We clinked glasses, and I took a long sip. The beer was crisp and hoppy, exactly what I needed.
“So you packed up and became a farmer?” Abby's tone was gentle, curious rather than judgmental.
“I mean...” I laughed, the sound a little breathless. “When Walt called and offered me the farm, I just... said yes? It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Seemed?”
“Okay, maybe notgoodexactly.” I traced a pattern on the condensation of my glass. “More like... why not? I spent every summer here as a kid. Those were some of my best memories. And I liked who I was here.”
I took another sip of beer, letting the cold liquid ease some of the tightness still lingering in my chest.
“What about work?” Emily leaned forward, genuine curiosity in her eyes. “Can you do graphic design remotely from here?”
“I quit.” The words came out flat, matter-of-fact. “Handed in my notice the same day I told Walt yes.”
Abby's eyes widened. “Just like that?”
“Well, it wasn't exactly a loss.” I shrugged. “I'd moved into this corporate position last year. Better pay, fancier title, soul-crushing boredom.”
“Let me guess.” Emily leaned back, arms crossed. “Endless meetings about meetings?”
“Presentations about presentations.” I groaned at the memory. “And the absolutejoyof sitting three desks away from my ex.”
“Oh no.” Abby winced. “You worked at the same company?”
“Worse. I worked therebecauseof him.” I took another sip of beer, the bitterness matching my tone. “He got me the job. Said it was a better opportunity than what I had.”
“What were you doing before?” Abby asked.
“Marketing for a local music festival.” The memory surfaced, unexpectedly warm. “It wasfun. Chaotic and creative and exactly what I loved. But the pay was...”
“Not great?” Emily guessed.
“Terrible.” I laughed, but it felt hollow. “Aaron said I was wasting my talent. That I should be somewhere more stable, more professional.”
The words tasted wrong in my mouth. Aaron's words, not mine. How many times had I heard that?Think about the future, Rosie.
“And now?” Abby's voice was gentle.
I looked down at my dress—bright yellow, unapologetically cheerful. The kind of thing I'd stopped wearing because it wastoo much. Because Aaron preferred me in neutrals, in things that blended.
“Now I'm covered in chicken poop and arguing with goats.” I met their eyes, surprised by the smile tugging at my mouth. “And I'm wearing whatever I want.”
Emily raised her glass, eyes bright with something that looked like approval. “I love that for you.”
“To wearing whatever you want,” Abby added, lifting her own glass.
I clinked mine against theirs, warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the beer.
“So what's the plan?” Abby set her glass down, leaning forward with interest. “For the farm, I mean.”
The warmth evaporated.
“The plan.” I let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan. “Right now? Keep everything alive. That's pretty much it.”
“Sounds reasonable.” Emily refilled our glasses from the pitcher.
“Walt made it look so easy.” I picked at the edge of the wooden table, finding a rough splinter to focus on. “Every summer, everything just... worked. The chickens laid eggs, the goats behaved, the irrigation did its thing.”
