Page 34 of Autumn on My Mind

Would it be weird to hide and watch them for a bit?

“Of course it would,” I snap at myself as I hurry away. It totally would. I don’t have time anyway.

Joe and I work up until the last minute to get everything ready, and when we open the gates at nine, a crowd of kids and their parents are waiting. Something inside me glows with relief and happiness that people still appreciate this place after all these years. Joe is thrilled too; he never says so, but I can tell he worries that what he does will become irrelevant.

Pumpkins will never be irrelevant, Joe. Autumn as a season brings in the bulk of our tourism in this town. I myself burn apple cider candles year round; I buy pumpkin pie the second it hits the shelves. I am as basic as they come, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

When early afternoon rolls around and I give myself a second to take a break, I traipse over to the corn dog booth and buy myself one. This is done after a considerable amount of debate thanks to last night. But I feel hungry rather than sick, and I can tell my blood sugar is low, so I decide eating would be good. I go tiredly but happily over to the straw mountain, ducking under the makeshift fence and rounding the hay bales to the outside edge.

I eat slowly at first, taking small bites to see how they sit. When everything shows itself to be in order, I finish the rest of the corn dog and slump back against the hay bales.

As my body relaxes, I realize how exhausted I am, so I sit down instead. I inhale deeply, breathing in the dusty air and exhaling. It gives my mind a chance to slow down, but unfortunately, this means the events from last night have a chance to slip in again.

And although the mortifying parts are louder than the rest, it’s the quieter memories that filter back—the things Dominic said, the things we talked about.

The things we still need to do.

A breeze blows past as though pushing me along; I frown when a few strands of hair get in my mouth, spitting them out and looking like an idiot. Then I tuck them behind my ear, pull out my phone, and compose the message I know I need to send.

Me

Having discussed the letter I wrote, and after talking briefly last night, can I correctly say that we’ve both moved on and there are no hard feelings between us?

I’m proud of that text. It takes me several attempts to formulate. But all I get from Dominic is one word:

Dominic

Yes

He doesn’t even use punctuation. What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to know what tone he’s using?

“Why does it matter?” I ask myself, resting my weight against the bale of hay behind me.

I don’t know the answer. I clear my throat and text back anyway.

Me

In that case, re: breaking our parents up, I think we would benefit from shared intel and working together. For that, I’d appreciate the chance to establish a few guidelines or rules, just to make sure nothing gets complicated between us.

Dominic

Why are you talking so formally?

Nothing will get complicated between us because nothing IS between us, Berkeley

That one shouldn’t hurt, but it does. It’s hard to set aside your first love, even if there are no feelings there anymore—and, like Dominic said, there aren’t. There are no feelings left.

Still. He doesn’t need to be rude.

Me

Fine. I still want rules in place. Humor me.

Dominic

If you get to make rules, I get to make some too.

Me