Tilly says go, and I start eating. It’s a lot harder than I anticipate. My entire face is basically in the pie because if not,you can’t gather enough in your mouth to actually eat any of it. I try to use my tongue to maneuver bigger pieces into my mouth, but most of it is stuck to my face. The gooey inside melts to my cheeks as the crust crumbles, sticking to the inside like glue. I’m chewing as fast as I can, but I get thirsty pretty quickly, and all I want is a sip of water.
I take a break just to take a breath, but then I’m back to eating the pie, and although this is a bit of a mess, I’m having fun. Everyone nearby is cheering us on while laughing. I wonder what I must look like right now. One of the social media interns I hired is getting content of everyone participating—including myself—so at least I’ll get to see it all later.
“And we have a winner!” Tilly announces, and I’m grateful I can stop eating.
Everyone claps for the winner, a small child who looks like she weighs maybe forty pounds. I want to ask her how the hell she did it, but instead I’m hearing my name quietly whispered from nearby. I glance around as I wipe my face clear of any apple pie. Then my eyes lock on the woman who looks out of place.
In a pair of cheetah-print heels, a pencil skirt, and a pair of huge sunglasses, she looks like one of the Real Housewives—not my mother.
I make my way over to her. What the hell is she doing here? Is she about to tell me in front of everyone I have to sell her the orchard? What am I going to do?
I glance over at Tilly, who is too busy taking photos of the winner to be bothered by what I’m doing. I feel bad for keeping so much from Tilly, but she doesn’t need to be in the middle of me and my family drama.
“Mom? What are you doing here?” I take another napkin off the table and wipe away the remains of the apple pie crumbs from my face.
“I thought I’d come check up on the place since you were in the city. But it turns out you’ve got things under control here, huh?” She takes her sunglasses off and crosses her arms over her chest.
“I don’t understand. I told you I was handling everything.” I pull her toward the empty barn to give us a bit of privacy.
“You’re eating pie like a heathen and acting like this place isn’t up for sale. What’s going on?” She scowls at me.
“It’s part of raising morale. I can’t get sellers in here if it looks dead and like there’s no foundation for using this place. You know the sales were terrible, so I come up once in a while to check on things. I’m not staying for long,” I lie.
“Sales are better?” She looks happily surprised.
“They are. I took us out of the negatives, and now we’re making a huge profit every week. It’s all part of the plan. I know it takes time, but if we want to sell the place, then this is what we have to do.” I sigh.
“I see. I was just surprised to find you here looking so chummy.”
“I am their boss, even if they think I’m keeping the place. It’s not like I could get everyone on board to sell if I didn’t play nicely.”
“Fine. But your father and I want this deal closed sooner rather than later. You’ve pulled it out of the negatives, so there’s no reason for you to keep doing things. I expect to see a proposal and a statement of transfer in my inbox soon.”
“You don’t think we should take more time?—”
She cuts me off. “More time for what? It’s a waste to think there’s anything more in this small town. Especially on this property.” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? Sweetheart, I’m going to have to toss these shoes in the garbage when I’m done here, and they’re Prada. You can’t seriously tell me you’re enjoying yourself here.”
She waits for me to say something. I know I should defend this place, but I don’t have it in me. I know it isn’t a fight I’m going to win—not against her.
“I just meant it’s fine for the time being.” I sigh.
“I just don’t want you wasting your life up here like my sister did. She spent her whole life building this place just for her to die and then the place to almost fail around her.”
“I don’t think that’s what happened...” I say quietly.
“Plus, it’s about time you head back to the city. I know Taylor got that job you wanted, but frankly she was more qualified, and you need to focus your free time on finding someone to marry. You’re almost thirty, and your prospects are getting smaller and smaller.”
It’s not the first time she’s said something like this to me. It’s always the same—something a mother shouldn’t be saying to her child. She wants me to marry for money, even though that clearly didn’t work out well for her. She’s worried my age is a factor and thinks my prospects are dwindling. It’s like I’ll turn thirty and suddenly be unattainable to all people on the planet. Something that doesn’t make much sense to me—but then again, most of the things out of my mother’s mouth are outdated. And usually offensive.
“I really appreciate your visit, Mother, but I can assure you I’m doing okay.” I sigh.
“Fine. I can take a hint. I’ll expect to hear from you soon.” She puts her oversized sunglasses back on and shakes her head disapprovingly at me before heading out of the barn.
Sighing, I take a moment before I go back to the crowd. I take some deep breaths in and out until I feel calmer. Every time I see my mother, I feel like I need a long nap and a stiff drink.Something about my family just makes me want to run away to a beach somewhere far away and live there. But knowing them, they’d find me just to tell me I was doing something wrong. For people who always have something negative to say about how you’re living your life, they have a tendency to stay in your life.
