Saturday morning held the promise of an exquisitely fine day. The sun was out more than ever and my level of optimism was at a rare high that I afforded to leave my sweaters and instead put on my navy blue cardigan. The soft cotton was especially compassionate to my skin. I showered early and had cereal for breakfast while trying to imagine what lay ahead, hoping lady luck won't stop smiling on us so we could make that sale. Marilyn, George and I were to meet Adam at the Central Market so we could show him the way to the farm by car. Meanwhile, I'd have to make a short walk to the bus station and ride for an hour just to get to Central. Then it was another hour to the farm. A bit tedious, but I didn't mind. Contrary to popular opinion I've actually loved long bus rides and extended travel by ship. None of that rushed airplane crap unless absolutely necessary. I've always treasured how long travel gives me time to think and appreciate my surroundings.
I quickly brushed my teeth in the kitchen sink and went back upstairs to double check myself in the mirror. My hair was still damp and out of sorts. Damn, forgot to comb my hair. I tied it up into a haphazard ponytail and pondered whether my plain white shirt, unbuttoned blue cardigan and gray Mary Janes were good enough. Does this say 'simple and honest' or 'I simply don't care what anyone thinks?' It took about five seconds before I made my decision. Fuck it. Both ideas were true anyway. With that in mind, I put my keys in my jeans pocket and walked out the door. The traffic was heavier than I expected but I still got to Central earlier than planned. As I walked towards the rendezvous point, my cellphone rang. It was Marilyn.
"Hi, Marilyn. You guys okay? I'm walking at Central right now."
"Oh, I knew you'd be early, miss. I'm sorry but we're gonna be late. There was an accident at the bridge and there's no going round it at the moment. We'll be there in fifteen, I promise!"
"No problem, I'm ahead of schedule anyways. Oh, how about Mr. Blake though? You called him yet?"
"Yes, miss. He said it was okay and he'll wait."
"Okay, great."
I tried to picture Adam, and that's when it hit me.
"Hey, Marilyn? You still there?"
"I'm here."
"Do you have an idea what Mr. Blake looks like, by any chance?"
"Right! He said look for average guy with brown hair wearing a gray shirt."
Well, fuck. I could instantly point out five guys here with that description.
There were some empty tables and chairs right in front of the market shaded by trees and one particular spot called out to me. I decided to sit and wait for Marilyn and George while scouting the grounds for "average guy in gray." From where I sat, I could see the rendezvous point (also known as the only Greek restaurant in Central) at my 11 o'clock. Nice. From this angle, I could spot any guy who walks into the bistro. I kept my eyes glued to the restaurant's glass doors. A few minutes into my stakeout, I felt someone tap my shoulder. "Excuse me. Is this seat taken?" It was a guy in a black fleece jacket, pointing at the chair to my right. "Oh no, no. It's all yours." I smiled casually and pulled the chair a little so he could grab it easily. "Thank you," he answered. He dragged the seat towards the table behind me and I looked back at the restaurant. Shoot. I hope I didn't miss them when I wasn't looking just now. I stood up, unsure whether to go into the bistro and search or keep waiting. I didn't want to go too far for fear of losing my seat, people were quickly filling up the other tables. I craned my neck and stood on my toes to try and get a view of the inside. "Excuse me." Another manly voice is trying to get my attention. I looked behind me to see who it was but found no one. "Down here." It was the guy in the jacket after all, still seated. "Sorry but I'm looking for some people and you're kind of in the way." I quickly sat down and replied, "Oh no, I'm so sorry." He smiled and said, "You are forgiven. A-are you waiting for someone, too?" Dear God. Small talk with a stranger. "Yeah, I am." It was a little awkward talking to the guy, since I had my back to him and I just twisted my head around to face him while he faced me directly. I could almost feel his breath on my face for crying out loud. I stood up to adjust my seat. "Sorry, it might be a little cramped on your side. Let me just move this... a little..." The chair made horrible noises as it scraped on the stone floor, its legs getting caught in the spaces between the tiles. Fucking embarrassing. Why does this always happen to me? The guy quickly interrupted, "No, that's okay! Ah-if you don't mind I'll just move to your table instead." I looked over to my front and there was an empty seat right across me. "Yeah, sure. Seat's right here." I gestured towards the empty chair. He sat down, hands on his thighs just above the knees, exhaling loudly. I had the chance to observe him much better up close. He had deep-set eyes, a prominent jaw and some stubble, rugged 30-ish features that I thought looked Spanish or Italian. He's no cheesy, Herculean soap opera hunk but he wasn't half bad. He had an average smile, an air of authority, but not intimidating. He seemed to me like the type of guy who's serious when he needs to be but also very loose and casual otherwise. Not too tall, the length of his limbs were just right. He wore navy blue jeans and taupe boat shoes. An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments. Dammit. Now someone has to start talking. Maybe I should ask where he's from. His name? Who he's waiting for? His fucking shoe size? Anything!? I started to talk.
"So what..."
"Do you..."
I stopped to let him continue. He stopped to let me continue. God-fucking-dammit. We both laughed at ourselves for even trying. I checked my phone for any messages or missed calls from Marilyn. Nothing. The guy spoke first. "Do you mind if I removed my jacket real quick? I just didn't think it would be this warm today." I shook my head. "No, go ahead." He sighed in relief. "Thank you." He unzipped his fleece jacket down the middle, pulled his arms out of the sleeves and hung it on his shoulder. All his movement caused a slight breeze from his direction to slam into my face and I detected the scent of his cologne. Mother of god. I hate the smell of men's perfume. He was wearing a plain, V-neck cotton shirt underneath the whole time. Slate gray.
No fucking way.
I covered my mouth in disbelief, also to keep myself from grinning and laughing at the fucked up humor the universe was playing on me. What did Marilyn say again? Brown hair, was it? Yeah, he had dark brown hair. Only I didn't see it right away thanks to the shady corner we shared. He looks like our guy, sure, but there's still a small chance he isn't Adam at all. He didn't seem like the guy I spoke with on the phone. Then again, this one was a bit of a mystery to me despite all I've observed. I decided to play it safe. I leaned back onto my seat and asked, "This is a pretty small town, right?" Almost-Adam quickly turned his head from looking at the restaurant entrance to face me, probably surprised that I started a conversation. "It is, actually." He shifted his gaze onto the shops to my left, then back to me. "Are you new here?" He crossed his arms and leaned back as well, eyes fixed on mine. He had an intense look, like he was trying to dig into my head with his stare. "I am. I just moved here about a month ago." Almost-Adam nodded his head in understanding. "Here on business?" He started looking around while waiting for my answer. God, he's probably wondering where we are. I continued, eyes lowered, toying with my phone on the table. "Yes. And, uh. You probably know a lot of people around here, right?" The guy was distracted and almost whispered. "Right." So I continued. "Does the name Adam Blake ring any bell? I'm supposed to meet him." I stopped tinkering with my phone and shot my gaze back up at him, anxious to see his reaction. He snapped his head in my direction, still with his arms crossed. Here comes the revelation. He stared at me wide-eyed for two seconds and straightened up. I wanted to burst out laughing so hard but I managed to contain it. "You're kidding me. Sylvia?" Oh god, it IS him. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I laughed out loud and said, "Yes, Mr. Blake. It's me. Nice to meet you." Standing up, I held out my hand and Definitely-Adam followed suit and shook it firmly. He chuckled, shook his head and said, "Likewise. That was NOT how I expected to meet you. We should probably head to the restaurant and wait there." I picked up my phone, checking for any messages. "Yes, definitely." We walked towards the bistro and stopped right across the entryway, looking around. He's probably uncertain if we should get a table. "I'm sorry it's taking a while, Mr. Blake. But George and Marilyn are on their way. They just got held up by a road block. An accident, I'm afraid." Adam put his hands in his pockets. "No problem, I don't mind waiting. And please call me Adam." I smiled. "Okay, Adam." He turned towards the restaurant, saying, "Perhaps we should get a table inside?" I looked at him and that was when I realized he was slightly taller than me and I had to look up a little bit to meet his gaze. "Um..." I didn't want to end up sitting and waiting again and much less having to order something, so I checked my phone first for any news from Marilyn. My timing was perfect. "Wait, they're calling me right now. Let me get this first." Adam nodded. "Sure." I answered the phone and heard a lot of noise from the other line. "Hello? Marilyn?" Sounds a bit crowded. "Hi, miss Sylvia! We're walking towards the restaurant right now... I think I can see you already! And Mr. Blake beside you!" I covered my phone's receiver and turned towards Adam. "They're here, they see us." I angled my phone closer to my mouth. "Okay, we'll wait here." I pressed END CALL. Thank God we didn't have to go inside. We're trying to convince this guy to buy something from us, total strangers, and the last thing we need is a bad first impression. I looked at my watch – 10:04am. Four minutes late. That's not so bad, right? I immediately saw Marilyn and George heading towards us just a few meters away. George was a gray-haired man of about 60 with smiling eyes and a tanned complexion, wearing an unbuttoned, blue checkered polo over a white t-shirt, blue jeans and what seemed to me like brown hiking boots. From a distance it was apparent that he was taller than any of us, had a medium build and a robust gait so you knew at once that he had a regular share of good manual labor. I leaned forward, anxious to walk and meet them. "There they are," I told Adam. "Let's go," he replied, and we moved a few paces before stopping to greet each other. Marilyn introduced her uncle and I did the introductions for Adam. Surprisingly, he was very gracious and up for some more small talk while I was getting worried about the delay. Finally, I had the chance to interject. "Shall we get going then?" All three of them nodded and said "yes" in unison. "Oh, the car's up front. They didn't allow us to park here," said George. "Here, it's this way!" Marilyn pointed out to the car excitedly. As we got closer, I realized I was familiar with George's car. Well, what do you know? Ford Escort, fifth generation. It was in silver. My old car, the one I sold to James was in light blue.
We were bustling with activity from the moment we got to the parking lot until we arrived at the farm. First, Adam gestured towards the back seat and George quickly offered the front seat for him so that he could give a tour of the route, but Adam insisted to let either me or Marilyn sit up front (I'm guessing that was because she was female and a family member, while I was, well... I happened to also have a vagina). Marilyn was torn between respecting her uncle's request versus acknowledging our guest's importance and couldn't really decide. Meanwhile, I had no say on the matter and I didn't want to offend George either. Finally, Adam managed to convince George that the offer alone made him feel honored and that he'd be more honored to let Marilyn take the front seat, and George couldn't say no to that. I mean, even I couldn't say no to that. I hadn't been in that kind of situation until then and as I got into the car I still wasn't sure what all that was about. I guess all four of us quickly brushed it off because although the first few minutes were awkward silences and small talk, the rest of the trip was filled with storytelling, jokes, laughter, and it was like we knew each other for years, a family on a road trip to camp or something except already drunk on the way. Especially since we had both George, who turned out to be a chatty and funny guy, and Marilyn on board, the girl who laughed at every joke and funny story. When she heard about how Adam and I recognized each other at the market, she found it so hilarious that she laughed for at least ten minutes straight, screaming "Oh my god that's funny" over and over and "I'm sorry for laughing, Mr. Blake." Of course, we in turn found her reaction funny and we laughed and she laughed even more and it went on like a contagious disease on rampage. After all, we had at least one hour's worth of stories to tell on the road. Maybe we had no choice but to get comfortable with each other, I don't know. But whatever happened there, it made me forget about the sale. I wasn't thinking of it as a business trip anymore. I guess nobody else did.
By the time we got to the farm, my cheeks were hurting pretty bad from all the grinning. Am I such a sad person that my face gets cramps when I'm happy? George parked the car directly along the west section of his modest orange grove so he could show us the crop up close and use the pathway in the middle to get to his barn where he kept the crates. He told us all about the cultivation and maintenance of his farm and other details about the fruits. Adam and I listened as we all walked along the narrow trail in between trees while Marilyn was a few feet ahead of us, eyebrows furrowed, holding the leaves with both hands and studying them intently. The two men started exchanging farm jargon and I knew I won't be any good in that conversation so I decided to make my way further up the path to see how Marilyn's doing. If she doesn't stop staring like that they just might spontaneously catch fire. I had put one foot in front of me when George asked a question that caught my interest. "How are you involved in the orange business, Adam?" I stopped, wanting to hear the answer for myself. "I have an orange grove of my own that I inherited from my father, a bit smaller than yours, but I just visit once or twice a month, mostly supervise finances and keep a few farmhands at the site. The crop was good last year but this time a hurricane completely destroyed my trees, leaves and flowers were everywhere, it was horrible." George's face was suddenly painted with shock and worry, an empathy only a fellow plant grower would understand. "Yes, I heard about that. I knew it hit the west coast hard and by the time it got here it was already more forgiving, just a lot of rain and moderate winds. I'm sorry to hear about your crop, Adam." He smiled and replied, "Thank you, and I'm really glad I found you here, selling oranges like this. Most of the guys I contacted were all out since everyone out west needed more to fill their orders, usually from out of the country, so I couldn't compete with the selling price." George nodded in understanding while Adam continued. "I almost gave up and told my clients I had no produce for this year. Besides, I'm about to sell my farm anyway and take a job offer in the city so I wasn't too eager to give it more attention than I could afford, until Sylvia here gave me a call." I was lost in my own thoughts and was jolted back to reality when I heard my name. I cleared my throat. "Oh, yeah." Adam was still looking at me when he spoke. "Now I can earn a little more before I stop all operations." I met his gaze to be polite. He turned towards George once more. "I really appreciate this, George. The tour and everything." He made a quick sweeping gesture with his right hand and looked further out through the farm. George smiled and chuckled, "Don't thank me yet until you've seen the oranges, son. Come, the barn's right across here. Not far now." As we walked further up, I looked into the footpath ahead and marveled at the beauty of the scenery. The trees weren't too tall so you could almost completely see the tops reflecting the sunlight warmly on green shimmering globes, and standing under them was being surrounded with specks of emerald and gold. When the cool wind blew the trees made small rustling noises that sounded like a slow, softened raking of autumn leaves and their shadows danced on the ground. In front of me was George and Marilyn with their backs turned, looking out northwest and pointing, discussing how some chickens managed to escape the coop that week while Adam was to my left. I raised my head looking up to the sky, squinting, observing the thin wisps of cloud. I lowered my head and noticed George and Marilyn were already four meters ahead of us. Oh. I must be slowing us down. I made bigger strides forward and watched the soil shift under my feet, turned to Adam and said, "I must be slowing you down. Let's try and catch up." His already deep-set eyes plunged further inward now that his forehead was wrinkled, creating a shadow under his brows and veiling his eyes from the bright sun. He looked at me and said, "Okay." But he didn't walk any faster. O-kay, maybe not. "I hear you're a writer," he said, still looking at me. "How'd you know?" Stalker. "Marilyn told me. Right after you gave me her number, I called her and asked a few things." Oh my god, you sneaky bastard. "That's cheating. I agreed to meet you so I wouldn't have to give you my info, and you go behind my back." I smiled sarcastically. What, you want my fucking resume? He laughed and his eyes were reduced to slits. "I'm sorry. I was curious. I didn't ask much anyway. So fill me in. What do you write exactly?" I put both hands in my pockets and answered. "I don't remember agreeing to an interrogation, but yeah I'm a writer. Poetry." He nodded and smiled. "So you're a poet, and you're name's Sylvia." He stared at me, grinning, waiting for me to get the joke. Here we go again. "Yes. But I'm not gonna kill myself." Probably. He laughed at his little triumph. "I knew you were gonna say that!" I tried to act like I was annoyed but a smile crept up my face anyway. "Besides, I don't have an oven." He laughed heartily, and I couldn't help but laugh with him as well. What is it with this guy? His happiness is infectious... and are we going to hell by laughing at suicide like this? A black-and-white image of Sylvia Plath flashed in my mind, frowning, middle fingers raised. Marilyn must have heard us because she looked back to check on the two laughing idiots in an orange grove. Shoot, she must be wondering why the fuck we're walking so slowly. "Seriously, Adam, we have to catch up with them." I started walking faster and Adam followed suit. "Alright, alright."
As soon as we reached the barn, it was back to business. The inside was spacious and dim and the oranges were lined up in about a hundred and fifty wooden crates neatly arranged on three long tables. Each one was sealed, but at the far end of the lineup was a small woven basket of oranges. I could see their roundness even as we approached from afar. Those are really big. Each of us picked one and examined it. George half-peeled the orange he got and handed it over to Adam, discussing the quality in detail while Marilyn watched Adam take a bite. I let them do their business and found my own spot in the barn, sitting on a lone wooden stool near the entrance. I sniffed the orange, inhaling deeply. That's very faint. I dug my thumbnail into it and peeled a small portion off, sniffing it again. The aroma kicked me in the face. Whoa. I looked back over my shoulder to check on the others and see where they were leaving their peels. George was dropping his to the ground, Marilyn put hers back into the basket and Adam wasn't peeling but eating. Oh well. I put the orange peels into the front pockets of my cardigan. Drowning in my own thoughts, I looked out into the grove as I ate the tangy pulp.
Fifteen minutes later I was still eating my orange when George and Marilyn called out from behind, slowly approaching me. Biting halfway into the fruit, I looked back when they called my name. "Miss Sylvia!" Marilyn whispered excitedly. "Mr. Blake said yes!" She was quietly clapping her hands, smiling proudly. Quickly looking over to Adam's direction I saw him still standing at the end of the long table, talking on his cellphone. I stood up and stopped chewing so I could respond. "Oh my god, that's great! Good work, you two." George reached out for a handshake. "I can't thank you enough, Miss Sylvia." Hesitating, I slowly outstretched my hand. "Oh no Mr. George, my hand's all sticky from the juice." They both laughed cheerily and George shook my hand anyway. "No worries, Miss Sylvia." I chuckled and said, "Please, Mr. George, just Sylvia." He crossed his arms and looked at me. "Did Marilyn tell you to call me that? I'll have none of it. Makes me feel old." Marilyn rolled her eyes, smiling. Just like my grandfather used to say. "My apologies. Just George, then."
The three of us were talking when Adam jogged towards the barn entrance. "Sorry that took a while. Everything's good to go, George, Marilyn. The truck will be here tomorrow morning and I'll wire you the payment like we discussed." He addressed Marilyn directly. "I'll call you as soon as I've sent it, if that's okay." Marilyn blushed. "It's okay." I held back my laughter. OH my GOD. She likes him. Oh, I'm going to tease her so bad later. I looked at George, trying to see if he caught on. He looked back at me in understanding and looked away as we both tried hard to suppress our smiles. I lowered my head and pursed my lips while he tried to cover the left side of his face with his hand so Adam and Marilyn won't see his expression. Oh my god, George. Say something or else they'll notice. "Well," George interjected. Oh thank God. "I hope you guys can stay for lunch because my wife and I prepared a little something back at the house." He pointed backwards with his thumb. "Shall we?" He looked at us with anticipation. I nodded and turned towards Adam on my right. "I can stay." He met my gaze and agreed. "Sounds good to me." George laughed victoriously and clasped his palms together. "Wonderful! Let's go."
We had a hefty lunch and drank red wine out in George's front porch until early evening, talking and laughing for hours. We met George's wife, Sophie, and I found her to be a very kind and simple yet elegant beauty. She had green-gray eyes, a fair complexion, short gray curls and she always moved slowly, ceremoniously. When we were out on the porch she didn't say much but every time she spoke, we were mesmerized. It was like talking to the queen. By 6pm George tried to persuade us to stay for dinner but we all politely declined, telling him we'll be burying him in debt if we chugged down any more of his expensive wine. I didn't know how many bottles we finished, I couldn't count them anymore. I felt a little buzz already by the time 7pm rolled around. Meanwhile, Sophie was handling her alcohol very well in her full majesty. I didn't dare check myself in the mirror, I knew then how I must have had that sleepy look and I was relying on the darkened sky to veil my drunkenness. George's face swelled into a ripe tomato, Adam blushed a little and Marilyn... well, Marilyn was blushing all the time. She kept staring at Adam. Oh Lord, Marilyn, try not to be TOO obvious, seriously. I imagined myself doing a face palm. Marilyn and Sophie were engaged in animated conversation when suddenly Adam whispered to me, "What are you doing?" Huh? "What do you mean what am I doing?" I looked at him intently. "You just did something with your hand." He mimicked the face palming gesture. "Like that." He did it again. "Is it a headache?" Holy motherf- "No, it's nothing. Shit. I'm done. I can't drink any more or else I'd have a hard time getting back home." Oh, fuck me. I totally forgot it's gonna take me two hours to get home. I have to leave now. I looked over at George, who was now drinking his wine quietly and looking over at his farm like a Lion King with his Pride Lands. "Um, hey, George?" Everyone stopped and looked at me as I was standing. "Sorry guys, but I gotta go. It's letting g..." I cleared my throat. "...getting late and I need at least two hours of travel time to get home." George stood up quickly, raised his hand to his head and had a worried expression. "Oh, Sylvia! I'm so sorry I forgot you lived far away." Everyone else stood up and put down their wine glasses. "But you don't have to worry about the bus ride. I'll have Peter drive you home. He needs to buy some stuff at Central anyway so he could drop you off and do his errands on the way back." Dear God, no. I raised my hand in objection. "No, George. But thank you. That's very kind of you. I just feel bad about making anyone else my driver, really." I picked up my cardigan from my seat and put it on. Then Sophie spoke to me. "Sweetheart, it's no big deal. Come on, I won't take no for an answer now." Nice touch, your majesty. George outstretched his hands in supplication. "Oh, alright. But only until Central. Besides, I like taking the bus." I smiled at the king and queen of orange grove. "Fair enough?" Sophie smiled back at me and George exclaimed, "Done!"