Despite my reassurances, she still looks distressed. "If we're going to be a blended family, at the very least, I want all of us to get along."
A blended family. I'm part of one of those already, although I never gave it such a pretty label. My mother's second and third husbands have adult children, but I'm not even sure I remember their names. I certainly never thought of them as family.
I picture Seth's face in my mind and tell Renata what she wants to hear. "I'm sure we'll all get along just fine."
* * *
Dad startsthe farm tour with a visit to the goat pasture. Once again, their smell precedes them. After milking them this morning, Dad and Renata put the goats out to graze, and I have to admit they're cute from a distance. When I tell him this, he assumes that I want to walk among them, and heads straight for the gate.
"They're such great animals," he says. "You're going to want to take one home."
I step around a fresh pile of goat shit. "Pretty sure I'd be breaking my lease, but okay.”
Thank goodness Renata loaned me a pair of her old "mucking boots" to walk around the farm.
Dad wants to personally introduce me to all of his furry friends. The goats seem about as interested as I am at making these connections, but that's fine. At least none of them are sniffing my crotch. I pet a few of their heads, noting the softness of their fur, before something about their eyes begins to creep me out. It's their pupils. They're shaped like elongated rectangles instead of circles, and once I see it, I can't unsee it.
"There's something zombie-like about their eyes."
Dad laughs. "Only you would say that about the sweetest, gentlest creatures."
A goat named Rapunzel wanders over, which prompts me to ask Dad if Harmony named all of them.
"She named them until she ran out of Disney princesses," Dad says. "Then we started to go for real royalty. That one is Kate and there's Meghan." He points to two goats who are indistinguishable to me.
Princess Kate is napping in the sun, and I find myself envying her easy life. She isn't worrying about global warming, terrorism or the rising price of the avocado. I bend down to pet her soft fur and whisper, "Things are pretty desperate when you're jealous of a goat."
Dad wants to show me the chicken run, which requires a trek to the other side of the farm. High summer in the country is different from the city, and not only because I'm smelling goats instead of exhaust fumes and roasting garbage cans. The sun feels more direct somehow, like it might burn right through the top of my skull. I push a few strands of sweaty hair out of my face, thinking that Dad's floppy, wide-brimmed hat, although ridiculous looking, was a wise idea. There's no shade to be had in these fields, and no breeze either. And thehumidity. It's not completely oppressive yet, but I'm guessing that in a few hours we'll be moving through liquid air.
"That's Seth's cabin."
Dad points to a white cottage with a screened porch on the front and a red tin roof. I've read about the noise rain makes when it hits a metal roof, and I can imagine Seth lying in bed, listening to a summer thunderstorm with Mutt cuddled up at his feet. He's shirtless in this mental image because, hell, why not.
"I was expecting the cabin to be constructed of actual logs."
Dad laughs. "What, like Abe Lincoln's log cabin?"
"I think Tinker Toys are my frame of reference for log cabins. This place is really nice though."
Based on New York City real estate, I'd guess there is about a thousand square feet of living space inside, which is double my apartment. He's got a chimney so there must be a fireplace or wood burning stove to keep him warm in the winter.
"He built this himself?" I ask, walking closer to the house.
Dad nods and follows me. "He did most of the work. Renata said he spent summers as a teenager working at a cabinetmaker's shop. I guess he got good at building things. He's also one of those people who's not afraid to try anything. He'll watch a YouTube video about installing windows and then go do it. I could never do that."
"That's admirable," I admit, thinking how I'm that way when it comes to certain things, like creating my own website or traveling to foreign countries. I'd never attempt to build anything like this though.
There are two wooden rocking chairs on the front porch and a little table between them with a book resting on it. I can't see the title from where I'm standing.
Dad bends over at the waist and examines his legs. "Don't let me forget, we need to do a tick check when we get home. They head for the warm, moist areas so check everywhere, if you know what I mean."
The thought of ticks burrowing into my armpits and genitals fills me with horror. Immediately, I start scanning the visible areas of my skin, stopping at every freckle and mole to make sure it isn't a bloodsucker.
"Ticks, here? We're not even in the woods right now."
"Tis the season," Dad says, grimacing. "They're everywhere, unfortunately."
Lyme disease. Another reason I have to get my father out of here and back to the city. We may have insidious bed bug issues in Brooklyn, but at least they don't cause scary long-term health problems.
