Chapter_15

Rosie was on top of Jordan, straddling him, the morning light funneling in cinematically through their bedroom windows, when her phone vibrated on the nightstand for the third time.

Jordan groaned. “Who is blowing up your phone this early?”

She reached to turn it off, but before she could, he’d flipped her over, and soon she was pinned beneath him. He put his mouth close to her ear. “Is it your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Rosie said. “He’s on his way to pick me up.” She thought for a moment. “From work. He would be so mad to know that I’m with you—my boss—in your office.”

Her phone buzzed again.

“OK,” Jordan said, rolling off her. “Can you check, actually? I’m worried it’s an emergency. Maybe it’s your mom?”

“I doubt that,” Rosie said. She picked up her phone to find a series of texts from Dylan. Instinctually, she turned away from Jordan.

g’morning rosie

was wondering

do you have honey by any chance?

actually

well if you do, great

Rosie reread the texts, feeling lightly exhilarated. “It’s Dylan. She needs honey.”

“Dylan’s texting you? Why not both of us?”

“I don’t know,” Rosie said. “I guess she only has my number, from the listing.”

Jordan stared at the ceiling.

“I’m going to bring it over,” Rosie said.

Jordan looked beneath the sheets at himself and laughed. “I mean... right now? Can it wait?”

Rosie climbed back on top of him. “Yes,” she said, setting down her phone and placing her palms on his chest. “Sorry. Where were we?”

Afterward, she lay directly on top of him, which they referred to as “the open-faced sandwich.” Each time, Jordan was a different kind of bread and Rosie was a different topping.

“You’re multigrain,” she said, resting her cheek on his chest.

“You’re smashed avocado,” Jordan said.

His heart drummed against her ear, and she stroked his hair with her thumb. “I’m going to see about the honey,” she said, lifting herself off him. She began to get dressed, picking her clothes carefully and changing twice before settling on her original outfit: a pair of jeans and a wool sweater over a T-shirt.

“Babe?” Jordan said, watching her from the bed. “Will you do something for me today? Will you see if Rainbow Futures is hiring? I know you said you’d never go back, and I totally get that. But they’ve been great in the past when you’ve needed a stopgap between jobs. And that’s sort of what this is, right? Maybe there’s a remote job in Operations or something?”

Rosie winced.

“I know,” Jordan said. “But it would be temporary. Just until things with Noguchi really get off the ground. I wouldn’t ask, but we’re just—you know. We’re in a bind here.”

“I know,” Rosie said. She closed her eyes. “OK. I’ll call. Let me just bring over the honey.”

“Did she say your name?”

Rosie turned around. “What?”

“In the text. Did she say, Hey, Rosie, do you have any honey for me?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “No,” she said, feeling the lie all over her face.

Jordan gave her a look of faux-suspicion. “All right.”

She could hear laughter as she made her way to the outbuilding, and soon the scene came into view: A group was gathered at a picnic table that Rosie had watched Dylan build. Seated at the table were Dylan, Lark, the tattooed farmer, the clerk from the general store, and her child, who sat on her lap. The clerk fanned out a deck of cards for Dylan. Rosie glanced between them all, replaying the kiss between the clerk and Lark. She searched for signs of tension at the table.

Dylan looked up. “There she is.”

Rosie reddened. “Here you go,” she said, setting down the honey. The table was outfitted with indigo-dyed linens, matte porcelain plates, mismatched mugs, and a jar of wildflowers. She hugged herself for warmth. “This looks really nice.”

“Thanks, Rosie,” Dylan said. She stood and drizzled the honey over a plate of halloumi.

“Mint,” the child said.

“That’s right,” the clerk said. “Do you want to find some mint to put on the halloumi?”

The child pushed himself off her lap and squatted near a bed of herbs behind the picnic table, returning with a sprig of mint pinched between his fingers. “Got it,” he said, climbing onto the table and sprinkling the leaves onto the plate.

“Good job,” the clerk said, as the others applauded. “Thank you so much.” She kissed his cheek, and he settled back into her lap. Rosie desperately wanted to join them but didn’t know how to ask. She was overcome by a paralyzing self-consciousness.

Dylan pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “Did you want to sit, Rosie?”

“Would that be OK? I don’t want to intrude—”

“Sure.” Dylan smiled at her and made room on the bench. “Would you like a plate?”

“No, I ate,” Rosie lied. She turned to the clerk and the chicken farmer. “I’m not sure we’ve met.”

“Sorry,” Dylan said. “This is Hank.”

The tattooed farmer looked at Rosie steadily from across the table.

“And Sasha,” Dylan said.

“I recognize you from the store,” Sasha said, looking at Rosie. “You and your...”

“Husband,” Rosie said.

“Right. You bought the most expensive bourbon and the most expensive honey.” She picked up the jar of honey on the table and examined it.

“Sasha, Hank, this is our landlord Rosie.”

Rosie prickled with shame.

“Sorry, I mean neighbor.” As Dylan drew a card, her elbow lightly bumped Rosie’s. She held it to her forehead. It was a ten.

“How does this game go?” Rosie asked.

“Dylan draws a card,” Lark said, “and has to guess the number on the card without looking at it, based on a scenario we tell her. Two is the worst, and ace is the best.”

“OK,” Rosie said, not understanding.

“The scenario,” Sasha said to Dylan, “is that you show up at someone’s house for a job. You’ve been asked to build a shed.”

“Two is the worst?” Rosie repeated.

“And ace is best,” Dylan said, closing her eyes. “OK, set the scene.”

“OK,” Sasha said. “You show up for the job. It’s a breezy, sunny day, and the conditions for working outside are perfect.”

“OK,” Dylan said.

“You’re wary of custom jobs for clients, but the money is excellent,” Lark added. “And when you ring the doorbell, you’re pleasantly surprised.”

“The customer is this hot... low femme,” said Hank, and this made Dylan laugh.

“Big jeans,” Sasha said, “a wool sweater, maybe some lipstick, but nothing more than that.” Rosie looked down at her clothes, her cheeks suddenly warm. Was she low femme?

“It turns out,” Lark continued, “that she isn’t just incredibly appealing and well-dressed. She’s also a talented designer, and you’re absolutely taken with the shed she’s asked you to build. You respect the design and find that it challenges and delights you.”

“Did we mention she’s hot?” Hank said.

“This is sounding like an ace,” Dylan said, her eyes still closed.

“We’re not done,” said Sasha. “You build the shed, and it looks amazing. She’s happy, you’re happy, and you actually end up flirting in her kitchen.”

“Whoa,” Dylan said. “OK!”

Rosie crossed her legs under the table.

“Just before she pays, she turns to you,” Lark said. “And she says—”

“She says, ‘I’ve only ever been with cis guys before,’?” Hank said, and they all burst out laughing.

“Oh god,” Dylan said, opening her eyes. “OK. OK. I think I got it. This is a ten.” She slapped the card onto the table, and everyone cheered. Rosie smiled, feeling both left out of the game and implicated by the scenario. She could have been with Zoe; in fact, she might as well have been. Dylan cleared her throat. “Oh, wait,” she said. “Rosie, did you want to add something?” She pushed her fork into a rectangle of cheese.

“That’s OK,” Rosie said. “I was going to say— No, never mind.”

“Go ahead,” Dylan said. “What were you going to say?” She took a bite.

“I don’t know if I’m doing it right. But I was going to say, ‘She leaves lipstick on your cheek and rubs it off with her thumb.’?”

“Huh,” Dylan said, nodding, and Rosie wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

“Don’t worry about those,” Lark said brightly, when Rosie brought a stack of dishes inside, to the sink.

“I’ll just do a few,” Rosie said. The outbuilding had been gutted down to the studs and was still under construction, which made it feel open and airy. Even in this bare-bones state, it was stylish. Rosie was reminded of Instagram Reels of dogs with horribly matted hair getting shaved and shampooed. Even the mattress on the floor in the bedroom was appealing. Light fell through the windows and caught the beautiful, gauzy linens. There was no sign of mold or dust. The floors were darker and shiny. She wet their wooden scrubber and rubbed it into a block of tan soap. Dylan crouched at the woodstove and started to stack kindling, and Sasha followed Lark to a tall wooden cabinet filled with amber jars and bags of dried herbs. The child hugged her leg.

“Oh, I meant to ask,” Sasha said, reaching a hand to the top of his head. “Do you have anything for this guy’s sinuses?”

“Maybe echinacea?” Lark said. “Try this. How’s the oregano oil working, by the way?”

“It’s incredible. I should have come to you first.”

“Do you have anything that could help with stress?” Rosie asked, drying her hands. From the sink, she scanned the shelves. They were stacked with containers labeled with tape and marker. Valerian, skullcap, yarrow, motherwort.

“Oh,” Lark said politely, as if she was surprised to remember that Rosie was in her home. “I have a few things. Are you on any medication?”

“I’m on the pill,” Rosie said.

Lark studied her before turning to the shelf and pulling down a few vials. They clinked in her hand. “Hormonal birth control often contributes to stress. Have you ever tried Queen Anne’s lace? It’s a much gentler preventative.”

Rosie had been on hormonal birth control since she was fifteen, and it occurred to her now that she’d never considered alternatives as an adult. Her mother had taken her to the appointment after a few months of debilitating periods. You’re very fragile, she had said to Rosie on the drive there.

“And it works?”

Lark handed her the bottle. “It’s been used for centuries. It’s an implantation inhibitor. It blocks progesterone synthesis, which stops a fertilized egg from implanting. Instead of your usual birth control routine, use the rhythm method, and if you’re ever concerned about an unwanted pregnancy, put a few drops of it in cold water and drink it within a few hours of sex.”

Rosie rotated the bottle in her palm. Its label was a piece of masking tape, which in a strange way lent it more authenticity. “So it’s like Plan B.”

“That’s one way to think of it. Without the terrible side effects.” She smiled placidly at Rosie. “The queen has hairy legs.”

“What?”

“That’s how you identify Queen Anne’s lace in the wild. Hairy stems.”

“Thank you,” Rosie said. “Can I—”

“Take it!” Lark said. “Please. It’s incredibly easy to harvest.”

Dylan came up behind Lark and slid her arms around her waist, resting her chin on top of Lark’s head. “I hope what we’ve done with the place isn’t adding to your stress,” she said. “We can always put it back together.”

“Oh, no,” Rosie said. “I can’t believe how nice it is.”

Hank pulled a guitar from its wall mount and began strumming it while the child watched in awe. Sasha started improvising a song that used Hank, Dylan, and Lark in the lyrics.

“Are you stressed about the house?” Dylan asked.

“We’re mostly stressed about money. Jordan’s working on this app with his friend and his friend’s uncle’s friend, but they’re not making any money yet. And we owe his parents money, so we both really— Well, we need to find work.”

“What’s the app again? I didn’t totally understand when he described it.”

“I have no idea,” Rosie said, “and honestly, at this point, it’s too late to ask. It would be like asking someone’s name after you’ve met them three times. Something about HIPAA, helping families, I want to say? But he also says ‘healthtech’ a lot. I hear the jargon and my brain shuts off.”

Dylan turned to Hank. “Didn’t you say you needed a hand at the farm?”

“Oh, I mean...” Hank drummed his fingers on the guitar. He looked up at Rosie. “Do you have farming experience?”

“Rosie farmed for a whole summer,” Lark said. “In Italy. She had a beautiful experience there.”

“Oh—” Rosie said. “Well, I’m not sure—”

“Don’t downplay it,” Dylan said, shrugging. “You’ve farmed.”

“That’s true,” Rosie said. She looked at Hank. “I guess I have.”

Hank looked at Rosie skeptically. “The days start early,” he said. “Like, early early. It’s not like a tech job or whatever you guys do.” He waved his hand in the direction of the house. “And it’s not like we’re picking wildflowers. We’re processing chickens.”

“I can do that,” Rosie said, her heart racing. “I could start any time.” She tried to keep her voice even. She felt a little high.

“Well—all right,” Hank said. “Let’s try it. Why don’t you come by tomorrow?” He turned back to the child and let him strum the strings and slap the guitar. Rosie took this as her cue to leave. “Oh,” she said, turning to Dylan. “I haven’t forgotten about your handkerchief. From dinner the other night. I just need to wash it.”

“Totally forgot about that,” Dylan said. “Keep it if you want.”

Back at the house, Jordan was doing crunches on his yoga mat. “How’s the commune?” he said, wiping his forehead with a towel.

“Thriving,” Rosie said. “The outbuilding—it looks amazing. They totally gutted it. It’s open and airy and—they put in new floors. I barely recognized it.” She slipped off her shoes.

Jordan sucked from his water bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Interesting interpretation of hanging shelves.”

“And Lark gave me this.” Rosie held up the glass bottle.

“What, pray tell, is that?”

“Queen Anne’s lace? I told her I’ve been a little stressed and she said it might be because of my birth control. She called this a ‘gentler preventative.’?” She handed Jordan the bottle.

He unscrewed the top and held it to his nostril. “This smells like something Bridey would put in a smoothie.”

“You should see their shelves. There are probably, like, a hundred herbal tinctures. And it’s all really well organized. I don’t know. Maybe it’s crazy. But she does seem to know what she’s talking about. She used the words ‘progesterone’ and ‘synthesis.’?”

“Well in that case,” Jordan said.

“She said it’s like Plan B, without the side effects.”

“What side effects?”

“She didn’t say.”

“I would be shocked if this did anything besides give you a stomachache.” He handed the bottle back to Rosie. “But, you know, your body, your choice.” He pulled her in by the waist and kissed her cheek.

“And Hank—their friend with the chicken farm—he actually offered me work. At his farm.”

Jordan looked at her for a moment, as though he had misheard her. “Doing what?”

“Butchering chickens, I think.”

“You’re joking.”

“I don’t know!” Rosie said. “I didn’t ask too many questions. But I said yes. I just—I like the thought of learning how to do something new and hands-on. This was the whole point of moving here.”

“Anything else you want to tell me?” Jordan said with a laugh. “Will you be living out of a van or sprouting your own nuts?” He pulled her into a hug. His body was warm, and she could feel his heartbeat.

“Yes,” she said. “And lacto-fermenting all the vegetables from my future garden.”

“Well, before you do all that,” Jordan said, “maybe we can squeeze in an episode, before my call with Noguchi?” He checked his watch. “I have half an hour.”

Rosie pushed the bottle into her pocket. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll set it up.”