“I think you just admitted that you’re going to be my wife.”
Fuck,I mouth, while slapping my forehead.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, it was inevitable.”
“I have to go. Thanks for talking.”
“Hey. You are going to that restaurant I suggested, right?”
“Yeah, we’re going tomorrow.”
“Okay, call me after.”
I agree and then promptly hang up. Finishing off my scone, I try to figure out what the hell has overcome me.
“I don’t know why my character keeps grabbing at her bosom every time that man speaks,” Farrah says, stomping over to me while holding up her skirt.
Her boobies are a little on display despite the fact that this is supposed to be the 1920s.
“I think you’rekilling it.”
“Well, I think that the people in the wardrobe department hate me for my suggestions.”
“Making friends wherever you go.”
She smacks my arm, knocking me back a little.
“Let me change and then we can leave.”
She trudges off to her trailer, and I just stand there looking at where they are filming. Sheep gather in groups around the farm. A horse is tied to a post, and in the background of it all are rolling green hills. It’s a fantasy novel come to life.
I take a big breath and try to exhale everything I have been carrying with me. This brief moment away from all the chaos feels like the most healing I have done since I was diagnosed. I’m regretful when we have to leave.
Today we’re visiting the restaurant Callahan suggested, and I’m so excited when we pull up out front. It’s a cobblestone bed and breakfast on the corner of the street that is so damn adorable. The red sign is extended off the building on a pole and readsJack’s.
As soon as we walk in, the warm smell of baked bread hits us alongside a subtle whiff of rosemary. It’s got the low lighting of chandeliers and wood tables spread out in the small space. Next to the bar is a desk with a woman standing behind it.
“Checking in, or grabbing food?” she asks, her plump cheeks red and lifted.
“Just food,” I say, walking over.
“Oh, Americans. How grand. Please tell me you’re Monty?”
“Uh.” I look behind me to Farrah, but she just throws her hands up.
“Yes,” I say, turning back towards the woman.
“Pat!” she screams. “She’s here.”
She comes from behind the station and wraps me in her arms, swaying back and forth. Before I can pull back, a big-bellied bald man with a large grin walks out of the back and joins in on the fun. They squeeze me so tight it’s like they think I’m trying to escape. Which I can’t. I can barely breathe while in their arms.
“Aren’t you darling,” she says, finally stepping back. “You look better than the boy described.” She cups my cheek, her calloused thumb rubbing as she stares at me like she loves me already.
I don’t know why it takes staring into her green eyes for this to click, but suddenly I understand what’s going on.
“Callahan,” I mutter through a pasted-on smile.
“And you must be Farrah.” They run over to her, not sparing her the fun, and give her one of their death grips of love. Her eyes pop wide like one of those chicken toys.
