Dad shrugs and waves at the guy across from us who has backed an enormous flatbed truck of corn up to the pavilion.
"I feel like she oughta know where I am and that I'm getting married again."
When he says the word married, my chest squeezes. Even though I'm right here, living with Dad and Renata, I haven't processed the fact that he's really going to marry someone.
"You don't owe her anything," I say.
"I know. But I try to treat her the way I'd like her to treat me."
Dad has always been this considerate of my mother, which is noble, especially since she informed him that she was leaving him for her dermatologist in a thirty second message on his voicemail. After divorcing Phil, she married a financial consultant con artist, but that relationship lasted less than a year. Last I heard, she was dating a retired professional golfer. Mom rarely told Dad about these changes in her marital status, and he only knew because she called me every few months to celebrate her happiness or rail against her misfortune. None of it was ever her fault, of course. Things happenedtomy mother, and she took no responsibility for anything.
"Did Mom know Renata?" I ask.
They all attended the same high school, but Mom was two classes behind them.
"No, but Renata's name came up once or twice over the years. She might remember, but probably not."
We exchange little eye rolls that acknowledge Mom's self-absorbed nature.
A young man with pretty blue eyes and brown hair that the sun has washed blond at the tips approaches our table. He's holding a little green carton full of fruit and has a wide friendly smile that I find myself returning. Nice body, good teeth, confident walk. Check, check, check.
Down girl, I remind myself. The fact that I've been on a sex starvation diet for the past nine months is beginning to show its effects. Lately, I'm thinking about jumping the bones of every cute guy who comes within a ten-foot radius. Hell, I considered getting naked with Seth, which must mean he's right. I am desperate.
"Hey, Herb." The young man's eyes flitter over to me then back to Dad. "I brought you some of our berries, as promised. They're one hundred percent organic and just picked this week."
"Hey, Rhett." Dad reaches out and takes the blackberries, raising the container to his nose to take in their scent. "Wow, these smell amazing." He holds the berries toward me. They smell sweet and earthy, and I can't help popping one in my mouth.
"Delicious," I say.
Rhett looks proud, like he grew and picked these berries himself, and maybe he did. The t-shirt he's wearing says Blue Sage Farm. He's got a deep tan and a wiry, muscular body that suggest he spends his days working outside.
Dad gently wraps an arm around my waist.
"Rhett, this is my little girl, Andie."
I kind of love that he still calls me his little girl. At least someone still sees me as young and innocent.
"She came for a surprise visit from New York," Dad says, "which is so wonderful, I can hardly believe she's here."
Rhett and I shake hands. His grip is warm and firm, and a flicker of lust stirs in me again. I should be glad to know my libido hasn't completely died. It seems like the change of scenery down here has reawakened my sexuality, which is unexpected and not exactly convenient.
"How long are you here?" Rhett asks.
It's a simple question, but I haven't got an answer.
"I'm not sure yet. Probably another week or so."
"I'm afraid she's going to get bored out at the farm, Rhett. Are there fun things for young people to do around here in the evenings?"
Dad is not being subtle, and I'm embarrassed both for Rhett and myself.
"Not much." Rhett doesn't appear phased in the least at my Dad's awkward attempts to fix me up with him. "But there is a local place off of Highway 68 called Ricky's. I'll be there Saturday night with some friends. You should come out, Andie."
He sounds earnest, and I find myself considering the invitation.
"Thanks," I say. "Maybe I will."
I could use a night out of the house, and Rhett is easy to look at. I'm not sure how old he is, but I'm guessing a couple years younger than me.
