I start typing responses, but my fingers feel clumsy on the keyboard. Everything I write sounds wrong, hollow, like I’m apologizing for something I can’t quite name.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there.
I’m sorry I’ve been distracted.
I’m sorry I forgot.
But I didn’t forget, did I? I just… chose something else. Chose this place, these people, this weird liminal space where I don’t quite belong to Pittsburgh anymore, but I’m definitely not from Fork Lick either.
“How’s it going up there?”
I jump at Ethel’s voice from the basement stairs. “Fine! Great! Just catching up on some work.”
“You sound stressed, honey. Come down here for a minute. The plants are very calming.”
I shouldn’t. I have so much to do, so many messages to answer, so many ways I’ve let people down. But I close my laptop and follow her voice down the stairs.
The basement is a horticultural fantasy. Grow lights shine everywhere around neat rows of seedlings in trays, herbs in pots, tomato plants climbing trellises. The air is humid and green and alive. “Oh my god,” I breathe. “This is incredible.”
Gran beams. “Started it a few years back when I realized I could grow year-round down here. It gives me something to fuss over when winter gets long.”
I move through the space, taking it all in. The organization. The labels on everything. The obvious care in every plant. “My sisters would lose their minds over this. Eden especially—she’s always talking about extending growing seasons for flowers for her bees. And Eila grows hops in vacant lots; she’d want to dish about your setup.”
Gran pats my arm. “You’ll have to bring them up sometime. I’d love to meet them.”
I shudder at the casual way her suggestion implies I’ll be here long enough to have visitors.
“How are you settling in, dear?” Gran asks, gently dead-heading some basil. “I know Pierce Acres has been empty for a long time. It must be overwhelming.”
“It’s… a lot. But I’m making progress. Cataloging equipment, scrubbing the cobwebs, flushing the pipes…”
“Sounds like you’re planning to stay.”
Am I? I don’t know. Yesterday I thought maybe yes. Today, staring at forty-seven unanswered emails from the life I already have, I’m not sure.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Sometimes I think yes. And then I remember I have business in Pittsburgh. Clients. My sisters.”
“Your sisters would want you to be happy, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes, but?—”
“And you can do social media work from anywhere with an internet connection?”
“I guess, but?—”
“So, really, the question is: where do you want to be?”
I don’t have an answer.
Gran studies me with knowing eyes. “You and Asher seemed to be getting along pretty well.”
It’s not a question, but my ears tingle anyway. “We’re just neighbors.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her tone says she doesn’t believe that for a second. “That boy’s been hiding for years. You scared him by making him feel something.”
“I really doubt that.”
“He’s pushing you away before you hurt him.” She sets down her pruning shears and looks at me directly. “Don’t take his walls personally, dear. They were there long before you arrived.”
