Funny Feelings (31)

“I just heard it too,” I snort, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand.

I turn back to the hill, one of countless that we’ve trudged up so far, and wince. My long sleeve shirt is tied around my waist and I’m sweating a bit, too, but, Fee is more vocal about her discomfort.

“I didn’t dress for hiking, Meyer. I dressed for apple picking. We have yet to pick an apple.” She catches up to my side and bends at the waist, bracing her hands on her knees as she catches her breath.

I’m aware of how she’s dressed. I had to stride faster just to get past her in the cute denim getup. It’s a one-piece outfit thing with buttons all down the front, and it hugs her entire body like it’s been painted on. My eyes kept veering to her pert, heart shaped ass in the thing when she was in front of me, until I muscled my way around and in front, stomping the ground in frustrated strides as the years of the comments I’ve heard and read about that ass replayed through my mind…

I take in the forest of trees surrounding us. I just wanted to get to the top of the hill to check out what I assumed would be a nice view, capture our “required” pictures—another fun little assigned prompt for the publicity stunt—but each hill we’ve scaled has just led us further into a labyrinth of trees. It’s a clustered cloud of varied Fall shades, and in spite of the sheen she’s sporting and the irritated look, it happens to be a backdrop that looks made for Farley. Browns, russets, yellows, and reds.

I resent the heat that lingers despite it being November. She belongs in some Lifetime channel small town with three months of pure Fall; all her colors. In crisp, cool air even under the sun.

“L.A. in Fall is bullshit,” is all I manage to say.

“Honestly, Meyer, actual apple picking isn’t really what this was all supposed to be about, anyway.”

“No?”

“No. I wanted some kind of apple flavored drink, to feel some leaves crunch underfoot, and to eat some god damn pie. I also thought I could get you to pose like a stuffed pig with an apple in your mouth. Maybe make a candle. Churn some butter. Buy a wind chime from a man that whittles wood in his mountain cabin and only comes down to sell his wares at the local craft fair. He’s a loner with a chip on his shoulder, but has a soft spot for his one-eyed dog and for the woman who runs the bakery…”

“Hang on,” I say, her monologue lost on me. The woman could write a biography for a stranger in her mind if you gave her sixty seconds. I spot something in the distance and decide to cling onto this plan a bit longer. “I’ll be right back.”

“Meyer!” she whines.

I come back in a light jog, new treasure in hand, feeling hopeful. But when my gaze meets her mildly disgusted one, I frown. “What?” I ask, as she looks around me, searching. I start to deflate. “It’s an apple picking tool, Farley. With a… basket thing.” I urge them both toward her, stupidly. “Now we can actually collect some apples.” She steps to the side and looks harder, so I turn. “What the hell are you looking for?”

“The time machine or portal you just stepped through to retrieve that.”

I roll my eyes and drop them both.

“Meyer,” she laughs. “Come on. Look at that creepy thing. You walked over here looking like that old painting of the angry farmer. I had to.”

I do look, and she has a point. It’s a petrified wooden pole sporting what looks like Freddy Kruger’s curled, rusted hand at the end. But, as Fee herself would put it, I’m just over it now, so I start to make my way back in the direction of the car.

At least, I think I am? Shit, this place is a maze.

“Wait. Are you actually mad?” she calls.

“No, Fee. I’m not mad.” I say, sounding exactly that.

“Annoyed, then?” I level her with a look as she skips to my side. “Good, because so am I. I’m sure I have blisters on my pinky toes, and sweat stains under my ass cheeks. Definitely working on a GoldBond-required type chafing situation. If this were a real date you would so not be getting to first base.”

“I guess it’s good that this is all just fake, then, isn’t it?” I spit, before I can hold it back. I know she was just trying to get a reaction out of me, and I know I played right into it. “You know what…” I sigh, frustrated and defeated. “This wasn’t supposed to go like this. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to make the best of it, and I’m clearly failing. Maybe you should go with one of the football players.”

When I meet her eyes, they’re nervously assessing, even as I’m thinking of a way to backpedal out of that last statement. “We should just kiss,” is the last thing I expect her to say, and yet I’m almost certain it’s what she’s just said.

“I’m sorry?” I shake my head, trying to clear it.

“No, really. Nothing particularly funny is happening, so this isn’t exactly helping me with my material. So don’t you think we should just work on the second part of the assignment? It’s just that, if I need to pose for pictures and practice PDA with some stranger it’s going to mess with my head and be an even bigger distraction, right? That’s, like, one of the biggest hurdles, at least I think, don’t you? I mean, obviously, I don’t want to coerce or force you into feeling like you need to kiss me or anything. But, I also refuse to jump on you in public and make you feel manipulated or forced, then, either. And we can’t do anything in front of Hazel. Not to mention, we have that football game coming up that they want to photograph us at, plus they want the social media manager to start working on my accounts, which means more pictures and PDA. But, of course, if you don’t want to do this with me anymore that’s fine, obviously, totally, but if you are still open to it then maybe we should just kiss and—”