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What Dan said is true. I’ve always wanted a life on the farm. I love working the land and growing new things every year. It’s something Harley and I have in common. I want to take her to the orchard down the road from us to pick the green apples.
We’re sitting in Principles of Horticulture, and her foot is wrapped around my leg underneath the desk.
what’s your favorite color?
She scribbles on my paper, leaning over to my side. She’s nearly sitting in my lap, but the contact isn’t enough. I need more of her skin. I purposefully sat us in the back row this time, hoping we could get away with more touching.
red on black. what’s yours?
She smiles, scribbling back. Her ocean eyes are sparkling as she looks toward the front of the classroom.
that’s two colors. cheater. mine’s green.
I don’t hesitate to write back as the professor begins to assign homework to go to a plant nursery and discuss seasonal harvesting of the plants they sell. I guess I have a leg up on this one. I know Harley won’t have time to respond, which gives me the confidence to say it.
it was the red on your inked skin at the beach party. when I fell in love with you.
I don’t wait for her to respond as I begin to pack up. She’s motionless, reading the paper for a very long time. My pens and notebook are put away, backpack swung over my shoulder. I’m surprisingly calm despite the increase in my heart rate.
She slowly begins to fold up the paper, pushing it into her jean shorts pocket. She’s actually wearing a low-cut red tank top today, dark hair up in a big, tangled bun on her head. She belongs on the cover of a magazine, the one my mom would frantically turn over in the grocery store line when I was twelve. Now, I get to stare at her without anyone to stop me.
She’s packing up her stuff with robotic movements. We’re the last students in the classroom again. I wait on her, a cloud of nervous energy surrounding me as I shuffle on my feet.
I wish I had let her have time to respond. Not knowing what she thinks about my confession is worse than a rejection…maybe.
She leads the way toward the door. I step ahead of her to push it open, watching her face as she follows me through.
Her pale blue eyes almost glow in the morning sun, but she’s quiet as we walk. I reach for her hand, interlacing her fingers. She holds me tight, and it’s the only confirmation I need. The tension in my neck and shoulders relaxes. I can wait until she’s ready.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask.
My old plastic phone starts to ring before she can respond. I pull it out, not recognizing the number.
“Hello?”
A wet cough sounds on the other line.
“Hello? This Adam?” an older voice speaks, and I remember the thinning white hair of the old man at the campus police.
“Yes, sir. Russ?” I respond, speaking louder.
“Hope I didn’t wake you. I know you youngsters like to sleep in these days.” I hear him sipping loudly into the receiver.
“No, sir. I just got out of class.”
Harley looks up at me with a smirk. So polite, she mouths.
I smile back.
“Well, do you have a minute to spare in your schedule today?” he asks. His voice gives nothing away, but I still grip the plastic tighter.
“Sure, yeah. I can be there around noon?”
“All right. Bring some coleslaw.” He coughs into the phone again before the line cuts off.
We’ve reached the spot where we split our ways.
Harley turns to me with a question in her eyes. “Who was that?” She’s still lightly holding on to my fingers.
