’t worry! I’ve had three clients so far who gave glowing reviews! Things are poised to take off! I’m making more than I’m spending on bills!
I didnotmention that my bills are extremely small because I moved in rent-free with my former temporary neighbor. I also didn’t mention that after my current client, my editing schedule is as wide open as Nebraska farmland.
Which version do I tell Liam?
