8. Ethan

"Wake up, shit head."Something itchy falls onto my face and I swat at it. "I mean that literally." The voice is persistent, followed by more itchy stuff.

I crack open one heavy eyelid to see my sister and Baabara, both staring at me intently. I take a minute to sense my surroundings. From the smell of things, I did not stumble into my own house last night after visiting Lia.

It would seem as though I tumbled drunkenly into Baabara's bungalow. And I fell asleep in the sheep dung. Colleen throws another handful of hay onto my head, and Baabara doesn't seem to care that her breakfast is scattered all over her human brother, as Gran sometimes calls me.

With a snort, my human sister tosses a handful of something green and fragrant onto my face and before I can brush it away, Baabara begins chomping it down, her tongue tickling my cheek and leaving a slimy, herbal residue.

I shriek and jump to my feet, brushing myself off. Baabara cares only for the herbs, and she kicks up on her hind legs to get the remnants of basil and mint from my filthy clothes. "Why the hell are you feeding her? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"First of all, it's Saturday." Colleen begins to pet Baabara. "Second, you slept in, and Gran was freaking out about Baabara starving to death out here all alone, so she sent me here to get the hay and offer comfort food."

I sniff again as Baabara finishes the last of the leafy greens. "Where did Gran get basil and mint this time of year?"

Colleen puts her hands on her hips and embodies a deep, mocking voice. "Thank you for handling my morning chores for me, Colleen. You're the best sister in the whole world and I appreciate you."

I groan. "Thank you for feeding her. But where'd you get…is that dill she's eating?"

Colleen flaps a hand around the bungalow as Baabara begins pooping. "Gran grows all that stuff. She's practically Whole Foods with her sprouts and micro green varieties."

I scratch my neck and peer out the window toward Gran's kitchen garden. From where I'm standing it all appears fallow and winterized, though I think I spot a few asparagus poking through the soil. "I don't see any mint or basil out there, Colleen."

My sister blinks at me like I'm the dumbest child to ever grace her classroom. "Ethan. Have you not been down to the basement recently?"

I frown and draw my head back. "What's in the basement?"

My sister throws her hands in the air and stomps back toward the house, leaving me with Baabara to contemplate my pounding head and a throat that feels coated in Timothy hay.

I make my way to the kitchen and gingerly drink some water. This isn't my first experience with Grandad's Old Crow, but I sure thought I learned my lesson about it years ago.

I spy the basement door ajar and curiosity calls me over there. When I peer down the steps I'm met with bright lights and more heat than I would have expected from a dirt-floor cellar. Except…it's not a dirt floor anymore. Someone poured concrete and sealed the walls. Was it my brothers?

The laundry stuff is right where I remember, but the rest of the space is taken up by a giant plastic tent with bright lights and racks upon racks of potted plants. I see Gran inside the tent with a watering can, singing to a row of herbs. She's illuminated by grow lights like Taylor Swift on her Folklore album cover.

Gran spies me staring and smiles, stepping out of the tent. "Ethan, you're finally up I see. Help me lift that tray of seedlings?"

I silently hoist the tray to the rack where she points, feeling the humidity and heat of the tent. It's like I stepped into a hothouse. And maybe I have?

"What is all this, Gran? Where did you learn about all this stuff?"

Gran shrugs. "YouTube." She taps her lip and stares at the plants. "Do you think these lights are the right lumen for starting from seed? Maybe I'll adjust the timer and leave them on longer…"

"Lumen?" I can't think straight. I wonder if I'm still drunk from the cheap whiskey. Since when does my grandmother have a sophisticated garden operation cranking in her basement? What else don't I know about around here?

"Did you finally come to ask my advice about your strawberry adventure?" Gran smiles hopefully as she zips up the tent and makes her way to the utility sink to wash her hands. "Because I know a thing or two about a strawberry patch."

I didn't know, but I see now that I should have. "I'd love your advice on the soil pH. I was going to visit Diego at the Feed 'n Seed and ask for help."

Gran beckons for me to follow her upstairs, where she walks to the kitchen window and smiles. "There's what you need, pumpkin. Fresh from the source."

I follow her gaze and spy Baabara prancing around outside her little house. I can't tell if she's basking in the sun or posing because she knows we're staring. I note that Baabara's enclosure has more poop in it than it probably should, and I realize it's been awhile since I mucked her out. "Hm."

Gran nods. "Hm indeed. Now go shower, Ethan. You stink."

I stumble to my actual house this time and wash up, trying not to dwell on my scattered memories from last night. Lia telling me about being sick. Lia telling me she was so fucking sick she couldn't concentrate on staying in school, let alone maintain any sort of contact with the outside world. I drag a hand down my face and pull a hat over my wet hair. Now, it is time to focus on the work to be done.

I do recall Lia reminding me of my commitment to my work on Bedd Fellows Farm. She's not wrong about that.

It takes me a week to get the farm equipment up to code and place my orders for seed and supplies. Baabara continues building up her supply of fertilizer as Gran keeps her in basil snacks, but one sheep won't help me cover the ten acres I set aside.

I have a lot of hours to think about things as I'm outside grading the rock-hard ground. I chose the acreage closest to the barn for this experiment, mindful that hordes of outsiders will apparently be driving in to pick their own fruit. I don't want them trampling my bean plants while they search for berries.

I eventually realize that Colleen was right. I should"ve been making plans all along. Instead, I planted all my trust in my grandfather. I believed his word was bond, and Alex and Samuel are also right that I discouraged them from speaking up, refusing to rock the boat.

Just before Alex got his job at Udderly Creamy, him and Grandad fought like hell. I suppose I never wanted to get on his bad side the way my brothers had. Plus, I never really had my own ideas like they did. I just wanted to keep up the tradition, keep the farm growing, keep things steady.

I wonder why my siblings feel so confident in their new ideas…they grew up in the same family as me. Same dead parents. Same heavy-handed patriarch. Surely, they have the same lingering fear of what it means to be without him. What it means to change lanes.

Nothing feels stable right now. It's like I've been floating in a hot air balloon for decades and we've run out of fuel, and I have no idea which bags of ballast to toss where.