"Not at all," Magnolia agreed. Then, "Oof. They don't appreciate those comments." She rubbed a hand along the side of her belly, her eyes glowing. "You have to feel this. Come on, both of you. I swear, they're break-dancing. Or wrestling. Oh my god, they're going to wrestle all the time, aren't they?" She patted the bench. "Humor me, please. You have to feel this. It's like a legit stampede."
Zelda and I shared a glance before joining Magnolia on the banquette side of the table. She grabbed our hands and pressed them flat to her bump.
"Just wait," she murmured.
A moment passed, and another, and then I felt very silly sitting here, waiting for something to happen inside Linden's sister's body. Just as I decided to politely pull away, a swift kick connected with my palm. "Oh—oh my," I stammered.
"That was an elbow," Magnolia said. "He's always throwing those elbows around. I think he's the instigator."
"Holy bananas," Zelda yelped. "How are you, I don't know, living through this? It's like big, bony popcorn popping but it's inside you."
"It only hurts when they get curled up under my ribs. Or wherever they are that feels like they're under my ribs and having a competition to see which of them can crack one first. Or when they're stomping my bladder. I barely got any sleep last week because they were having such a good time."
"That sounds dreadful," Zelda cooed. "I want to have a baby. Not right now, obviously, but someday. I want a little someone who likes to rumble around and throw elbows."
As another jab connected with my palm, I thought to myself for the very first time, Me too.
I wasn't keeping score but I was certain I'd measured this porch at least forty times and still couldn't come up with the same numbers twice. As was the theme for this moment in my life, I didn't know what I was doing wrong or the right way to fix the issue but that didn't stop me from trying like hell.
Since the most recent measurement made no sense whatsoever and I refused to cut the wood until I had these figures correct, I set down my notebook and tape measure, and walked away.
Midge's yard was just like Linden's in that it extended back to the edge of the forest but he didn't have a dozen-odd wooden planter beds in various sizes, shapes, and states of disrepair. When I'd visited Midge in the summers, she'd put me to work weeding the vegetable garden. She'd grow everything back here. Zucchini, beans of all sorts, ten different types of tomatoes.
There was always one plant that didn't work out. One year it was the cucumbers. They'd send out tendrils and coil around the support lattice, they'd flower, they'd sprout a spiky little cuke, and then…nothing. We had spiky little cukes, far too immature to harvest, and nothing else. The whole crop turned out that way.
Now, the beds were tucked under a blanket of fallen leaves. Some were warped and weathered, so much that a heavy rainstorm was all they needed to collapse at the seams.
I hadn't given the garden much consideration because the growing season had mostly ended for the year when I moved in. It would be fun to bring the garden back to its original glory come spring. I didn't remember the specifics of Midge's planting strategy—and she always had a strategy—but I knew I could come up with something. It would be a good project and one that wouldn't require quite so much precise measurement as the porch.
There were at least six months between now and the spring growing season. I'd have to be here in six months to rebuild this garden, which was ridiculous. I wouldn't be here come April. I couldn't be. If I was still here in April, still picking up random projects and making a mess of them, something had gone terribly wrong.
I stopped, turned to face the house and the sad skeleton of the porch. What if I was here in April? What if I had a garden? What if I was right here, growing sweet little tomatoes and huge zucchini that required constant comparison to penises? What if I did all the things Linden suggested and just let myself stop worrying about what came next? What if I stayed with Linden and it wasn't temporary?
Walking backward, I took a few steps into the deepest corner of the garden. From this distance, I could see slumps in the roof and irregular tilts in the gutters. It all needed to be replaced if I had any intention of staying.
Did I want that? Did I know how to do that? How to stay and stop worrying about the next thing? Not knowing had never stopped me before.
I could stay here and we could do this. It was an option, one that scared the hell out of me for fifty different reasons, but it was more an option now than it had ever been. I could plant a garden, get an entry-level job canvassing for a candidate or the party, live with Linden. Those were real things and I could have them.
I took another step backward—and nearly fell on my ass when my shoes connected with soft, slippery, uneven earth. Once I righted myself, I blinked down at the ground, seeing but not understanding the apples beneath my feet. With a glance around, I spotted many more decaying apples nearby.
"Why the hell are there apples all over the yard?" I asked out loud.
The familiar old black cat leapt from one of the raised beds and picked his way through the apples before darting off into the woods.
"You're so helpful," I called after him.
I made my way back toward the house and grabbed the supplies I'd abandoned before crossing into Linden's place. He was catching up on paperwork this afternoon and I knew he'd welcome a break from that to investigate my apple problem.
When I entered from the deck, I had the pleasure of watching as the scowl he'd aimed at the documents in front of him melted into a familiar smile. I couldn't explain why that quick moment of blown-open honesty warmed me more than any words or kisses ever could but I felt that heat in my cheeks, my hands, the back of my neck.
"That didn't take long," he said, holding a hand out to me.
I knew he intended to draw me into his lap but I didn't have time for that. "There are apples. All over the backyard. And they're, like, rotting."
He bobbed his head as he beckoned me closer, unsatisfied with my position on the opposite side of the table. "From the trees, I'd imagine."
"Which trees?"
"The apple trees."
I peered at him. "Where are there apple trees nearby?"
Linden dropped his outstretched hand as he laughed. "They're in your yard, Peach."
"Where?"
"In the back," he said, pushing to his feet. "Four, maybe five of them? They're fairly young. Less than ten years old, I think." He rounded the table and hooked his fingers inside the waistband of my leggings, yanking me up against him. "Sometimes you are too far away from me."
"What do I do about the apples?"
"Not letting that go, are you?"
"I just discovered I have an orchard, Linden. I can't let that go. What do I do about all the apples? Isn't it a problem to leave them there?"
He kissed the top of my head and patted my backside. "Sit down. The apples can wait a minute."
He pulled out a chair and shoved me into it as sweetly as anyone could. I grinned in spite of myself. I didn't mind a good shove when it was Linden doing the shoving. I wouldn't mind him pushing and pulling me around for the next six months. Or longer.