One hour and a sip of wine later, she’s right. It’s the ambivert in me. I love socializing with my friends; it’s the before and after I dread.
Mussing my long, blonde hair until it falls in soft waves down my back, I study my reflection. Blue eyes, freckles, dark brows, a scar on the bridge of my nose from when my older sister threw a frisbee at my face—same but different. Every year, I catalog the slight changes in my appearance. A few more fine lines, curvier around my hips, gray hairs I seriously need to stop plucking. Overall, I like what I see.
I push down the silly notion I’ve got something to prove tothe world before I turn thirty. Yes, I plan on working my butt off and getting my songwriting portfolio out into the world, but the outcome doesn’t determine my worth.
There’s a knock on the door, and Talia’s voice calls out. “Parker and Margot are here. You ready?”
I grab my purse off the counter, check my teeth for lipstick, then whip open the door.
“Let’s go! I need a cup of mulled wine and a pretzel, stat.”
Tennessee has been homefor the last seven years, and though I miss Maine, my home state, this is where my wings found the space to spread. There’s no traumatic past driving me to move halfway across the country. I simply wanted to see what more the world offered after college, which is how my feet landed in Iris Meadows.
Ironically, I traded one quirky small town for another. City life was never for me. The locals are salt-of-the-Earth people, most living in the same house they were born in or settling here to escape the hustle and bustle of Nashville.
Iris Meadows is a hidden gem, with historic redbrick buildings making up most of Main Street. Bright green trees, flower beds, and vibrant awnings bring a flash of color to the heart of town, where most businesses call home. Antique stores, cafes, florists, mom-and-pop shops—you name it, we have it.
I grew up in a fishing town in New England called Sutton Bay, where fall time is a religious holiday, and people travel from all over to see the leaves change color. Here, it’s a little different. We’re lucky if we get two weeks of fall. Either the balmy summer evenings drag into early November, or winter smacks us in the face, forcing everyone to pull out their knitwear and crank up the thermostat.
The fleeting season doesn’t dull the beauty of Tennessee, with its rolling green hills and vibrant red and orange trees decorating the horizon. We’re far enough from Nashville the city lights don’t spoil the starry nights yet close enough to enjoy perks. The locals embrace all things fall, even if it’s eighty-five degrees out or blowing a blizzard.
Despite my refusal to move from the sofa earlier, when the smell of sugary cinnamon and flashing carnival rides greet me, I’m happy with my decision. This is my first weekend off in a long time, and as cliché as it is, I need to let my hair down and decompress. There are plenty of out-of-towners here, and some harmless flirting can’t hurt.
Every year, one of the local farmers rents out his land so the town can host its mini version of Oktoberfest. Trucks sell local foods and Bavarian cuisine. Kids squeal from the top of the Ferris wheel and chair swing ride. Some people even wear traditional Lederhosen and Dirndl to celebrate the occasion.
The air is cool today. I tug at the sleeves of my mustard cardigan, and leaves crunch under my knee-high boots as we enter the mayhem.
Margot gasps. “I was not expecting this.”
“It’s open tomorrow. You should bring Willow. She’d enjoy the rides,” I suggest.
At the mention of her ten-year-old daughter, Margot’s face lights up. This is her first year in Iris Meadows; thus, it’s her first time experiencing Oktoberfest.
“Margot’s the one who needs a ride,” Parker teases, earning her a punch to the boob.
“Shh,” Margot hisses, flapping her arms, cheeks crimson. “Willow’s teachers could be here.”
Talia rolls her eyes. “Parker, you’re the only one getting it on the regular. Leave us perpetuallysingle women alone.”
The three of us fix her with a look, which she dismisses.
No one argues with her. Talia and her husband separated earlier this year, and, to my knowledge, they’ve had zero contact. She’s sworn off men until they finalize their divorce, which, at this rate, might not be ever. I suspect even after they formally end things, she’ll keep to herself for a while.
“Okay, ladies.” Parker flips her lavender hair. “The birthday girl needs a giant sausage in her mouth. Let’s go hunting.”
I’m flanked on either side by my friends, who drag me into the chaos, the four of us grinning. They’re good for the soul, and I can’t imagine a better way to spend my birthday.
TWO
HARRIET
My refusal tobuy a traditional Bavarian dress lasted twelve seconds. It’s quite the look, and the more we drink, the more it grows on me. The flowy skirt reveals enough leg to make me feel sexy, and the tight black bodice does wonders for my boobs.
In our matching Dirndls, the four of us visit all the stalls, buying handmade candles and little trinkets we definitely don’t need. I’m now the proud owner of a knitted pumpkin the size of my head and a sign to add to my collection that reads Fall is my favorite F-word. Money well spent. Margot parked near the entrance, and we dump our purchases and clothes in her car before finding a table in one of the wooden shacks.
It’s late Friday afternoon; the crowd has doubled in size now, as most people have finished work and school is out.
“Harry.” Talia grabs my attention. “Any new gigs recently?”
