"Why do we need an outside shipment of water?" I ask. Because, I mean ... it’s water. I’m sure there are hose-hookups.
"It’s limestone water. We get an import from the Canadian distributor once a month," Brett says. He sounds like he’s been working here for years, but it’s his first full day on the job, and I’m very confused. I know his dad supplies the barrels, but that’s it—or so I thought.
"Oh," I say again. I’m full of great responses today.
Now it’s Brett’s turn to check his watch. His eyebrows perk up as he does. "I gotta run, but I’ll be back in about an hour."
"Do we need to do anything with the corn?" Journey asks.
"Nah, it’s good for now."
Brett walks off toward a row of the barrels, but cuts left rather than continuing to the stairwell. I slowly follow behind him, wondering what he’s doing between a row of stacked barrels. Maybe he’s checking out his dad’s handy work.
Nope.
A little girl, maybe around the age of six or seven, with two long auburn braids is sitting Indian style with a book pinched between her hands. A backpack is dangling from her shoulders, and she’s wearing leggings, little white Chuck Converse shoes, and a hot-pink tutu, topped off with a jean jacket.
"Parker, we have to get going.” As she stands up, she slips her backpack off her shoulders to place her book into her bag, then continues toward Brett without saying a word.
"Is she your—" I ask after spying on them.
This time Brettisstartled as he turns around, finding me watching from behind. He clears his throat and reaches his arm out for Parker to join him at his side. "Yes, this is my little girl, Parker."
My gaze drifts to his ring finger, but I don’t see a ring. "Oh, wow, I didn’t know—congratulations!" I say, trying to force the enthusiasm, which sounds as fake as it feels. Though, I have no reason to feel anything right now. I’m obviouslyin a weird place, and he was in the same place yesterday, and now today.
"Thanks," he says with an odd look filling his eyes.
"You’re adorable. You must get your good looks from your mommy," I say, trying to jab Brett a little.
Parker shrugs. "I don’t know, maybe."
"Well, I’m sure she thinks the same," I continue.
With slight movements, Brett shakes his head and closes his eyes, then mouths the word, "No."
I think I’m done speaking for the day. "Sorry," I mouth back.
Brett shoos off my apology as if I shouldn’t worry, but I’m speculating a lot in this one very second. "Anyway, if we don’t leave, we’llbe late for school. First grade doesn’t toleratetardiness these days."
"Dad," Parker says, rolling her eyes. "We’re never late." The little girl shuffles her backpack over her other shoulder, so the straps are even, and the two leave as I stand here feeling stupid for wondering why Brett didn’t remember me when he’s obviously lived an entire life since I saw him ten years ago.
"We need to go label some bottles and dust the store," Journey says, appearing behind me.
"Did you know Brett has a daughter?" I ask, turning to face her.
Journey screws her lips to the side and tilts her head as if she’s lost in thought. "I don’t think I knew, but maybe I heard something a while go. I didn’t pay much attention to it, because I’m not in love with the first boy I ever kissed."
I slap my sister on the shoulder. "Don’t be a jerk."
"I’m not a jerk," Journey says. "I even looked at his ring finger to see if he is married—for you, and it doesn’t look like he is, so, you’re welcome for checking."
"Why does it even matter?" I press.
"Well, I told you it’s because you’re clearly still in love with the nineteen-year-old boy you kissed ten years ago."
"No, I’m not. I just got out of a serious relationship," I argue. "I wasn’t expecting to run into Brett now of all times."
"A serious relationship where you played house while cooking, cleaning, and occasionally serving four-course meals on football Sundays. It’s okay if your mind and heart wander. It isn’t a sin."
