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“Let’s go with that,” I said. “Where to?”
“Let’s go back to the Don. We can sit on the sand behind the hotel, where we hung out earlier.”
“Sounds good.”
As I turned onto the road, I caught sight of her texting. Unlike me, she used both hands, like a miniature typist. I was more of a single-finger texter. “Letting your friends know where we’re going?”
“Of course,” she responded. “And your license plate,” she added. “I took a picture before I got in.” When she finished, she lowered the phone. “Oh, by the way, I googled heirloom tomatoes after talking to you today. I didn’t realize there were so many different kinds. How do you know which ones to grow?”
“Research, like anything else. There’s a guy in Raleigh who is kind of the world expert on heirlooms, so we met with him to find out what types grow best in our area and what flavors to expect. We spoke to other farmers who grew them, to learn the ins and outs, and then met with potential customers like supermarkets and chefs and hotels. In the end, we started with three varieties, and we’ve added two more.”
“By we, do you mean you and your parents, or your brother…?”
“My aunt,” I said. I wondered how much to tell her, before finally deciding to just come out with it. “She’s kind of like my mom. My mom died when I was little and I never knew my dad, so my aunt and uncle raised my sister and me. Then my uncle ended up passing away, too.”
“Oh my God!” Morgan’s shock was evident. “That’s terrible!”
“It was hard,” I admitted. “Thank you. So, anyway, my aunt and I run the farm. Not alone, mind you. We have a general manager and a lot of employees.”
“Where does your sister live now?”
“Paige lives at the farm, too—actually, we still live in the house we grew up in—but she’s an artist.” I told Morgan about the Tiffany-replica lamps. From the visor in my truck, I pulled out a photo of Paige holding one of her lamps, which I had printed from my phone. When I handed it to Morgan, our fingers brushed.
“Wow! It’s so pretty!” She tilted her head, studying the photo. “She’s pretty, too.”
“There’s always a wait list for her lamps,” I went on, with a trace of pride. “As you can imagine, the lamps take a long time to make.”
“Is she older or younger than you?”
“Six years older. She’s thirty-one.”
“She looks younger.”
“Thanks. I think. But how about you? Tell me about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything.” I shrugged. “How would you describe your childhood? What are your parents like? Do you have brothers and sisters? What’s it like to grow up in Chicago, especially considering you have to carry Mace when you go out?”
She burst out laughing. “Lincoln Park is very safe. It’s kind of a fancy area. Big houses, big yards, big leafy trees. Ridiculous decorations for Halloween and Christmas. I camped out in the backyard for a slumber party once, though my dad did stay on the porch all night. It wasn’t until I was older that my mom and dad bought the Mace, and it had more to do with me going off to college and to frat parties or whatever.”
“Did you go to a lot of frat parties?”
“A few,” she continued, “but I was pretty busy most of the time. I did go to a formal, which was fun, even though I didn’t really like the guy all that much. But, okay, about me: In a lot of ways, it was a typical childhood, I guess. School and some after-school activities, like most people…” When she trailed off, I thought I detected a hint of reticence.
“And your family?”
“My dad’s a surgeon. He emigrated from the Philippines in the 1970s to study at Northwestern. He ended up going to medical school at the University of Chicago, where he met my mom. She’s a radiologist, German-Irish stock from Minnesota. Her family had a cabin on a lake up there, where we spent a part of every summer. And I have a sister, Heidi, who’s three years younger and looks nothing like me, and even though we couldn’t be more different, I think she’s amazing.”
I smiled. “Your family sounds anything but typical.”
“I don’t know,” she replied, then shrugged. “A lot of my friends’ parents were doctors or lawyers, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, and their families came from all over the world, too. I don’t think my family stood out at all.”
Where I’m from, they definitely would. “And you’re the same kind of overachieving academic as your parents, I take it?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you just turned twenty-one and you’ve already graduated from college?”
