She finishes for me, “Know who Chloe is? Honey, I told you. Your mama and I were good friends. She talked about you and your siblings all the time; she worried about you. Wanted you to be happy.”
Dad never outright gave me an ultimatum back then. But it was clear that I had to choose one over the other—Chloe or our trees—and I knew what the expectations were. As the oldest, I was supposed to take over the farm. That’s why I was even in Texas to meet Chloe in the first place: to get a degree to further the farm.
Those events felt like a cruel twist of irony at the time. They still do.
I never stopped being angry with him for it. And I don’t know that he ever fully accepted why. Dad couldn’t understand why my “legacy” wasn’t my first priority and why I wrestled with it. We never could really dig into that subject without it ending in shouts and slammed doors.
None of us talked about it again, but I suspect Meri just confirmed that my mother knew more than she let on. If Mom were still here, she’d probably be right where Meri is now—pushing me toward the girl who once walked straight into my world like it wasn’t too big or too broken to love.
No matter how my father felt about the matter.
I wonder if she knew about his stipulation in the will.
“Chloe came to the farm yesterday,” I say, the words coming easier than I expect.
“About time.” She snorts. “This town isn’t that big, Aiden. You could only avoid each other for so long.”
I wasn’t avoiding her. I was avoidingeveryone. To be honest, I didn’t even know she lived here until yesterday.
But if she was avoiding me, I can’t say I blame her. Our breakup haunts me more than I’d like to admit.
“I’m waiting for her. But I don’t know what we’re supposed to talk about.”
“Your idea or hers?” she asks.
“Mine.” My voice cracks.
“If she agreed to come, that means something.”
Because Meri feels like having a piece of my mom back, though she’s probably a lot less biased, I feel a little braver with my words.
“I’m not the same man I was back then.” The words feel just as broken as I do. “I don’t know why I asked her here, or what I’m supposed to say.”
Meri reaches out and covers one of my hands with hers. “Of course you’re not, Aiden. But everyone changes. And when she gets here, you smile. You have a polite conversation. You two loved each other once, right?”
Once, sure. And keeping the focus on our history feels safer than the present.
Because now, I could lose more than my pride.
I swallow, hating how emotionally raw this conversation makes me feel.
“Then you’ll figure it out. Give her a little credit.”
Back then, it felt like we were building something solid and simple—like we could write our own happily ever after without asking anyone’s permission. I don’t know what that looks like anymore.
“Like I said, honey: second chances don’t come around all that often, so you’d best make sure you don’t waste yours.” She pats my hand twice, then pushes herself to the end of the table to stand.
Her words land with the same weight as the email did yesterday morning. Only this time, the fear isn’t about losing the farm. It’s about wanting something more than survival.
And fear that I might’ve let it go too far. The farm, Chloe. It all feels too far out of reach.
Meri watches like she’s fully invested in whether I learn my lesson or stay locked up in my grief. I’m starting to get the impression that the farm meant more to this town than just my family, and our reopening means something significant.
But I’m not ready to sit with that yet.
“Thank you.”
“You’re always welcome to tell me to mind my own business, but Holly’s kids feel like mine, too. I watched you all grow up.”
