“We can still get pies when it’s hot,” Blessing corrected.
“Yeah, but who wants pie when you could have watermelon?”
Bitter listened to them bickering, a small smile on her face. She did know the watermelon man, Mr. Nelson. He’d shown her his harvest of different mini watermelons last summer, from the bright yellow Lemon Drop to the snow-white Silver Yamato. Bitter had bought one of the Lemon Drops, and it had tasted like sugar and sunlight.
“Hey,” Blessing cut in, leaning over to hand Bitter the joint. “Alex and I are gonna join Eddie at the protest today.”
She didn’t say anything else, but Bitter could hear the invitation simmering under the surface of her words. Blessing had mentioned that maybe being in a pod of people she knew would make protests easier for Bitter, like some kind of exposure therapy, but Bitter was firmly against the idea. Lucille’s protests could become a regular part of everyone else’s life, but that didn’t mean she had to make it part of her own world, not when she’d done so much work to keep it out. It was too dangerous, and she didn’t want a life where danger was a normal thing you just walked willingly into.
“You already know I staying right here,” she said, and Blessing shrugged.
“You know, I think it’s scarier when you’re inside all the time,” Alex chimed in. “Like, your imagination makes it out to be all these things, but if you checked it out in person, it might not be that bad.”
“Or it might be worse!” Bitter shot her a dark look. “Doh be acting like it doh get bad out there.”
“Bitter’s right,” Blessing said. “People have different reactions to shit. Like, you cool with getting arrested and all, no sweat, but someone else would have a complete panic attack.”
Bitter raised her hand. “Me. I would have a complete panic attack. Getting arrested sounds terrifying.”
Alex laughed with far too much ease for the subject of conversation. Bitter wondered how many times the cops had thrown her into the back of their black wagons. “Fair enough,” she said. “But Lucille keeps fighting even if you try not to look at it. Eucalyptus is right in the middle of everything, anyway.”
Bitter winced. “Don’t remind me.”
Alex checked the time and swore loudly. “Shit, I’m late for my studio visit.” She scrambled up and kissed Blessing before heading off through the garden, past the rows of hibiscus bushes. Bitter passed the joint over to Blessing.
“I wish I was the type of person who could go,” she said.
Blessing stretched out on the blanket and blew smoke rings into the sky. “You good either way, babe.”
Bitter sighed and looked out over the garden lawn, her face brightening as she saw Eddie heading toward them. “Eddie’s here!” she said, climbing to her feet. The last thing she wanted was more protest talk between Blessing and Eddie. “I’ll go meet her and we’ll link later?”
Blessing waved a nonchalant hand. “Sounds good,” she said, her voice drifting off as she gazed into the sky. Bitter chuckled and grabbed her things, then jogged across the grass to get to Eddie.
“Hey, you ready for our walk?” she asked as she and Eddie hugged.
“Yeah, but I was gonna say hi to Blessing first.”
“She’s in another world right now—doh even worry about it.”
Eddie laughed. “Aight. You ready to have your mind blown?”
The girls linked arms as they left Eucalyptus, and Bitter tried not to think about how fragile the peace around them was, how violently the protest later would inevitably break it. Sometimes she wasn’t sure which of the two worlds she lived in was going to drive her mad first.
“This better be the most magical pie I ever tasted,” she shot back. “Or else I go question your taste for the rest of time.”
Eddie puffed herself up. “Oh, I’m sure,” she said. “Mrs. Nelson is a Lucille legend for a reason.”
“Yeah, Alex was telling me about her. I met her husband last summer. Has he always been the watermelon man?”
“Yup. He used to run a farm stand year-round, but then Theron started pushing out all the mom-and-pops with that organic food chain, and Mr. Nelson just … ran out of business.” A faint cloud passed over Eddie’s face. “I heard stories that someone was fucking with his crops too, but the Nelsons don’t like to talk about things like that.” She shook off the cloud and smiled at Bitter. “You’ll see. Mrs. Nelson is the sweetest old lady in the world.”
They turned down the street the Nelsons lived on, and Eddie pointed out their house—a quaint sky-blue cottage with a white picket fence and flowers tumbling everywhere.
“Their old farm’s a few miles outside Lucille,” Eddie said as they walked up the path to the front door and rang the bell. “It’s mostly lying fallow now.” Bitter raised an eyebrow and Eddie blushed. “Malachite taught me that. She helps them out once in a while, whenever they need it.”
“When do I get to meet her?” Bitter asked.
“Soon as she’s back from her herbalism course, we’re all gonna go on what—a triple date? It’s gon’ be lit.”
The front door opened, and an old man with incredibly kind eyes and deep butterscotch skin was looking down at them. His gaze rested on Eddie, and his face wrinkled with a grin. “Hey there, trouble,” he said. “You bringing more trouble to my house?”
“Well, of course, Mr. Nelson. If I don’t bring you trouble, who’s gon’ come trouble you? Can’t leave you out here all bored and untroubled, now.”
Mr. Nelson’s laugh was sharp and rich. “Welcome,” he said to Bitter. “Y’all come on in.” He stepped away from the door, and Bitter followed Eddie into the warmth of the house. The floor was hardwood, polished and dark with age, and solid ceiling beams stretched from wall to wall. The air smelled like cinnamon and spices, a thick welcome that made Bitter’s mouth water. Mr. Nelson walked with a slight limp, favoring his left leg as he led them to an enormous kitchen with butcher-block countertops and copper pans hanging over the stove. “Y’all here for some pie, right?”
Eddie swung herself onto a kitchen stool, and Bitter sat next to her. “Yeah—she’s never had sweet potato pie, Mr. Nelson.”
He gasped and clutched at his chest, turning amused eyes to Bitter. “Thank God my wife isn’t here to hear that blasphemy, child! How your people never made you pie?”
Bitter ducked her head, the mention of her people bringing back cold flashes of lost years. “I was adopted,” she said, not even sure whether that counted as a lie or not. It was certainly better than saying she was a foster orphan no one had wanted before Eucalyptus.
Eddie placed a hand on her knee, and Mr. Nelson gave them a shrewd look but didn’t push. “Matter of fact,” he said, pulling out a pie and beginning to cut slices of it, “it’s a good thing your first time is going to be my Ethel’s recipe. It don’t get no better than this.”
“Where is Miss Ethel?” Eddie asked, her eyes fixed on the pie he was lifting onto plates.
“Out by the Jacksons. Their little girl’s been doing poorly of late.” He glanced over at Eddie. “I think you know her brother—he’s an Assata kid, like you.”