For the next two days leading up to the Blaire Fair, I lie low. Not intentionally, although I am nervous about meeting Callie, Brennan, and the rest of the town. I haven’t been a good friend to any of them, and it showed. With all the different kinds of kimchi Mom makes with Gavin’s help, we have our work cut out for us jarring all of it in time for the Blaire Fair. There’s traditional cabbage, radish, and cucumber. There’s even a “white” kimchi that is pickled in a clear liquid. In the evenings I work on a simple design for the labels, calling it Shik-gu Kimchi. Because our time together is what enhances the flavor, making it as tasty as it is unique. Mom loves it, and she agrees to seal each label with her signature.
“You are more capable than I gave you credit for.” She gently pinches my chin, regarding me with admiration. “I would never have come up with a label this clever, let alone the Blaire Fair.”
Being recognized for my efforts is all I’ve ever wanted from her. And as much as I’d like to take all the credit, I can’t.
“Remember when you told me that the only person I can rely on is myself?” I ask Mom. She nods. “Well, I don’t think that’s entirely true. People need people. I’ve always believed that. We’re not meant to live in solitude. And before you thought reliance on others was my biggest problem. But I think you were wrong. My biggest problem wasn’t depending on people. It was the type of people I was depending on.” I sit down next to her and explain how the Blaire Fair mighthave been my idea, but it wouldn’t have happened if not for the help of good friends.
On Thursday morning we pack up all the jars of kimchi in boxes and load the tractor. Mom and Dad go ahead first, and Gavin and I walk behind them.
“Nervous?” Gavin asks, probably from the silence and definitely from the way I’m gnawing on my lower lip.
I nod.
“You did everything you could,” he says reassuringly.
“Yeah, but you know how the media can be. They edit what they want. What if they leave out all the important details of the Blaire Fair and only zero in on me ‘leaving Hollywood’ or whatever?” I say, using scare quotes. “In trying to make the town look better, what if I only succeeded in making it seem worse?”
His silence only validates my fears. What happens if no one turns up? How else can I make it up to Callie and Brennan, the mayor, and the co-op? How can I prove to them that I care?
“No matter what the outcome, I know what your true intentions are.” A beat later he adds in a quieter voice, “If that means anything.”
“That does mean something.” My voice cracks, and I’m unable to meet his eye. “It means a lot.”
We walk the rest of the way in silence. Partly because the lump in my throat is literally preventing words from coming out. But also because I don’t want to ruin the moment we shared. We’ve been through a lot this past month in Blaire, Gavin and me. Some of it was good, but mostly we were at odds with each other. It made me think we got along better when we lived separate lives. But now I realize the bickering isn’t a sign we don’t care—it’s proof that we do.
As we approach the field sectioned off in front of the town hall, my eyes widen at the sight.
“This doesn’t look like the same place.”
“They must have finally mowed the grass for the booths,” Gavin points out. “It looks great.”
“Yeah, and so do all the displays.” There’s a clear pathway between the rows of booths, each one with its own specialty goods displayed. Callie is setting up her jars of honey with her mom on cute stands scattered around their table. Dr.Blaire brought an ice chest with her ice cream and yogurt. Jean has two booths, one for her eggs and the other for her flower arrangements. Even Hal has a booth set up with his cozies and naturally dyed clothes on display. I spot Mom in the corner, setting up her kimchi jars with Dad. I motion for Gavin to follow me to join them.
“Wow, Elena. It’s better than I could’ve imagined,” Gavin says, his eyes bouncing from one booth to another.
A grin instantly takes over my face. “I can’t take all the credit, though. This is a collaborative effort. I only had the idea for the fair. Just hope people show up.” As soon as I say this, we turn the corner, and I see them. About a dozen camera crews and reporters. When they notice me, they rush up to me, clamoring.
“Elena, tell us about your time here. What inspired you to create your own fair?”
“Elena, your resilience is an inspiration. Tell us how you coped with being isolated here.”
“Elena, you’re looking very svelte. What’s your new fitness routine?”
“Elena, Elena, Elena…”
Stunned, we stand there in the middle of an aisle in the fair whilethe barrage of questions keeps coming. People around us stop setting up their booths to stare at us. Gavin and I exchange a glance. His expression asks if I’m okay. When I give him a look that says I am, he takes a step back.
With the attention on me, the reporters quiet down and shove their mics closer to my face.
“I’d be happy to tell you more about it, but now is not the time. I’m here to focus on the homegrown, handmade products Blaire has to offer,” I tell the reporters. The less I say, the more relentless the press becomes.
“Have you done any treatments? Your skin looks amazing,” a reporter shouts.
I decide to try something different. “This lavender milk bath is the reason my skin is so refreshed. And the calming effects of lavender help me sleep at night, so I’m always well rested.”
“What’s your love life been like here? Have you been dating?” another reporter asks.
“The only dates I’ve had are these date preserves.” I hold up a jar so it gets as much coverage as my face.
