There were so many things Sawyer wanted to say to Jenna as they drove. That she was sorry her mom had put them in this awkward situation, that her family was fun and Jenna shouldn’t worry, that she’d fit right in, that Sawyer was honestly glad Jenna was coming, despite her clear worry about it.
She didn’t say any of it. Instead, she picked a playlist of upbeat songs on her phone so they weren’t driving in complete silence. Jenna was looking super cute, again, and Sawyer now understood that she just always did. She wore jeans today with a bright blue Buffalo Bills sweatshirt and white sneakers. She’d brought a jacket, but the sun was shining and the temperature was already in the mid fifties, so she likely wouldn’t need it. Her honey brown hair was again pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore the barest of makeup. Sawyer wanted to study her more in depth, the rich brown of her eyes, her soft-looking hands,her jewelry, but there was also this pesky driving thing she had to focus on, so she kept her eyes to herself for the moment.
“There they are,” she said as she pulled her Accord into the grassy parking lot next to a minivan with the hatchback open, three women mingling around it. She heard Jenna take a deep breath, and it was the first time she realized that her neighbor might be a little nervous.
Sawyer parked and got out of the car, only to be immediately enveloped in the warm embrace of her grandmother.
“Hello, sweetheart,” her grandma said close to her ear as they hugged.
“Hi, Grams,” Sawyer said, hugging her tightly, trying not to dwell on how fragile and birdlike her form felt in her arms. When the embrace ended, Sawyer turned to indicate Jenna. “Grams, this is my next-door neighbor, Jenna Murphy. Jenna, my grandmother, Ursula Baker.”
Jenna held out a hand to Sawyer’s grandma, then closed her other on top of it. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Baker.”
Her grandma gave a smile even as she scoffed and waved her free hand. “Please. Call me Ursula.”
Sawyer moved on to the rest of the crew. “And you know my mom. Do you remember my sister, Courtney?”
“I do,” Jenna said, smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I have a watermelon permanently growing inside my body.” Courtney laughed, but it was sarcastic. Still, she managed a smile for Jenna. “Good to see you again.”
“It’s been years since I did this,” Jenna said, “so I’ll follow your lead.”
“Not to worry,” Courtney said, hooking her hand through Jenna’s arm as they started to walk. “We are old pros.”
It wasn’t as busy at the apple farm as it would have been had they come a few weeks earlier, which they usually did. Mid to late September was peak time for picking, but every time they tried to set it up, somebody was busy. Usually Sawyer. So now it was early October and here they finally were. Sawyer carried two cardboard boxes, and her mom had several reusable shopping bags under her arm.
“Hey, Grams, do you think all the good apples will be gone?” Sawyer asked.
“If they are, I’m blaming you,” her grandmother replied, but then bumped her with a hip to show she was kidding.
“Valid,” Sawyer said with a laugh.
They stopped at the makeshift cash register area and got their carts, dropped the boxes and bags onto them, and hauled them into the orchard.
It wasn’t peak picking time, no, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t busy. Several groups of people—some clearly families—milled up and down rows of apple trees, dragging their carts, picking apples, filling up boxes and bags, munching on them as they worked. Sawyer had forgotten how weirdly relaxing it could be, this tradition she had with the women in her family.
“Do you guys do this every year?” Jenna asked, as if privy to her thoughts.
“We try to,” Sawyer said as she read the signs they passed. Empire, McIntosh, HoneyCrisp. “We missed it last year. Well”—she cleared her throat—“I missed it last year.”
“Yeah, you did,” Courtney said as she moved past them, so much more in those three words than just simple agreement.
Sawyer shot her a look.
“Here,” Sawyer’s grandma said. “I want some Cortlands.”
“You got it,” Sawyer said, grabbing a bag and heading down the row. She realized Jenna was following her.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Sawyer glanced back at her. “Everybody starts picking right at the beginning of the row. Usually, if I walk down a ways, I can find a tree or two that hasn’t been stripped of all the good fruit yet.”
“Makes sense.”
“Ah, here we go.” Sawyer stopped at a tree that looked to be bursting with shiny red apples. When she turned to look at her neighbor, Jenna had her phone out and was taking photos. She met Sawyer’s gaze and shrugged.
“It’s so pretty, don’t you think?”
