Chapter Text
Sun-baked and raw, even the farmer’s skin ached at the end of that first full day. It was a Friday. She was torn.
On one dirt-caked hand, she could clean herself up and head to the saloon. There, she’d been told, she could probably meet most of the town—an unfathomable concept for someone fresh from the city, where you could visit the same bar every night and scarcely see a familiar face.
On the other hand, she was tired. So tired that even trying to scrub the mud out from under her nails seemed as hard of work as anything else she’d done all day. The weeding. The tilling. Cutting trees and hauling lumber. Years of abandonment had made Grandpa’s farm wild again. She’d been clearing the land since sunrise and wasn’t anywhere near finished.
The sunset seemed softened through the cobweb curtain hanging over the window—the melting orange and purple sky had gone out of focus, and was getting darker by the minute.
No more excuses, she thought, putting the scrub-brush down beside the tin basin. She held her now-clean hands out before her to examine the marks of her work. The grime was gone, but they were rough. Her knuckles had a ruddy blush, and her palms were full of cuts. She touched the largest wound, earned from splitting logs, and winced. She’d have to be more careful tomorrow. For now, it was time to take advantage of what little weekend she had. After all, the farm was no office. Crops don’t follow a work week. But, she told herself, they can wait a night.
***
The Stardrop Saloon was, in some ways, exactly what the farmer expected. It had well-worn wooden floors and a couple of equally haggard patrons. Still, it was tidier than most dive bars she’d been to back in the city. And much friendlier, too.
“Well, hello!” A deep voice cut through the thrum of conversation as she entered. A few people looked up from their drinks and from each other to point their gaze at her, instead. “You must be the new farmer,” the man behind the bar continued.
“And you must be Gus,” she replied, approaching.
“You’re gonna have to speak up!” he said.
“Gus, right?”
This—half-screaming over a crowded bar—was the first familiar thing she’d felt since arriving. There wasn’t much she missed about her old life, but these small reminders were a welcome raft to cling to.
“Yup. That’d be me!” Gus beamed. “You adjusting alright? Need a drink to settle your mind? That old farm’s bound to be quite the project.”
“Oh, thank you. But, really, that’s okay.”
“You sure? It’s on the house,” Gus smiled and produced a glass from below the bar. Behind him, a blue-haired girl in a flowing skirt spun from one end of the bar to the other, pouring drinks and dancing in between.
“Take it, kid.” A dishwater blonde, maybe 45 or so, chimed up from the barstool beside the farmer. “Gus is a softie. He won’t hold it against you or nothin’. Free means free.”
The farmer swallowed hard, suddenly aware that she was being watched. Mayor Lewis had mentioned that the town didn’t see newcomers very often, but it only just now registered to the farmer what this might mean for her. Soon enough, she imagined, she’d find out if it was true what they said about small towns.
“Sure,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
Gus nodded and began to pour.
“By the way,” the farmer started, “I’m--”
“We know who you are, kid.” The blonde woman hiccuped, then clapped the farmer on the back. “Pelican Town hasn’t seen a new face in years.” She took a swig from her own mug. “In fact, this calls for a celebration, don’tcha think? Hey! Gus! Bring the kid another. Put it on my tab.”
“But I haven’t even-”
“Loosen up, will ya? Cheers.” With an unsteady hand, the woman lifted her pint to the air. The farmer, uncertain, lifted her own. Clink.
“You’re gonna do just fine, kid. Name’s Pam, by the way.”
***
A couple of rounds later, the farmer could feel a warm buzz in her limbs. She’d never been much of a drinker, but Pam seemed insistent, and Gus didn’t know her well enough to read the nerves on her face. It wasn’t that the farmer minded a couple of drinks, it was just that she didn’t want to imagine the first impression she would make if she had any more.
“Hey, Gus. Joja machine’s broke. Sam told me to come and tell you.”
The farmer hadn’t even noticed him approaching, but, suddenly, a boy in a band shirt was standing beside her.
“Again?” Gus sighed. “Damn thing’s designed to break, I swear. Emily, watch the bar for a sec, if you would.”
“Yeah, and get me and the kiddo another.” Pam brought her hand down onto the counter with a thud. She was starting to slur. Prompted by Pam’s mention, the boy turned to look at the farmer.
“Oh. Uh, hey. You’re the new girl right? That’s cool.” He put his hand on the back of his neck and looked around.
“She’s fittin’ in great!” Pam reached an arm out to embrace the farmer, nearly pulling both of them down from their stools.
“Woah, woah, okay.” The boy stepped back. His eyes, dark as they were, lit up for a moment with a flare of recognition. “Hey. New girl. Abby saw you in her old man’s store earlier. She wanted to give you something but said you hurried out too fast. She and Sam are over at the arcade now. Do you wanna…” He nodded toward the back of the bar. “Y’know.”
Seeing Pam was occupied with flagging down Emily, anyway, the farmer got down from her stool. She wanted to be away from the bar, and fast, but her feet had other ideas. Between the exhaustion of a hard day’s work and the buzz of Pam’s hospitality, it took all her concentration just to keep up with her rescuer. But the boy, already almost to the arcade, either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He kept his head down, his hands in his pockets. Even after she appeared beside him at their destination, he seemed completely unaware of her presence. No, thought the farmer. It wasn’t just her. His mind seemed somewhere else entirely.
Gus was already there working on the broken vending machine. A blond boy—Sam, the farmer assumed—was watching him intently.
Meanwhile, band-shirt boy sat down on the couch at the back of the room.
“Abby: new girl. New girl: Abby.”
The girl sitting beside him, pale and with long purple hair tied back from her face, smiled and waved politely.
“Oh,” he continued, “And I’m Sebastian.”
“Sebastian,” Abby smirked, mimicking his voice. “You sound like your step-dad, dude. You can just call him Seb. Or Sebby,” she laughed, nudging him with her shoulder.
“Whatever,” Sebastian grumbled.
“Yeah, Abigail,” added Sam, looking over from where Gus was still working.
“Doesn’t have the same ring to it, buddy,” Abby said. The way she smiled at him was almost sympathetic, like he was a dog—or a small child.
“Everyone knows everyone’s full names now. Good job,” added Sebastian snidely, looking down at his hands.
“Not Sam’s,” said Abby. “Come to think of it, what is your full name, Sam? Oh yeah.” Her face gleamed with mischief. “Samson, right?”
“Shut up, dude.” Sam’s face flushed pink. “Wait. Who are you?”
The farmer felt her own face begin to prickle. She’d never done well in situations like these—being the odd one out in a group. The sour feeling it all gave her only got worse when she realized Sam was calling her name. Had Sebastian introduced her already? The liquor was starting to make things cloudy.
“S-sorry!” she stammered. “I’m sorry. Just been a long day. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You’re all good, dude. It’s so cool you’re taking that old place over. It looks super haunted or something. Abby goes out there all the time. Uh, well, I mean she used to. You know, before someone lived there.”
“I just like exploring,” Abby added quickly. “I wasn’t trying to trespass or whatever.”
“Oh, um, it’s fine. It still doesn’t really feel like the place is mine.” said the farmer. “Wait. Sebastian, er, Seb, told me you needed to talk to me about something?”
“Uh…” Abby raised an eyebrow—also dyed purple—and looked at Sebastian. “I’m sorry, I don’t think--”
“Oh yeah. That was just something I said to get Pam off your back. My bad.” Sebastian flicked his hair, which hung limp over half his face, out of his black eyes.
“Ohhh.” Abby nodded. “Was she giving you a hard time?”
“She was getting her drunk.” Sebastian looked up at the farmer for the first time since sitting down.
“I’m fine,” the farmer muttered. Truthfully, she felt far from it. The conversation and the liquor were both churning an uneasy feeling in her stomach. “I just didn’t know what to say to her.”
It was only then that the farmer noticed how quiet things had gotten in the bar. Other than a couple late-nighters, the rest of the saloon had cleared. Pam was still in her seat, but had fallen asleep next to her nightcap.
“You looked pretty desperate.” Sebastian took a lighter from his pocket and twirled it in his hand.
“I guess. I just don’t really drink much.” The farmer picked a spot on the wall and tried to focus her balance there. She was starting to feel a little sick. “It’s getting pretty late, though. I should head home.”
“Same,” said Sebastian, slipping his lighter back into his jeans. He stretched as he stood, making his already thin frame look even lankier.
“Well don’t be an asshole, Seb. Walk the poor girl home,” said Abby. She wasn’t laughing anymore.
“I’m really alright,” said the farmer. “Just tired. I don’t know how my Grandpa did this his whole life.”
“You just look a little pale. No offense,” Abby offered. The farmer nodded, but kept her head down. If she didn’t keep an eye on the floor, it might fall out from under her.
“We’ll see you guys later,” Sebastian said. He waved to his friends and started to the door with the farmer behind him.
***
The biting night air provided welcome relief to all but one of the farmer’s ailments. It soothed her sunburn and dulled the pounding the liquor had put into her head. The only thing it couldn’t take away was her embarrassment. She’d come to Pelican Town for a fresh start, and now here she was: stumbling home in the dark. She wanted more than anything to say something to Sebastian, who was walking the same direction, but he didn’t seem like the type for idle conversation. For her, though, the awkward silence as they trudged to their respective homes was almost unbearable.
“Do you live nearby?” She said, finally.
“Not really,” he shrugged. The farmer’s heart stuttered, as did her feet. Should she be afraid? She didn’t know him. Why was he walking this way?
“Oh,” she managed. The night’s insect citizens sang and gossipped in the grass and from the treetops. It was somehow louder than the city traffic and yet infinitely quiet, all at once. Dust floated up in plumes from the dirt path with every soft footfall, smelling faintly sweet. Fireflies glowed like phantom lanterns in the dark. In the distance, her porch light did the same. Sebastian spoke up.
“Sorry about Pam. She was trying to be friendly, I think. I don’t know her, really, but I don’t think she knows how to talk if it isn’t over liquor.”
“It’s not a big deal, I’m just...” The farmer tried out a few words in her mind. Her head was swimming. “Embarrassed, I guess. I don’t really drink much.”
“You said that, yeah.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
The farmer looked at him, peering through the dark to try to discern his expression. His words came short and quiet, but he didn’t seem angry. He didn’t seem much of anything.
“So, where are you--” A sharp sensation ripped the air from her lungs before the farmer could finish her sentence. She was on the ground, somehow—breathless and likely as red as the blood she felt trickling from the re-opened wound on her palm. Sebastian extended his own hand toward her. With her good hand, she grabbed it, and allowed him to help her upright.
“Are you ok?” He asked. His voice was as level as always.
“Where are you going?” She continued. She hadn’t meant to say it, but her mind had only just caught up with her body.
“I’m making sure something like that doesn’t happen.”
“But why?”
“What do you mean why?”
It wasn’t until the farmer found herself thinking how warm his hand felt that she realized she hadn’t let go. Hastily, she did.
“You don’t know me,” she said. “People in the city don’t just follow people home because they’re drunk.”
“So you admit it.”
For the first time, there was the briefest hint of a smile in his voice.
“Admit what?”
“You’re drunk,” he laughed, and started walking again. They were almost there.
“Tipsy,” the farmer corrected.
“Sure.”
****
Once they reached the little farmhouse, Sebastian stalled by the steps. Under the porchlight, she could finally make out his face again. There were deep bags beneath his eyes, which, unlike earlier in the night, were now fixed unwaveringly on hers. With him looking at her like that, her lungs and throat felt the same way they did when she had fallen.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, after a moment.
“I did,” he said. His face was solemn. “You’re bleeding.” He broke eye contact at last as he noticed her hand.
“It’s just a scratch. I’ll wash it up inside.”
Sebastian nodded. “Go on, then.”
“What?”
“You should get inside.”
The farmer, still stunned by the fall, felt newly arrested by this exchange. Nevertheless, she climbed the steps and opened her door.
“I’ll see you later,” said Sebastian. Without waiting for a reply, he took a cigarette from his pocket, balanced it between his lips, and started back the way they came.
***
Sleep didn’t come easily that night, but thoughts of Sebastian did. The farmer didn’t know how she could face him after tonight—or his friends, for that matter. But life in the valley was only just beginning, and though her fresh start was shaping up differently than she’d imagined—it was certainly unlike the life she’d known before.