CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
My heart is surprisingly light as we leave the pizza place for the apartment. We talked about some heavy things in there, but it was worth it. I’ve learned so much about Sam, and I like all of it, even though it’s complicated.
He’s an incredible person. He volunteered to be the father of a child who’s not even his, and it sounds like he’s doing a lot of single parenting, too. I have tons of respect for him now that I know his story. It must be especially difficult for an artist like him, being that he’s not able to fully exploit his talent by performing his music onstage. Talk about pressure . . . having to work while also worrying about feeding and caring for a child, and at the same time keeping her drug-addicted mother away when necessary? Damn.
I thought not being able to paint was heartbreaking, but it’s nothing compared to what Sam is dealing with. Now I feel a little bit bad about this bet we made; he’s got enough pressure on him without me adding to the problem. We’re halfway back to the apartment when he stops and points to a boutique that’s lit up from inside. The sign on the door says it’s open until two a.m. for the Halloween season.
“You want to go in here?” he asks, looking at me.
“What is it?”
“It’s a costume store.”
I’m confused. “Are you planning on going to a Halloween party or something?”
“No, but maybe you’ll want to wear a disguise tomorrow.”
“A disguise? What for?” I think Sam’s had too many beers.
He takes me by the elbow and walks us toward the door, opening it for me. “After you,” he says, winking at me.
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s in too good a mood for me to deny him. That phone call he got at the park bummed him out, so if going into a costume shop and trying on silly wigs or whatever will make him happy, then I’m going to do it. I don’t feel tired anymore, anyway. Being with Sam energizes me. He walks ahead of me and I follow. We end up in an aisle filled with masks, fake hair, body paint, and various costume accessories.
“I was thinking,” he says, looking over the items, “if you’re too nervous to paint in public, you could probably wear a costume and it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I laugh, sure he’s pulling my leg. “It would make it worse.”
He’s looking over the shelves, picking up one thing after another. “There’s this DJ named Dead Mouse who wears a giant mouse head when he performs in public.”
“A mouse head?”
“Yeah. And it doesn’t even look like a real mouse head either. It’s like a giant cartoon. More like a big Styrofoam ball with some floppy ears and a nose stuck to it.”
“He sounds . . . interesting.” Sam sure hangs out with some characters—drug-addicted women and men who dress like dead mice? Man, he’s going to fall asleep standing up out of sheer boredom if he ever visits the farm.
“I don’t know him personally, but I hear he wears that costume because he’s nervous about being in front of crowds.”
“Stage fright? Wow. That’s pretty inconvenient for a DJ.”
“Exactly.” He mumbles the rest of his sentence. “It’s inconvenient for a guitarist, too.”
“So . . . are we looking for a giant mouse head, then?”
He glances at me with a half grin. “Ha, ha. No, we’re not looking for a giant mouse head, unless that’s what you want to wear when you’re painting.”
“No, I think I’d prefer something like this.” I slide on a pair of black-rimmed glasses that have a fake nose, eyebrows, and mustache attached. I look at Sam, lifting my chin. “What do you think?”
“That’s hot. But I think you need a little something extra.” He picks up a purple-sequined derby hat and sets it on my head.
I turn left and right, giving him a shot of both of my profiles. “What do you think? Am I awesome?”
He smiles big, revealing his mostly straight white teeth. “Yeah. It’s cool. I would definitely go with that if I were you.”
Getting into the spirit of things, I whip off the hat and the glasses and grab something else. “But what about this? Don’t be too hasty in making your decision. This could be more awesome.”
He checks me out in my new getup, which is a set of googly eyes that are falling out of black-framed glasses and a beard that’s attached to my chin by an elastic strap around the back of my head.
He strokes his facial hair, pretending to be studying me closely. “Wow, you’re right. This is a pretty hot look, too. It’s tough; I can’t decide which one I like better.”
“What about you?” I point at his face. “You look pretty boring with just that beard right now.”
He points at his chin. “You mean this beard? The weirdo beardo?”
The heat of embarrassment rises to my cheeks, but I don’t back down. “Yeah. Your weirdo beardo.”
“Fine. How about this?” He puts a giant Abraham Lincoln hat on his head and attaches a preacher’s collar around his neck, complete with a black half shirt beneath.
“Oooh, I like that a lot, and I think the ladies are really going to be into it.” I’m saying it like a joke, but he does actually look good in it. It’s so bizarre to find out that I’m attracted to men who look like preachers born in the 1800s.
He looks up at his hat. “The ladies, huh? Well, then, I definitely need to buy it.”
My heart skips a beat. It sounds like he’s cool with finding a girlfriend. Jealousy takes over my brain, which is so, so crazy. Okay, I’ll admit that I want to be with him. But it doesn’t matter because I never could be. We live across the country from each other. He’s a rocker who hangs out with party animals, and I’m a hippie who likes the quiet life. Our siblings are in love and could very well get married someday—or they could end up hating each other if things don’t work out. It would complicate things immeasurably for us to get involved, regardless of how things went with Amber and Ty. Besides, Sam seems like a really cool friend. I should be happy with what we have and not try to change things and mess them up.
“Anything else you need?” He points to several items. “Vampire teeth? Fishnet stockings? Magic wand?”
I shake my head. “I think I’m good with these.” I hold up the glasses with the nose and mustache attached. “I’ve got it all in just one piece. It suits my simple style.”
“I agree. Let’s go.”
I walk ahead of him to the cash register, not caring if he stares at my butt this time. He’s got his silly Abraham Lincoln hat that conveniently collapses down into a black disk, and I’ve got my glasses with nose and facial hair attached. We smile our way through the purchases. Even though we pay for our own stuff, the cashier puts everything in one bag and hands it to Sam. We leave the store and pause momentarily outside.
“You want to get a cab?” he asks.
“How far are we from the apartment?”
He shrugs. “A few blocks. I’m not sure, exactly.”
I’m loath for the evening to end too quickly. “Let’s walk. I still have some energy left to work off.”
We start moving. “Yeah, me too,” Sam says. “Which is weird, because I was really tired a little while ago.”
“I guess the anchovies are kicking in.”
“Are you bagging on my anchovies, young lady?”
I smile, my face going warm. “No, I liked the anchovies. It’s the first time I’ve ever eaten them, though. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to do it, but it wasn’t bad at all.”
“You’ve never eaten an anchovy before? Man . . . Is life on the farm a little too tame, maybe?”
“Hey. I’ve eaten a lot of not tame things on the farm. I’ll bet I’ve eaten a lot of things you’ve never tried.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Calf balls.”
He laughs, but when he realizes I’m not laughing with him, he stops. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, now worried I sound like a complete lunatic. “We have to castrate the male calves, or they become full-grown bulls and way too aggressive. And you’ve gotta do something with their balls, so . . .”
“Couldn’t you just throw them away?”
“Sure we could, but they’re edible, so why not eat them?”
“Yeah, okay. Why not. I guess.”
Maybe my life isn’t so tame after all. I’m no longer embarrassed. Why should I be? I live my life by a set of rules, and they’re good ones. I shouldn’t be ashamed of that. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“No. I think you’re adventurous.”
I have to laugh at that.
“You don’t believe me?” he asks.
“No, not at all. But I appreciate you trying to fake it.”
“No, man, I’m not faking it. You are adventurous.”
“Because I eat balls.”
“Well, yeah.” He chuckles. “But also because you live in this different kind of community with an alternative lifestyle, sharing your home with total strangers, being close to the animals you eat. That’s cool. And adventurous, too. Not a lot of people would do what you do.”
I feel like he’s giving me credit I don’t deserve. “It’s not like I have a choice. It’s my mothers’ place. I just live there.”
“Yeah, but you’re twenty-five; I mean, you could have left, but you stayed because it’s a good life. You probably don’t see it as being very wild because it’s what you’re used to; but trust me . . . it is. Where I live, we only eat out, and there’s never anything like calf balls on the menu. Sushi is about as crazy as it gets. We lock our doors and we don’t talk to strangers much. In fact, people never even go outside and walk around.”
“What do you mean, they don’t walk around?”
“Haven’t you ever heard that song ‘Walking in LA’ by Missing Persons?”
“No.”
“Well, it was from back in the eighties, so it was before our time. But it’s pretty accurate. It’s really hot, and everybody just drives when they need to go somewhere. The traffic is ridiculous.”
“Oh. Well, things are probably pretty spread out there, right? Car travel is probably necessary.”
“Yeah, it is. Not like your place. Anyway, maybe someday you can show me how the other half lives.” He looks at me for a second and then goes back to staring straight ahead.
“I’d be happy to. You’re welcome on the farm anytime.”
That’s the last of our conversation before we reach the apartment. I spend the entire trip back imagining Sam at Glenhollow, staying in my home. I think he might like it, and I’m pretty certain I’d like having him there.