12. Eden

12

EDEN

My mom is gone when I get home from work. I stopped by with a new key for her in between errands, and she barely acknowledged me from the kitchen table where she sat, bent over her phone, still in her pajamas. Some of her stuff is in Eila's room, so I suspect she's out following whatever opportunity came up while she was throwing keys in the river from the tiki boat. And then she'll stroll back.

Before I can get too worked up about her leaving, Nate sends a text confirming our date for Sunday. I laugh at myself for keeping him in my phone as Actual Satan. I switch his contact info to his name and close the door to Eila's room. Better to worry about Mom later and focus on happy things for now.

The rest of the week is a blur. I spend it at my house processing honey, cranking the vintage extractor, and bottling the amber product in the fresh shipment of jars with my custom label on the lids. Then I fill the food-grade buckets for my wholesale clients, and my freezer is officially empty.

Which means I need to check on the hives. I head to the yard Sunday afternoon, whispering greetings to the bees, thinking it might not be too bad living on my own. The extra honey from Nate's construction site project is like free money, and it should give me more than enough cushion for the rent once I get it sold.

"Hey, you." Nate's voice startles me from my mental math, and I jump, closing the lid to the purple hive. I almost have a full rainbow now since my quarantined bees from the wedding were healthy. I glance at the work clutter all around me; I'm sticky and smell like smoke. Nate grins, like he doesn't mind any of that. "I'm early."

I relax, although he can't be too early. I should have paid more attention to the time.

"Sorry," I start. "I can hop in the shower and be ready in a flash."

He holds up a hand. "I'm the one who's sorry. I tried to call, but I should have figured you had your head in a hive. Anyway, I came early to give you this."

He holds out a smooth wooden sign, etched with Storm Swarm , polished smooth with, I assume, beeswax. I touch the wood, fingers tripping over the delicate writing that matches the font on my labels. "Did you make this one, too?"

"I like making you things." He scratches the back of his neck, his eyes drifting to our shoes. "I like watching your face when you turn all pink like you don't know how to react."

I press a hand to my cheek, which is indeed heated. "Nate, this is beautiful."

He tips his chin toward the porch. "I thought I could hang it there, since you do all your honey stuff up in the mudroom. I can do that while you get ready."

My eyes fly wide. "Wow. That's… really thoughtful, Nate. I don't know what to say."

"How about you say you'll be down in twenty minutes, and then we'll listen to some sea shanties."

"Oh, is it that group of guys with beards? They're so fun."

Nate waves me on and gets to work hanging the sign as I shower and toss on a black jumpsuit I stole from Eliza. I braid my hair over one shoulder, figuring it will dry if it wants to, and pop in a pair of bee wing earrings Eva made after foraging the backyard and dipping her findings in resin.

I meet Nate out back just as he slides the power drill into a tool bag. He glances up and licks his lips. "You look beautiful."

I nudge him. "You also look beautiful." He's got on nice jeans, which means they're dark and a little tight in the butt. He's wearing a perfectly fitted t-shirt that says I sneeze sawdust with a union logo. He tops it all off with a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses that really, really do it for me.

"Should we go?" Nate gestures toward his truck, and I climb in, watching happily as he puts the truck in gear and heads south toward the venue. We leave the windows open, enjoying summer air.

When we walk toward the event entrance, Nate puts an arm around my shoulder. I like it. I like being tucked against his side. Neither of us thought to bring a blanket or lawn chairs, but he has a flash of brilliance, and we grab a pair of buckets from the truck that we turn upside down and use as stools while we scope out the options.

Nate points to a family sitting near our buckets. "Is that lady mixing lemonade with iced coffee?"

I squint. "Yes. Huh. I never heard of that."

Nate scratches his scruff. "I don't think I'm ready to try it. But lemonade sounds good right now."

I bite my lip, wondering something, and decide to just go for it. "Can I ask you about the lemonade… Did you stop drinking entirely?"

"Not entirely. I realized I was abusing alcohol to cover up my grief. That's a line I got from the support group at the church."

I bite the corner of my cheek. "How often do you go?"

"Every week. At first, I felt like an asshole, just sitting there whining about having a dead dad." I wince but Nate pats my leg. "But I realized grief is selfish, and that's okay, and everyone there was hurting. It helped me to listen to other people talk about their own losses." He gives me a small, tight-lipped hint of a smile. "My dad would hate it… but I talk about my mom. She's still alive, but I have a lot of grief over her not choosing me, you know?"

I do know. I know it so deeply I shiver at the thought. "I keep waiting for my mom to leave again. I know it'll happen. She's gone right now, but I don't think it's permanent."

"Eden, you're not alone. I'm here to listen." He places a warm hand on my knee and leans his head against mine. "What will you do if she comes back?"

I'd love to think I'd slam the door in her face and change the locks, but I know I wouldn't. I feel stuck, destined to be the one bailing her out while my sisters learn to say no.

A ball of something big threatens to burst in my throat, so I point to the lemonade cart. "Let's get something to drink. And eat. I'm starving."

Nate nods and stands. We leave our buckets to claim our space near the stage and wander around the food vendors, choosing dumplings and pepperoni rolls. I notice a pizza truck has hot honey as a topping, and I make a mental note to see about infusing some honey with other things for the jars I sell on consignment.

Nate takes a sip of his drink and leans back, glancing down the row of food trucks. "You could make a killing here," he says, pointing to a table where a vendor offers soaps and candles. "Don't you make that kind of stuff?"

I shrug. "Yeah, but I think I mentioned there's a better return for less work if I can sell wholesale. I'm trying to think about a more dependable income, you know?"

He laughs. "I don't know. You see how I run my business. Right into the ground, basically."

"Oh, come on, you do nice work." I squeeze his shoulder. He guides us to our buckets, and we set out our array of food.

"Eden, I don't even know how to use QuickBooks. Yesterday was the first I even heard of QuickBooks when Chris asked how it was going logging into my dad's accounts."

"Hmm." I do know how to use that accounting software, but I'm not about to rub that in his face after he trusted me with this knowledge. I can see he really feels like he's failing his team and his dad. "Well, like you just said to me, you're not alone, Nate." I nearly purr when his face softens. "If you want, we could work on paperwork together sometime. Give each other motivation to file the permits and check the budgets?"

"I'd like that," he says, stealing the last dumpling from the tray on my lap with flourish. The band starts, and I lean against his shoulder, swaying as the group sings old-timey songs.

They finish their set as we down the rest of our drinks, and the next group takes the stage. They play slow acoustic music. The sun sets along the Mon River, and the whole thing is sort of magical, taking place on a site that used to be a steel mill. It makes me think I could be revitalized, too, like maybe I haven't yet figured out my purpose, but that's okay. I can become something new and different. Maybe I can become someone who says no to my toxic mother, or at least insists she pay rent.

Maybe.

I lean against Nate, enjoying his warmth as the sky darkens and the soft hanging lights turn on. The band switches to a romantic song, and I look up at Nate. His breath speeds up and he stares at my mouth. I tip my lips apart ever so slightly, giving him the silent go-ahead to make a move.

And he does. It's so slow, so gentle I wonder if I imagine the whisper touch of his lips against mine, but he's just pulling back to check in with me. He waits until I smile before he goes in for real, wrapping his arms around me and pressing those sugar-sweet lips to mine. I ease my tongue into his mouth, loving the soft groan as his fingers spread across my spine. I shift my weight on the bucket, so I'm almost in his lap, one hand on the nape of his neck and the other on his sturdy shoulder.

I try to communicate my thoughts on fresh starts through the press of my lips and the sweep of my tongue. He groans again and then… he pulls back.

"What?" I gasp, blinking, dizzy. I can still taste him, sweet and salty at the same time, vulnerable and open.

He shakes his head. "I really like you, Eden."

"I like you, too. That's why I was kissing you…"

He tucks a hair behind my ear. "I'm…" He sighs and drags a palm down his cheek. I like feeling the stubble against the tender skin of my face while we kissed. I resist the urge to reach for him. "I don't want to be the guy I was before, using sex and drinking to cover things up."

I stiffen, not sure what to make of this confession. "Were you doing that tonight?" I want to understand. I was really enjoying our honesty, so I lean closer… try to convey I'm still on board for whatever this is.

"No." He turns my palm over in his lap, rubbing his thumb along my lifeline. "But I need you to know I'm trying really hard to do things differently… but I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Is that all?" I laugh. I can't help it. "Nate, I never know what I'm doing." I shift closer to him so we can talk above the music. It's intimate, especially here in the dark. I tell him what I was thinking about this venue, its transformation. "Can we work on our businesses together? I can help you use that software you hate."

The tension melts as he lifts his arm and settles it around me, pulling me tight against his side and resting his chin on the top of my head. "Definitely, Eden."

I can feel the whisper of his breath through my hair, the buzz of his voice vibrating against my back. We sit like that for the rest of the concert, soaking in the energy like noodles—transforming into something soft and tender.