“Hey, Whinny.” Sam waves at me as they walk into the barn, and I mentally remind myself to use the nickname instead of their name. It’s not something we did at any of my previous jobs, but I like it.
“Hi, Mouse. Catch any more friends trying to break into the barns today?” I swear there is always a critter trying to bust in, and Sam is the one to catch—and release—them.
“Just the usual culprits.” The wide smile on their face lights up the space, and Paige walks in with a handful of hooks we need to hang in the tack room today.
“Hey, beautiful people. Ready to pretty up this barn?” She lifts her other hand and revs the power tool she’s wielding, making us laugh. Paige got the nickname Gear for being the one always fixing things, with a love of tools and a constant need to know how things work.
We all head into the tack room, and while Paige gets the hooks up, I continue organizing, and Sam works on unpacking a few things.
“All right, Whinny. Be honest. How are you liking working here so far?” The question comes from Paige, who is hardly ever silent.
“Oh, I love working here. You know that.” She knows because I told her nearly every day the first week I got here.
“Yeah, but that was only a few days in. You’ve had some time to adjust now, so I wanted to make sure your answer is still the same.” She smirks, quickly turning back to her task. “And how are things going with your grandmother? You mentioned going to visit her. Is she okay?”
I forgot I’d let that slip. I didn’t give any details, so I’m not surprised she’s asking.
“Yeah. I mean, sort of. She has Alzheimer’s, and because she lived alone, no one really caught it. She lives at an assisted-living facility in town now.” I keep it vague on purpose. It’s hard to talk about this when people expect me to be sad about it all the time.
“Are you two close?” Paige mumbles with a screw between her lips.
“Not at all,” I answer honestly. “She raised me after my mom passed, but we’ve… never gotten along.” Understatement of my life, right there.
Even Sam, who mostly keeps to themselves, quirks an eyebrow at that, but I don’t elaborate.
“I hope you know I’m not asking to be nosy, but you leave here after a full day of work and get in your car to go somewhere. Sometimes you’re not back until late. And I swear I’m not stalking you, but I mean, I can see your driveway from my place. There isn’t exactly a whole lot of traffic around here, and I see your headlights heading toward the farmhouse really late some nights. Is everything okay?” I know she means well, and I hate that I’m causing any worry.
“Um, yeah. I usually go to Gran’s house before or after I visit her to pack up her things and get the place cleaned up. She has a lot of stuff, so it’s taking some time.” I shrug, knowing damn well that’s not the entire story.
“Wait, so your grandmother still has a house close by? How come you’re not living there?” She turns to me, butSam shooting her a look makes her wince. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”
Wanting to put Paige out of her misery, I divulge more details. “Yes. My grandmother was born and raised in Ojai. So was I. Her house is only ten minutes from here, but I can’t live there because she nearly burned it down. It needs extensive work now, so I need to figure out what to do with it. I’ll probably sell it to help pay for her care facility bills, but I need to clean it up before I can do that, so that’s where I am when I’m not here.” There. Secret’s out.
“Next time you go, let me know. I’ll come help you,” Paige says easily as she moves on to her next task.
“Yeah, same,” Sam adds.
Tears pool instantly, and I hold my breath in an attempt to keep the sob building in my throat at bay. I swallow hard, looking down at the floor and attempting to gather myself. That wasn’t the response I was expecting. I guess I thought there’d be more questions, or we’d move on to something else.
“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that. The house reeks of smoke, and Gran has newspapers from 1975 stashed in the linen closet. I’d hate to put anyone through having to clean that stuff up.”
I’d also hate to put anyone through having to witness me crying when I see that the only things she’s ever gotten rid of are my things. She’s always had a hard time parting with stuff, unless it was something of mine. She even turned my old bedroom into a plant room, which makes no sense because it’s only got a small window and hardly gets any light. It’s shelves and shelves of random dying plants everywhere. She’d rather that than to have any proof I even exist.
“We know we don’t have to,” Paige says, pausing toscrew another hook into the wall. “But it’s what friends do. And if you’d hate to put us through dealing with old newspapers, you must have forgotten we clean up literal horse shit every single day.”
Sam chuckles at that. “True. And, Whinny?” I lift my chin to look at them. “You moved here to take care of a grandmother you say you’re not close to, and you spend all your free time visiting her or cleaning up her house. If we didn’t already know you’re a good person, that confirmed it.”
Paige points at me then, nodding. “Yep. And so you know, I won’t ask anything else. I know too well that family stuff can be complicated. It’s why we gotta lean on our chosen family, you know?”
I don’t, but I nod anyway. The rest of the time we spend chatting and working side-by-side, I keep replaying those words in my mind.
Chosen family.
It hadn’t ever really occurred to me before that I could choose one, or that one could choose me.
EIGHTEEN
i need to know where you got that pickle
