Love & Other Disasters(20)

“You’ve spent a lot of time on farms?” Dahlia asked, her shoulders relaxing. “I thought you were from Nashville.”

“My roommate Eddy is on the board of this local co-op, and he got me involved in it. I tried to work at the storefront a couple times, but I was not the best at . . . customer relations.”

Dahlia grinned. “Ah.”

London shot her a defensive look. “I can be quite friendly, you know. These co-op customers are just . . . special. So now I help with runs to local farms a couple times a month, transporting stuff back and forth. Most of the farms do their own deliveries, but if we have a special order, or sudden demand . . . ” London shrugged. “Some of the farmers are old and cranky, but a lot of them are young, actually, doing really cool things. Although I like the old and cranky ones, too.”

A pang of homesickness hit London’s gut.

“I like them. The farmers. So sometimes if I’m bored, or whatever, I’ll go to some of the farms to help out. They always need help.”

They paused, aware they were rambling. Even still, they felt compelled to add a minute later, “It feels good. Seeing where your food comes from.” And then they blushed, at how earnest this came out, and they finally did shut their mouth.

Helping out the co-op, working on the farms meant a lot to them, though. For the last few years, London had made a conscious effort to give back, to be a more useful person. It was why they felt so invested in this LGBTQ nonprofit idea, if they won Chef’s Special.

Their family had always been well off. London’s parents both worked in pharmaceuticals, each in different capacities: their mom on the science end, their dad on the business side. They had grown up in a large house outside Nashville, with a nanny and private tutors, housekeepers, and landscapers. The house was surrounded by a spacious, lusciously green yard with rolling hills beyond, which London could gaze upon from the small balcony off their bedroom. The Parkers kept a boat on Percy Priest Lake and took vacations every summer, to locales both near and far.

London had loved almost everything about the external parts of their childhood. And they realized now how lucky and privileged they had been.

The internal parts of their childhood, of course, had been trickier. Julie had always been their steadfast best friend, and they’d had other friends, too, a couple of relationships in high school. But London had always felt . . . off. Painfully awkward. Never quite fitting in, at least not exactly, not the way they wanted to. They figured all teenagers felt a little strange in their skin. It wasn’t until college that London realized not all teenagers felt quite like them.

“Huh.” Dahlia was smiling now. “Interesting. So why are Tennessee farms better than this one?”

London looked out at the soft hills on the horizon. They seemed to leap from the flat earth out of nowhere, breathtaking in their own way. They were also entirely devoid of trees, and strikingly, undeniably, brown.

“Isn’t it obvious?” London swept their arm over the scenery. “Tennessee is green.”

Dahlia thought this over. “Sure. This is pretty too, though, right? In a . . . less green way.”

“No, it is. It is. I just could never live here year-round.”

“Really?”

“You could?” London lifted a brow. “I mean, you’re from the East Coast, right? Could you imagine living in a place that didn’t have real seasons? Where the leaves didn’t change colors in the fall?”

“I do like seasons. But . . . ” London waited, watching Dahlia’s Thoughtful Face. The one she got when she was planning out a recipe, her eyes slightly narrowed, her mouth pinched on one side. “California does have palm trees. And you have to admit, palm trees are spectacular.”

“I do not have to admit anything. They freak me out a little, to be honest.”

Dahlia gasped. “Are you serious? Oh my god, I love them.”

“They look like an alien species.” London shook their head. “Like . . . they make no sense.”

Dahlia shook her head back at them. “You’re wrong. They’re fantastic.”

They stood in amiable silence for a few minutes. The morning was still cool, and London liked the breeze, the lightly sweet scent from the wildflowers that lined the parking lot.

“You really like Tennessee, huh,” Dahlia said eventually, a funny half question, half statement, but London answered anyway.

“I do. Nashville, in particular. It’s not too big, not too small, even if it is gentrifying fast. You really should visit, with Hank. It’s famous for great food and great music. And there are seasons. What more could you want?”

“You think you’ll live there forever?” Dahlia asked.

“Probably. Yeah.” London shrugged.

“And it’s where you’ve always lived.”

London shot Dahlia a curious glance. She was still staring out at the horizon, but she was asking these questions strangely, slowly, like London enjoying where they were from was a recipe she didn’t understand.

“Yeah.”

“Huh,” she said again.

“Okay, you lot, look alive!” Janet clapped her hands and called them to attention before London could find out further what was actually happening behind Dahlia’s Thoughtful Face. Janet stood on a log across the parking lot, the early-morning sun shining through her bronze curls. “You’ll be getting all of your instructions for today from the judges as we film, so be on your toes. We’ve never worked with this farm, so”—she shot laser eyes out at all of them—“don’t embarrass us in front of these people. And make sure you look jazzed about all this nature shit. Okay! Eyes on Audra.”