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Chapter Text

Take Me to Church

The computer screen faded black and then a screen saver of iridescent bubbles appeared. I looked down at the blank page of a leather-bound notebook, open, in front of the keyboard. This moment of “brain fog” could win the Guinness World Record. I spent one hour scrolling through my socials, my YouTube channel, and emails, but nothing sparked inside me. I turned to Virgil, my 12-year-old black cat, “I think they have the wrong woman. There’s no way I can do this.”
Earlier that week, I had been approached by a cook book publisher and asked to compile various recipes I’ve shared with my multi-million subscribers. Five years ago, I had been laid off. Lost and hopeless, I turned to YouTube and began making food content with an emphasis on home grown ingredients. For five years I’ve shown my fanbase how to grow food in their own yards; big or small, urban or rural, cheap or expensive. Then, I show them how to take the very food they’ve grown and turn it into irresistible meals. When I look out on my garden, I see endless opportunities in the kitchen. But not the blank page in front of me.
My channel had done so well, so I did the impossible. I bought a house! I searched for months, looking for a town or city to call home. I settled on Ponca City, Oklahoma of all places.
I’ve been asked, “Why the hell did you choose to live in Oklahoma? I’ve never even heard of Ponca City.”
And, they were justified in their thoughts. I sometimes wonder the same thing, but simply, I loved the small-town feeling without living in a town where everyone knows your name and every painful detail about your life. The city has beautiful gardens, historic homes, and a sense of community that can’t be beat. Living is easy in Oklahoma. Well, when you’re not dodging potentially life-threatening weather.
That’s exactly what I wanted. Easy. Slow paced. Somewhere people know of you, but just smile and say hello when they see you on the street. I got my master’s degree at an Oklahoma university, and I guess I never wanted to leave again…
Virgil continued to ignore me. I reached a hand out to pet him. He met my hand with his paw and smacked it as if to say, “don’t touch me with your filthy peasant hands.”
I quickly drew back my hand to avoid any teeth or claw marks, “you are lucky you’re cute.”
I tapped the spacebar to wake the monitor. A quick glance at the time revealed it was 4:18 pm. My stomach sunk and my chest panged. He wasn’t… isn’t… a stranger to me; yet, I was aching with anxiety and anticipation. I’ll blame my lack of productivity on his arrival. I couldn’t concentrate when the person I’ve missed the most for months was a mere couple of hours from being with me again. I looked at Virgil, curled up in his window hammock, “if I leave now, I’ll arrive at the airport one hour early, and will have time to wait in the car,” I cocked my head in deliberation, “but I won’t be late. Plus, what if I can’t find parking? I should go soon, and give myself plenty of time to circle the parking lot.”
I nodded and the cat remained comfortable.
In reality, there was no way the Ponca City Regional Airport would have a full parking lot, and it wouldn’t take more than 15 minuets to get there, but I made my way to the kitchen to grab my car keys and bid Virgil Adieu.
As I backed out of the garage, to my surprise, I noticed my hollyhocks were still in bloom. I had been trying everything to ensure they opened up, but for weeks I had been losing that battle.
I continued down my driveway and watched as the garage door lowered, ensuring it shut fully. I turned my head and my elderly neighbor, a seventy-something frail woman, Lydie waved me down as she retrieved her mail from the mailbox.
I rolled my passenger window down and she called out, “I see you’ve got a new car! What is this?”
“Hello Mrs. Lydie. Yes, I got myself an early Christmas gift,” I answered as she made her way to the side of my car.
“Early for sure! It’s only August!” she placed her hand on the side of the car to keep her balance, “what make is this?”
I smiled and let out a little a shallow breath. Talking to Lydie always reminded me to slow down, breathe, and enjoy the moment. I looked up into her eyes, wrinkles protruded from the corners, and replied, “It’s a Volvo XC60,” I paused for only a second, “Recharge if you want to be technical.”
Lydie let out a grin, “you know, my dad used to drive a Volvo station wagon. I only drive American made. It’s better for the economy.”
I smirked and nodded my head. She waved her mail in the air, “well, I won’t keep you. I wanted to say hello. Where are you headed anyway?”
I put the car in park. In true Lydie fashion, she would indicate the conversation was over, but picked it up right as you thought you were free. I leaned a little forward, “oh, I’m headed to the airport to pick someone up.”
“The one here in town? Or the one in Tulsa?” she looked puzzled, “or the one in Oklahoma City? I can’t ever remember which is closer.”
I continued to nod, “the one in town. You know I need a whole list of reasons to drag me into a big city.”
“You might have your friends fly into the city airports. It’s a bit of a drive, but it will save you some money.”
“I will consider it next ti…”
Lydie cut me off, “actually, I think the Wichita airport is the closest. I have a cousin who lives there. My brother used to fly into their airport, visit her, then drive to see me.”
Conversations with Lydie required plenty of patience. She continued, “my brother was from the north east. His garden was beautiful and he had the best tomatoes you’d ever seen! Which reminds me, I still have those beautiful heirlooms you gave me. I just don’t know what to do with them. Do you have a recipe that uses them? I’ll have to get my nephew to put your videos up on the TV. I don’t know how to work that thing.”
“I do. I make an heirloom tomato salad with farmers cheese and a balsamic reduction. There should be a video on my channel.”
“A salad sounds too healthy for me. I tell you what, I’ll just eat it with a good dusting of salt.”
I chuckled, “sounds good to me! There’s no wrong way to enjoy them!”
I glanced down at the clock as Lydie started on about her brother and his garden. Great. Lydie whittled my wait down by 30 minutes, but I didn’t want to waste anymore, “Lydie, I would hate to be rude, but I’ve really got to get to the airport.”
She repeatedly nodded her head, “it’s not rude dear. I’m yaking your ear off. Go get this special someone! I will talk to you later. Better yet, I’ll have my nephew leave a comment on one of your videos!”
I put the car in reverse, “I’ll keep an eye out for it! I’ll see you later, Lydie.”
She said goodbye and headed back to her house. I pulled out onto the road and drove slowly past her house to ensure she made it inside safely.
Once the corner was turned, I made my way to the airport in ten minutes. That left five for me to watch for his plane. My eyes were glued to the tarmac. I tapped my feet against the floor of the car. Then a flash of white against the dark concrete. A plane had landed. My phone, connected through Bluetooth, announced, “text from AJ red heart emoji, heart eyes emoji, red heart emoji. Would you like me to read it?”
I clutched my phone, ignoring Siri. His text read, “I just landed. I will be out soon.”
My thumbs typed as fast as they could, “would you like me to come in?” but my seatbelt was already off and my mind was made up. I turned the car off and swung the door open. My New Balance ‘dad’ shoes hit the pavement, and I sent a second text while walking to the airport “Arrivals” entrance, “too late. I’m on my way in,” with a smiling emoji.
It was likely he was not reading my texts, as we would be focusing on departing the plane. I started to walk faster and made it through the doors. I looked around. The airport was small, so there would be no chance of missing him. I found a small gathering of people waiting for the new arrivals, and joined them. A flood of elderly women hobbled into the waiting area from the arrival gate. Then I found him, towering over every elderly person, funneling through the exit.
Our eyes locked and I waved across the sea of people. My heart beating fast, told me to rush to him, but that wasn’t the kind of man he was. Besides, a silvered hair woman placed her hand gently on his arm, “would you mind taking a picture with me? My granddaughter might know who you are.”
I made my way to the two of them, “let me take it,” I offered, “this way, she can see how tall he is.”
She placed her phone in my hand. AJ ran his fingers through his long, dark, hair and moved a few strands away from his eyes. I took a couple of steps back as she clutched onto his arm, “one... two… three!”
I returned her phone after the photo was captured. She turned to him, “what was your name again? Your music name?”
He nodded. He was so patient and kind. Even at times like this: exhausted from a North American tour, jet lagged, and about to reunite with his partner (whom he’d been separated from for months). He kept his composure. AJ looked down at the woman, who was a good foot and a half shorter than him, “I go by Hozier on stage.”
The woman’s cheeks turned a bright pink as she began to blush, “Oh, I just love your accent! Let me look you up quickly, so I don’t forget your name!”
I interjected, “would you like me to grab your bags?” while locking eyes with him.
The woman held her phone up towards him, “did I spell that right?”
He threw up one finger, “there’s just one bag. The black duffel,” he looked down at her phone, “it is a Z instead of a s.”
He looked back towards me and gave an apologetic smile. I made it to baggage claim and realized it mostly consisted of black duffle bags. The carousel made a full rotation before I could spot the medium sized black fabric bag with an Irish flag patch ironed on the side of it. I turned my head to catch a glimpse of him. A second elderly woman was getting her picture taken by the former. The bag made its way in front of me and I grabbed it. I read the airline tag to ensure it was his, “Andrew Hozier-Byrne”.
I tossed the bag over my shoulder and made my way through the crowd back to him. I spoke over the women, “I’m sorry ladies, but he’s all mine now.”
I grabbed his hand and led him away. It was clammy and callused, as I expected. He hates turning people away, especially old women, but his fingers slid right between mine. This was not the physical contact I wanted upon his arrival: I would have preferred a long and tight hug or a simple but passionate kiss. But, I took what I would get. He used his free hand to gesture a good-bye to the women. They spoke at us, but I did not hear. I was on a mission: get this man out of the airport and back to my house.
We made our way to the exit, and he let go of my hand. He used the now free hand to remove the bag from my shoulder. I led the way to the car. I found the key in my pocket and unlocked the doors. When we reached the rear of the car, my back turned towards him as I attempted to open the trunk, I heard a thud against the pavement and rock shifting against the gravel. His voice, soft, spoke to me, “wait.”
I turned my body towards him and looked up into his eyes. He pulled me into his arms and held me close against his body. My breathing slowed, my heart eased, and I felt the anxiety leave my body like a weight being lifted. This is what I wanted, and perhaps, what I needed.

Back on the road, not a single grandma in sight, I turned my head to him, “well, you can relax now. It will just be you, me, and Virgil.”
He let out a deep sigh, and from the corner of my eye I watched him sink into the passenger seat. He rested his hand on the back of my head rest, “thank you for letting me stay with you.”
I loved the way he pronounced “thank you” in his Irish accent. The corners of my lips turned upwards as I was reminded of how his accent made me feel like a giddy fangirl. We had only been separated a few months, but after a couple of days, you forget how something as simple as an accent can brighten your day.
He continued, “and thank you for saving me back there. I’m sure it’s not the ideal reunion,” he let out a breathy chuckle.
He took his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans, “sorry. I’m seeing your messages now.”
I averted my eyes from the road for a quick second, to look at him, “don’t stress about it. I’m glad I decided to go in or you’d be stuck taking a photo with every person in town.”
We turned the corner on to my street. The neighborhood was historic, and looked the part. About a decade ago, E. W. Marland- an oil baron turned Governor owned two mansions in town. They’ve been deemed historical buildings and turned into museums, but a few of the surround homes, he had commissioned for friends and family, remain as houses. I was lucky enough to snag one with a beautiful garden and small vintage glass greenhouse.
Lydie was named after a close family friend- the widow of the oil baron. The original Lydie was the niece of Marland’s first wife. They adopted her and her brother, stating they could provide better for the two than their parents, and moved them to Oklahoma. Marland’s wife fell ill and passed away ten years later. He had 28-year-old Lydie’s adoption nulled and married her. He was 54. My Lydie claims it was normal back then, but I question the morality of it all.
When he died, she packed her bags and left town. For over two decades her location was unknown, with rumors here and there. She was spotted at an anti-Vietnam war rally, seen working as a maid at a hotel, and receiving food from soup kitchens. Eventually she returned to Ponca City, typically confined in her home or seen searching hen houses for spare eggs. In her later years she played a vital role in the city’s acquisition of the two mansions. Nevertheless, my Lydie recalls her namesake being a treasure of the community.
I get all of my town history from Lydie, typically in fragments I have to stitch together. Despite living here for a year, I have never toured the mansions. I have researched the history to retroactively fact-check Lydie, which she always reports the truth as far as the internet knows.
I get so busy with my filming schedule, but Lydie never forgets to fill me in on the town’s drama and history. At times, the last thing I want is to be roped into a conversation that drags on for too long, but most days she reminds me of a grandmother with so much love and knowledge to share. But, now was not a good time for one of those trademarked “hellos”.
I scanned Lydie’s front yard for any sign of her. We were in the clear.
I pulled into the garage, we quickly grabbed AJ’s bag, and sprinted into the house. Virgil greeted us by walking to the door, making his presence known, and leaving the very moment we acknowledged him. AJ’s duffle tight in his grip, “nice to see you too, Virgil.”
The air was awkward. Being alone with someone you see in small amounts, spread across a long period of time, was never easy. Should I be jumping with joy? Would that scare him? Am I playing it too cool? Is he just tired? Have we lost our spark?
I tried to ease my mind, but it was proving more difficult than I had expected. He took time to warm up. In the past, he and I spent a whole week with minimal talking (of course there are ways to let your body speak for itself). I had thought he was uninterested in me, bored, and spending time with me out of pity. Come to find out, he enjoyed himself the whole time and didn’t think twice about the interaction being awkward.
He had only been to my house one other time, but he led the way to the bedroom like it was his own. The floor boards creaked beneath our feet. He bowed his head and ducked as he crossed the threshold into bedroom. I followed behind him without ducking my head. He dropped his bag at the foot of the bed and turned to me. I slid between his right arm and his body, and looked up at him, “are you hungry? I can cook something or we can order takeout?”
“Not right now,” he wrapped his other arm around me.
I snaked my arms around his torso, “did you miss me?”
He kept me close but managed to sit on the edge of the bed, “as you miss the comfort of your own bed after a long holiday.”
I smirked and my cheeks beamed. He was a natural poet. His legs spread and I slipped my thighs between them. Standing over him, I tilted my head to press my lips to his forehead. I held his head against my chest and gently placed my hand against the side of his neck. My fingers caressed the nape of his neck. What could I say to him? What words could convey how I missed him so? There was no way for me to audibly describe how I wished I went with him.
Where my words failed me, my chest picked up the slack. My heart beat rapidly. His ear pressed against my sternum, I hoped the beating could communicate what I could not. I pulled back, brushed his hair from his face, and gently tilted his head up to mine. My lips met his, soft and warm. My hands traveled to the back of his head, holding him steady. I pulled back, ever so slightly. His grip on my waist tightened. His lips reached out for mine. Once they met a second time, it felt impossible to cease.
I lifted my right knee and placed it next to his left hip. Our kisses began to last longer than a little peck. My left knee lifted and rested beside his right side. My pelvis sunk down, planting myself firmly on top of him. His arms were tight around me, steadying my body. My lips traveled from him, down his jaw line- his facial hair prickling my lips. Breathing heavier, I set my focus on his neck. Kissing where his neck and shoulders meet, I paused to catch my breath. I missed him too.
My cheeks were red and flame hot. I moved my hands to the bottom hem of my shirt, in one swift move, I pulled it over my head exposing my bare breast. Working from home had a list of perks and the lack of bras was close to the top. He placed kisses on my collar bone as I slipped one hair tie over my hand. I pulled my hair back, to the best of my abilities, while he balanced my body, keeping me upright. Using two of my recently freed fingers, I pushed his chin up. Our lips met again. I exerted a small amount of force, pressing my lips to his, indicating I wanted him to lay back. He didn’t detest and fell back onto the bed. I made my way back to his neck.
His breathing intensified, letting out the occasional sigh. I lifted myself, making a gap between up, and slid my hand down his midriff. With one hand I unbuttoned and slid the zipper down his jeans. My hand returned next to his face, supporting the upper part of my body. His hand reached for my wrist. A single finger pried at the second hair tie. I sat up, removed the elastic, and gave it to him. He lifted his head off of the bed and ran his fingers along his scalp. He secured his hair, exposing his cheeks and neck. He sat up completely, and wiggled his fingers in the belt loops of my pants.
“I can take them off if you’d like,” I said in a teasing tone.
His fingers traveled to the button, undoing it, “take them off.”
Sliding off the bed, I stood on the ground. I kicked my shoes off, pulled my socks off, then my ripped jeans. AJ slid his shoes off followed by his socks. He began to unbutton his shirt but I called out, “let me.”
He moved further up the bed and I followed. Back in his lap, I unbuttoned starting from the top. He nudged my chin with his nose, exposing my neck. His lips met my flesh. I let out a moan.
“I think you missed me,” he paused to speak.
I nodded. His fingers pried at the band of my panties. I lifted myself and he assisted me in removing the black briefs. He offered his hand to steady me and spoke, “get up here.”
I hesitated, but I knew exactly what he meant. He laid back ensuring the pillows were comfortable behind his head. I made my way to the head board and gripped it to keep my balance. He placed a hand on one of my thighs, “is this okay?”
I bit my lip, “yes.”
In this moment I realized there is no graceful way to sit on your partners face. I carefully swung my leg to the other side of his head. His hands rested on my hips and guided me down. I took a deep breath in and braced myself. His tongue parted me, and searched. I reminded myself to relax and loosened my grip on the headboard, but kept my palm firmly planted against it. His tongue moved forward and backward, with the curve of my body. I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes. He tapped my hip, letting me know he wanted to see my face.
We locked eyes. Every part of me wanted to shut them, or turn my head the other way, but they stay locked on his dark hazel gaze.
He ran his tongue in circles and I quivered. My lip between my teeth, I tried to suppress the sound. My grip on the headboard tightened.
I threw my head back, released my lip, and could not contain the moans if I tired. He sped up, and pulled my thighs down, preventing me from getting away. My heart beat raced. I was breathing fast, as if I were hyperventilating. “Okay,” I managed to get out as I climaxed, “okay!”
He relaxed his grip and retracted his tongue. I backed up and removed myself from the top of his body. I took my place next to him, laying on the bed. He used the back of his hand to wipe his chin and face, but it didn’t help much. I handed him the edge of the duvet. When he finished cleaning himself, he licked his lips, I leaned in and kissed him. I pulled back, “your turn.”
AJ shook his head, “that was all I needed.”
I gave him a questioning look, “are you sure? We haven’t seen each other in a while.”
“That was plenty. There will be time later,” he paused, “besides, I have been waiting for that.”
I rolled my eyes, but I learned a while ago: if I argue with him about “quid pro quo” sex, I will always lose. So, I’ve come to be free and appreciate his eagerness. I turned onto my back, slid my fingers between his, outstretching our arms and retracting them. I took a deep breath in, “I missed you. Not just this, the sex, but you,” I emphasized the last ‘you’.
We lay there, observing each other’s bodies, as if we were making sure it hadn’t changed while we were separated. My phone buzzed. The notification alerted me of movement at one of the security cameras. I sat up, “well, shit. This is horrible timing.”
I turned my phone over to unlock it. I opened the security app. The camera above the side door picked up activity. AJ inquired, “who is it?”
A smirk crossed my face. The video showed Lydie sneaking past the mudroom door and headed straight to the garden. Our yards were fenced in, but ours had a gate to each other’s property. Likely because our ‘E.W. Marland Commissioned Homes’ were built for close family members, and I never thought to replace the fence. I positioned my body so AJ could see my phone screen. Lydie came back into the camera’s range, with her hands full of tomatoes. AJ turned his head to me, “is she stealing from the garden?”
I laughed, “yes and no. I never gave her permission, but she has been doing this all season. The cameras spot her every time, but she doesn’t know they are there,” I put the phone down, “I don’t mind if she takes them. I have plenty and I’m just glad she’s eating her fruits and vegetables.”
AJ let out a deep laugh, smiling and exposing his teeth. When he calmed down I added, “the irony is, she claims I gave them to her. She’ll talk to me and thank me for the tomatoes I left her, when I did no such thing. She’s better than a deer, honestly!”
He chuckled and I continued, “at least she says ‘thank you’ and has some manners!”

Chapter Text

I stood in the kitchen, fresh panties on, and a loose Master Gardener t-shirt. AJ was in the laundry room washing the duvet cover after the mess we made of it. I sliced some Jerusalem artichokes and tossed them in a pan with butter. My sunroots came up like weeds this year, and provided an abundant harvest. They were heavily hit with garlic and onion powder, followed by salt and white pepper. As they crisped, I prepared a base of leafy lettuce, I harvested earlier that day, with orange vinegar and olive oil. I cracked fresh black pepper and salt as AJ came in, standing in the entry, leaning against the door frame.
“I can make something else if you want. I just started this because it’s fast and easy,” I turned my head to look at him.
He wiped his palms on the side of his jeans and shook his head, “this should be plenty. Can I help?”
I pointed my nose, as my hands were mixing the greens, to the wine rack in the dining room, “could you open a bottle? Anything sounds good to me.”
He grabbed something white, the choice I secretly wanted. He looked around the credenza then surrendered, “where is your bottle opener?”
I rinsed my hands and dried them on a towel hanging from the oven handle, “just a second. I’m not sure where I left it,” I flipped the tubers in the pan.
Once the spatula was resting on the spoon rest I met him in the dining room. I pulled open a drawer on the credenza and he looked in, “this is new.”
His eyes locked on my grinder, rolling tray, and a pack of pink papers. I moved them to the side and exposed the bottle opener. I grabbed it, “there you are!”
AJ raised an eyebrow, “Amelia, are you going to ignore the comment I just made?”
This was the first time he had said my name since I picked him up at the airport, and realizing it filled me with unexpected rage. It was something miniscule, but I had noticed. I hesitated before I spoke quickly, trying to navigate my way around my own attitude, “while you were gone I… Um… I got my medical card.”
I walked back to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact, hoping he would drop it. I turned the gas range off, and set the corkscrew on the counter. He followed with the bottle in his hands, “last I remember, you thought Med Cards were a fad that would disappear one day.”
I didn’t get what I hoped for.
I struggled with the salad servers I removed from the utensil holder, they wouldn’t grasp the lettuce, and I didn’t want to admit user error. He stood next to me and placed the bottle of wine on the counter. I continued to avoid eye contact, “well, my psychiatrist thought it would help my anxiety. I decided to give it a try and it really helped.”
I handed him a plate. Once the dish was in his hands I looked up. AJ was smirking. I couldn’t try to keep a stern face if I tried. I grinned and he spoke, “are you growing any?”
“Of course, I’m growing some. They’re set up in the office.”
I placed half of the contents of the pan on my plate and handed him the spatula. He looked down upon me, “you didn’t tell me.”
I opened the silverware drawer and pulled out two forks, “it never came up,” I presented him a fork, “are you going to open that, or should I?” I motioned the fork to the bottle of wine.
My tone was bitchier than I intended. He noticed, “truthfully, I would prefer whatever you’ve got rolled than a glass of wine.”
My eyebrows raised, “I can manage that.”
The plate in my hand made a clunk as I set it on the dining room table. I made my way back into the kitchen and to the panty. I swung the door open. AJ stood near, plate in hand, and watched as I stretched for a plastic container. I stood on my toes, reaching as far as I could, but I could not wrap my fingers around the canister. I returned to the balls of my feet and turned to him, “AJ, can you reach that?”
AJ was about one foot taller than me, and I was sure he could touch the top shelf with ease. I pointed at the Sunkist prune canister. He came behind me, one hand holding his plate, the other temporarily on my waist as he slid between me and the shelves behind us. I should have left the pantry before he entered, but his body pressed against mine felt good. He reached up, “the prunes? Really?”
He pulled them down and slid out of the confined space. I reached for the plastic container, “Lydie re-gifted them to me, because she hates prunes, and her nephew wanted a laugh. I don’t eat them,” I popped off the lid, exposing about 15 pre-rolled joints, “it is a great hiding spot. No one thinks to look there.”
“Why are you hiding them if you have a Med Card?”
My shoulders shrugged, “I would hide Xanax if I had it. This is the same, I guess.”
I reached in and slid one between my index and middle finger, “grab the lighter next to the candles on the table, please.”
He set his plate on the placemat next to mine. I pulled my chair out, sat down, and leaned back. He lit the wide end of the joint, and I placed the other between my lips. I inhaled, and instantly began to cough. I passed the stick to him once he took the seat next to me. AJ inhaled and I sat up, “wait, should you be smoking? Won’t it ruin your voice?”
Smoke escaped between his lips as he laughed, “I’ll be okay,” he passed it to me and crossed his legs, “the best cure for anxiety.”
I placed it between my lips again and inhaled. The joint then went from my finger to his,
I asked, “is this our first time smoking together?”
My hand reached for my fork. I started to realize a lot happened while he was gone. I should start filling him in. I took a bite of the salad; the greens had started to wilt from the heat of the Jerusalem artichoke. He looked at the pink cylinder between his fingers, “I think so. I usually sneak out to smoke.”
I put my fork down and laughed a hearty laugh, “it’s not really ‘sneaking out’ when you come back smelling like an EDM festival.”
AJ smirked and took a mouthful of the salad. I pulled the decorative ceramic bowl from the center of the table and leaned the joint against the inside wall, using it as a makeshift ashtray.
I turned my head to him, and rested it on my knuckles, “you know, a med card isn’t the only new thing in my life,” my voice cracked as my mouth dried, “wow, I need water.”
My chair creaked as I pushed it back. I made it to the cupboard and pulled out two glasses. I pushed the first one against the water dispenser in the freezer door. When I switched to the second glass, I became entranced with the flow of water. The ‘medicine’ was kicking in.
I removed the glass, water filled to the brim, and returned to my chair. AJ looked worried, “is there a baby I don’t know about?”
My brow furrowed, and I was glad there was no water in my mouth to spit out, “what?” I exclaimed while shaking my head.
I handed him his water, a few drops falling on the carpet below, “what is this new thing in your life?”
“Not a baby!” I yelled, “do I look pregnant?”
He looked me up and down, “well,” he paused and I glared at him, “no.”
“It has been two months since I’ve seen you. I would be showing by now… I think,” I ended with a questioning tone.
I took a sip of my water and looked at AJ over the edge of the glass, “I am not pregnant,” I said as I set the cup down, “I have been asked to write a cookbook.”
He sighed in relief, “it’s about time.”
I cocked my head, “what do you mean?”
My fingers reached for the joint as he explained himself, “your channel has been doing really well for a while. I thought they would have asked you sooner.”
I took a puff and exhaled, “I have a problem,” his hand reached out for the joint, “I don’t know what to write, how to write it, where to write it, who to write it for, or why I should write it.”
AJ set the joint back in the bowl, “did they give you a time frame?”
“They said the first draft should be done in one year, but would prefer I compile existing recipes, which could be completed sooner.”
He reached his arm out and rested his hand on the back of my chair. I pulled my knees up to my chest. With his free hand, he reached for his glass, “so compile and organize the recipes you have online.”
I huffed, “that seems like the half-ass route. I don’t want to appear to be a sellout. I want to give my followers new food. Meals they haven’t seen from me already,” I paused and threw my hands in the air as I started to talk with them “and I don’t want to follow a format that has been done one hundred times before.”
“So, write new recipes. I can test them out for you,” AJ smiled.
“I wish it were that easy,” I turned my head to him, observing the redness of his eyes, “you should understand. It took you nearly half a decade to produce a new album,” I said with a smirk.
“Don’t drag me into this. We are talking about you,” he pointed at me with the glass still in his hand.
“Maybe I should sell out and hope a second cookbook deal comes around. Then I can experiment with the second one,” I grabbed the joint that was just about finished, “I will figure it out.”
I took a hit and offered the last one to AJ, “enough about me. How are you now that the surprise second tour is over?”
He tossed the butt into the ashtray, “I am relieved I can relax now. I’m not sure where to go from here, when you kick me out of your house again.”
I finished my water, “I did not kick you out last time. This house desperately needed renovations before I started filming again, and you needed a place free of power drills and electric saws.”
“I knew there was something different about this place,” looked around as if he were observing the house for the first time.
I wadded up my napkin and tossed it at him. I desperately needed more water. Shrinks don’t warn you how parched you get after smoking the “medicine” they prescribe. I went back to the kitchen and rummaged around the cabinet next to the stove. Pushed way in the back, in the cold dark corner, I found a pitcher I used once for an elderberry lemonade. I extracted it and blew the dust off from the sides. A quick rinse under the tap, and it was ready to be filled by the refrigerator dispenser.
Once the pitcher was mostly full, I returned to the table. AJ had stacked our plates and was making art by dragging his finger in the dressing left on the plate. I filled our cups and set the jug down between us, with a little more force than I thought I was exerting. I sat down, turning my legs towards him, “do you think you’ll tour again? Go back to Ireland or Nashville?”
He licked the lingering vinaigrette off his finger and spoke when finished, “I don’t know. Are you trying to get rid of me?”
I got defensive, “No! I’m just wondering what you’re thinking and trying to start a conversation.”
My heart raced, and my mind started to race with a million thoughts. I focused on my glass of water, trying to suppress the panic. This shit was supposed to have the opposite effect!
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what I want next or how to get this feeling out in words.”
I put the glass between both my hands, “just try. I will attempt to understand.”
AJ sighed, his chest sinking deep, “I’m exhausted,” he paused and I didn’t push, “but I feel compelled to keep performing. We went almost three years, trapped in our homes, separated from our fans, wanting things to return to some resemblance of normal. I owe my fans this, don’t I?”
I tilted my head from side to side, but did not say a word. He continued, “it drains me. Night after night, in a new town or country, hundreds of people there screaming for you, performing the songs each time. It’s all overwhelming. There is no getting used to it. There’s no connection, no variance, and I feel like a bear on a ball at the circus.”
He pushed a lose strand of hair away from his face, “If I return to Nashville, I’m expected to get back to rehearsing, writing, fan encounters, and interviews. So many fucking interviews, asking the same questions. It is draining.”
I nodded as if I understood, but I didn’t. I never really could. I would never amount to the same level as him. I would never want to achieve the same level of celebrity he has. I become exhausted talking to Lydie every day, putting on my ‘friendly neighbor’ persona. I get so tired putting on my ‘camera’ mask or my happy, uplifting, positive personality around my production staff. I couldn’t imagine several interviews a day with vultures, trying to pry open your locked-up trauma, personal life, and thoughts on everything. There was a reason we kept our relationship hidden- to protect our privacy, personal lives, and peace. If he ever told the public he was involved with me, I’d start to get hate mail, constant negative comments, and relentless hate for simply being with a man thousand… no, millions of women idolize and crave. His guard was put up for me, to protect me, because I have more to lose. And, I respected him for that. I am grateful for his discretion.
He avoided eye contact, “if I return home, I’m afraid to shut the world out again. I leave you here, I seclude myself, and I go down a rabbit hole that feels deeper and deeper.
I set the glass on the table and reached out to him, “I’m right here. And, I can take time off and go with you.”
“No, you’re busy with the book deal. Besides, what inspiration and motivation can I find in the place I’ve always known?”
My thumb ran up and down his triceps, “then, stay here. I’m not sure what is inspirational about this place. I picked it because it’s boring, for the most part. And, I’m sure playing house is monotonous in comparison to the international travel you’ve done,” I put on a game show host voice, “you can be a winner at the game ‘American Dream’ or our spin off! ‘Nuclear Family’!”
AJ didn’t laugh. He was deep in his own thoughts. I stopped joking, “well, you can stay as long as you need. And I mean it.”
His fingers ran across the top of his head, pulling the locks that framed his face back, “thank you.”
“We will have to send for your guitar. You can set up a little studio in the guest room,” I reached for the plates, “who knows, maybe you’ll come to love this god forsaken state.”
As I placed the plates in the sink, he pushed his chair out and brought the glasses and pitcher into the kitchen. He towered over me, “Oklahoma is the birthplace of Woody Guthrie.”
I lightly smacked the back of my hand on his stomach, “look who read up on Oklahoma history!” I wrapped my arms around him and looked up, “we can go to the Woody Guthrie museum. If you let me dye your hair and give you fake tattoos, then maybe we can go to the Woody Guthrie Music Festival. Ponca City might throw a music festival too.”
Neck tattoos, purple hair, and a fake nose ring… no one would recognize him!
“No dye. Maybe just fake tattoos.”
I over exaggerated a scoff, “how about a wig? Or we can dress you up as a cowboy! Oh! And you can try out your southern accent! We will start your training in the morning!”
“Well, I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.”
I laughed, “that is the whole point! We disguise you and you try to blend into this crowd.”
He furrowed his brow, “I think someone will recognize me. Especially if I perform.”
I hadn’t thought of the possibility, in fact, I was solely making a joke. Was he taking me seriously? Could we make this work? Just one time? Was he thinking clearly or was it the weed?
Surely it was the weed.
“Darling, let’s discuss this in the morning,” I pulled him tight, “because I suddenly want to order enough Chinese food for your whole band after a long show.”
The corner of AJ’s lips reached from eye to eye, “that sounds like a great idea. Your salad was a great snack.”
I giggled, “I know, right!”
My smile faded as I became aware of my phone missing. I wasn’t wearing pants, so there were no pockets to hold my phone. I broke our embrace to return to the bedroom, where my phone lay on the floor. It must have slipped out when we were making out. I opened the online ordering app and found the Chinese restaurant in my favorites. AJ stood behind me, placed his hands on my hips and pulled me back.
I leaned my head back onto him, “two orders of crab Rangoon or three?”

Chapter Text

Virgil’s weight on my back was like an anvil dropped on me. I opened my eyes, rubbing the night away. Trying not to disturb the cat, I carefully turned head to see AJ next to me in bed. He was sitting upright glasses glaring as the sunlight broke through the gap between the curtains. He had the book I rested on his night stand open. I had placed it there about a month prior, never opening it. I yawned then spoke, “Clark Kent, what are you doing in my bed?”
He peered at me over the edge of the book. Using one hand, he tilted his glasses upwards towards the top of his head. My eyes widened, “oh my god! Superman!”
AJ rested his glasses atop his head and set the book back down on the nightstand, “maybe I can be disguised.”
I nodded in agreeance. He leaned forward to pet the cat resting in the small of my back. About four inches from Virgil, the cat stood up and left. I shifted my body, turning to face AJ, “thank you. My back was starting to get sore.”
“One day he will warm up to me.”
I reached my arm out to caress his arm in console, “doing some light reading, I see.”
“The Beautiful and the Damned. We bought this book together when we first met.”
My face lit up, “I remember. I took you to my favorite bookstore just before they closed for the night. I said I had always wanted to read that, but never had the time to read while I was in grad school. You bought it, and promised me I could read it after you. You’d bring it to me.”
AJ huffed, his smile dropped, “it took me longer than expected.”
I tilted my head from shoulder to shoulder, “there was a small thing keeping us from each other.”
He smirked, “small. Sure. Just a global pandemic that kept us oceans, mountains, and plains apart.”
I scrunched my nose, “like I said, small. Just a paragraph in history books,” I gave him a puzzled looked, “will students have history books in 10 years? Will they even read? It’s truly a lost art… and skill.”
“What about you? Did you read the book I’ve been trying to get you to read for five years?”
I burrowed my head into the pillow, trying to hide from the question. He reached over, brushing the hair out from between my face and the pillow. I shook my head. AJ expelled an airy laugh, “I didn’t think so.”
“One day I will. I promise you,” I said as I removed my head from the pillow.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand as someone called me. I flipped to the opposite side of my body. Peyton, my assistant, had called twice. I answered, “Hey Peyton. Sorry, I just woke up. What’s up?”
“I’m headed your way now. I think I’ve got everything we need, but do you need me to pick anything up?”
I pressed my body up with my elbows, “On your way for what?”
“The talk at the university. That’s today,” she sounded annoyed.
Shit. I forgot I had to give a talk. I massaged my temple, “right. Right.”
“You forgot,” she was annoyed.
I sighed, “yes. I forgot.
“Amelia, I put it in your calendar,” her southern accent thickened the angrier she got, and in that moment her voice was ‘Memaw holding a plate of biscuits and gravy’ thick.
“Yes. Well, I’ve been,” my voice trailed off, “busy.”
“I know how busy you are. I manage your calendar. I leave you alone for one, one weekend,” She raised her voice and I dreaded hearing the next phrase to surely leave her mouth.
“Bless your heart.”
She said it. ‘Bless your heart’ or southern for ‘you fucking dumb-ass’. I cringed, knowing this was not an endearing comment from her.
“You’d forget your own birthday if I weren’t here.”
AJ began to laugh next to me. Peyton caught on, “Wait, who is laughing?”
I sat up, grabbing the pillow from behind me and shoving it into AJ.
“No one,” AJ laughed harder, “Peyton, do me favor. Please.”
“Sweetheart, it’s not a favor if you pay me to do it.”
AJ put his hand over his mouth, in an attempt to suppress his laughter. I took my pillow back, “stop at any clothing store and get the most cowboy-esk outfit you can find. I’ll text you sizes. Maybe a few gumball machine tattoos too.”
“Um, Amelia? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine. Just do it. I’ll explain when you get here.”
AJ was shaking his head. Peyton agreed and hung up. My phone in hand, I turned to AJ as I opened a text thread to Peyton, “have you ever worn Wranglers?”

Chapter Text

Hi! So, I’ve been asked about this work by some people who know me personally. I wanted to give an update on my current mindset about this piece.

I love Hozier. My first tattoo was inspired by him (and it’s incredibly sentimental to me). Like many others, his music saved my life. Just before Wasteland, Baby! Was released, I wrote a list of reasons to live when I was contemplating killing myself every day, and on that list 4 times was “Hozier’s new album”. I’ve been following his career since I was in middle school. My “love” for him has always been personal, deeper than ‘some fan girl’, and I never explored fan groups or really talked about his music with other people.

That changed this year. I joined a fan group on social media around the release of Unreal Unearth. I had a gut feeling that the group would distort my view of him, and would frankly ruin my love for him. I was partially correct.

I was appalled at the toxicity of the fan group. Women would fight over him, like being a fan is a competition. Men would brag about the merchandise they own. And over all, everyone was forgetting that Hozier is HUMAN.

I started to ignore the group, turned off notifications for it, and almost left it (I really just stay to see the tattoos people get, lmao). Work got really busy. I started focusing on other hobbies. I just didn’t want to touch the damn work at all.

The fire that fueled this work was gone. It’s fine. I knew it would come back some day (and I’m sure it really will. The ‘fire’ for my other work is back, like I predicted). But then Too Sweet was released.

I play the bass guitar so, like any right minded bass player, upon my first play through of the song I said to my partner, “I’ve got to learn how to play that!” But I told myself, “don’t get burnt out on this song.”

Wouldn’t you know it… I got burned out, but not of my own volition.

You cannot open a single app at this moment without hearing Too Sweet. And, frankly, it’s driving me to the brink of madness.

I love the song. It’s a bass player’s dream. It’s sooo good. But, for me, personally, the more it’s played, used as background music for TikToks or Reels, and over used… it loses the meaning. I don’t want to sound like a music snob, but truly, if you’re not going to understand or acknowledge the meaning, the artistry, and sentiment behind the song; don’t use it. I have the same problem with every AJR song that’s been used as a TikTok/Reel song. Are we going to celebrate the boys wanting to zone out and skip a whole part of their lives because they’re depressed??? Listen to the whole song. It’s not a celebratory “uwu I’m on vacation” song. Reading comprehension, people. It’s a skill that goes beyond the classroom.

Anyway, I’m not trying to get defensive. Maybe I am in my villain arch…

So, let me get to the point. I’m not feeling it. I’m going to let this Hozier hype die down. I want to save my sanity, especially since I’m going to see him in concert later this year and I want to enjoy it. I also want to enjoy writing this work, and I just don’t see myself producing work (on this specific piece) I am ‘proud of’ while in this mindset.

I just wanted to say the response to this work, especially as this is my first work ever put into the AO3-verse, has been incredible. I am not abandoning this work, but I truly felt I needed to give an explanation as to why the “Hozier EATS” work has been sitting. And, let’s be honest, you’re probably here in anticipation of another “meal”… Dinner and Diatribes perhaps…. One day this work will get there, but not anytime soon.

I truly want to fall back into it. I had fun writing the little bit I did. And, I see it being a hobby/stress killer while I enter the next part of my personal life. But for now, thank you for supporting this work. If you feel like it, check out the other story I’m currently working on (it’s gay… that kinda sounds like I’m using gay as an insult… it’s queer… this isn’t getting any better… it’s LGBTQ+… if you’re gay you might like it…. And if you’re not gay… if you’re not a shitty person- okay I’m done).

Thank you for supporting this work. I’ll be back, someday (god, I sound like my Father in Law…)

Chapter Text

The fresh ground coffee beans sat in the bottom the French press. AJ stood over the kettle on the stove as I pulled three coffee mugs from the cabinet. Once the kettle whistled, AJ poured the water into the coffee pot. I set the mugs next to him, “would you like eggs and toast?”
“No eggs. Just toast please,” AJ responded as Peyton entered the mudroom.
I went to the cabinet to retrieve the brioche from the breadbox. Peyton called as she carried two large bags, “the coffee smells so good, but I should have treated myself to a latte on your dime for the trouble you caused.”
She stepped foot in the kitchen and froze. She stood, jaw on the floor, taking in AJ’s height. She closed her mouth as I set the bread on the kitchen counter, “Peyton, it’s not polite to stare.”
“I’m sorry. You know how I’m amazed by anyone over five foot eight,” she began to speak under her breath, “damn, I hate being five foot one.”
I turned to AJ, “Andrew, this is Peyton, my assistant, stylist, makeup and hair, and all-around life-saver.”
He reached a hand out for her to shake, “hello. I’m Andrew, but you can call me AJ if you want.”
She dropped the bags and stretched her hand out, “nice to meet you. You seem familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. Say something so I can hear you speak again.”
AJ leaned against the counter, “I’m just a stranger, passing through.”
Peyton shook her head, “it’ll come to me one day. Are these clothes for you?”
She continued into the kitchen, “I couldn’t find a gum-ball machine with tattoos, well, there was one with Pokémon stickers. By the way, you owe me. Both of you. I had to search all over that store for jeans that will fit this man,” she gestured to his legs and waist, “look at this! Long legs and tiny waist!”
Peyton took a pair of pants out from one of the bags and held them up. They were light colored denim with a brown leather patch above one of the rear pockets. She folded them over her arm, “and, you know my ex’s mom works at the Western Wear. She is still trying to get us back together,” she paused for dramatic effect, “he’s been married for five years.”
I sliced half of the loaf of bread and set it to toast in a skillet on the stove, “what else did you get?”
She handed AJ the jeans, “besides an update on my ex’s life?”
I rolled my eyes, “Okay, I’m sorry you had to go through that. What clothes did you bring AJ?”
Peyton reached into the bag, “some shoes, a shirt, and a hat.”
The shoebox was grey, I immediately knew what brand shoes she had bought. I laughed as she completely pulled it out from the bag. AJ looked from her to me, “What? What is funny?”
She opened the box and revealed grey HeyDude shoes. AJ vigorously shook his head, “no. I’m not wearing those.”
“If you want to look country, yes you are,” Peyton handed him the box.
I flipped the bread over, “let me see the shirt please.”
She handed me a sea-foam fishing shirt, “it was between this and a red pearl button up.”
I nodded, “very good. The hat?”
Peyton held her hand in the bag, waiting to reveal the hat, “listen, if you want to look like a real, working, legit cowboy: you wear this on the ranch and the nice- stereotypical- one to church. It’s better if you got it for free at a cattlemen’s or wheat growers association meeting.”
I stood with my arms folded, raised my thumb to the opening of my mouth and bit on the fingernail hard. No matter how hard I tried, I could not suppress a chuckle. AJ tilted his head and looked as if he was in pain.
“So, I had to stop at a gas station to get this one. We might take it outside and roll it around in the dirt, give it the worn in look.”
AJ cut her off before she could say more, “please, just show me the hat.”
Peyton slowly pulled the hat from the bag, a red brim between her fingers, “now, before I show you this beauty, I need you to know it’s not what it looks like.”
AJ sighed in relief as she pulled the rest of the hat out. A red trucker hat with white lettering that read, “pretty good for gas station BBQ” in cursive on the front and “Hot Rod BBQ Ponca City, OK” on the back.
I plated the toast and sat one next to AJ on the counter. He looked down at me, “no. I will not wear this.”
“Oh yes you will. Do you want to be recognized as soon as we step foot outside?” I reached for the hat and turned it over in my hands, “it’s not that bad. And, you’re advertising a local business.”
Peyton chimed in, “plus, they really do have the best barbecue in town.”
I stood on my toes and reached to place the hat atop his un-brushed hair, “it looks good! But you’re missing something. Peyton, what are we missing?”
We looked him up and down. I grabbed his hands and turned his palms up. My index finger followed his vein up his forearm, “there’s a sharpie somewhere in my office.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, now say the word, ‘boil’.” 

Peyton leaned between the two front seats of the car as I attempted to keep my composure in a stint of stand still construction-traffic down I-35. AJ was being patient with Peyton as she taught him the Okie dialect, “boy-el.” 

“No, no, no. It’s ‘bowl’. But act like you hate the letter L, so hold it back.” 

My hand found the crown of my head as I combed my fingers through the hair, “we aren’t near halfway there. Have we crossed the river yet?” 

“Not yet. It’s just after all this construction. They’re fixing the bridge. Aren’t you glad I accounted for this and we are still on track to arrive 2 hours early?” 

2 hours early?! How the hell was I supposed to keep AJ hidden from the public eye? Someone would surely recognize his lanky stature and his accent was sure to slip at any time. 

“I figured we could get lunch near campus. What are we in the mood for? Mexican? I think they even have a German restaurant. Maybe we can find something,” she looked puzzled and turned to look at AJ, “British?” 

I closed my eyes and exhaled every last particle of oxygen from my lungs. I could only imagine AJ’s face- brows raised, a slight smile on his lips, as he slowly blinked. I wanted to keep them closed forever. 

AJ simply laughed. Perhaps he was at a loss for words. I somewhat recalled a conversation I had with him, a few years back, about the quality of education in rural communities- so I said a little prayer as I hoped he recalled that conversation. Without opening my eyes, my hands firmly- knuckles possibly white- on the steering wheel, I gritted through my teeth, “He is Irish, Peyton. Irish.” 

“But he doesn’t look-“

I cut her off, “Irish.” 

“what? I can’t tell the accents apart.” 

“There’s a big difference. Don’t confuse the two,” I added. 

“They’re basically the same. What is the difference? Aren’t they the same country?” 

My eyes still closed, I threw up a hand, “Peyton, we have plenty of time on our hands. Perhaps you should read a little about the history of Ireland and Great Britain.” 

“Maybe I will,” she shuffled back into her seat and pulled out her phone. 

AJ reached across and rested his left hand on my right thigh. I took a deep breath in and opened my eyes. When I turned to catch a glimpse of him, our eyes met. He looked at me with a furrowed brow and sympathetic eyes. The car hadn’t moved a single foot. I was worried about our potential tardiness. The more I dwelled on the idea of AJ being recognized, I became more and more anxious. AJ ran his thumb in circles on my thigh, “you never told me what this interview is for,” his voice somewhat soothing me. 

“I’m giving a seminar presentation to the botany department at one of the universities here. They want me to talk to their students about alternative careers, my channel, and how I got to the level I’m at today- I guess. When I spoke with the department head, he said the vast majority of his undergrads have no interest in traditional careers post graduation.” 

Traffic began to flow again, AJ removed his hand from my leg and used it to brush the hair from his face, “what is considered a traditional career in botany?” 

I took a deep breath in, “I think he was referring to research and academia. Some will go into consulting, maybe work for industry,” I chuckled from my nose, “however, when his student took a survey, most said they want to become Growers or ‘online science educators’ aka YouTubers.” 

“Growers, as in farmers?” AJ questioned.

“No. Growers as in Medical Marijuana… Well, yeah. Farmers.”  

“What about you? Have you considered opening your own Marijuana operation?”

I tilted my head from side to side, “I thought about it. There’s a lot of risk in starting your own operation. First, the financing and initial licensing. Second, the security. Third, pest control. Then there’s staffing, packing, shipping,” I over exaggerated my eyes widening, “I have no desire to be a business owner at the moment.” 

AJ put his right index finger to the corner of his mouth. I turned to him and asked, “what?” 

He removed the finger and relaxed his face, “nothing. It’s just that, well, aren’t you a business owner with your channel?” he motioned to Peyton in the back seat, “staff, merch sales, and financial management?”

I had never thought of it that way. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The drive continued for about an hour. We switched from topic to topic, and Peyton initiated a conversation about the only Irish fact she knew: St. Patrick’s day is when you wear green and drink green beer. This led us to a discussion about Peyton’s upbringing as a homeschooled farm kid. 

Peyton got to fill up on chips, queso, and salsa before her meal arrived at the Tex-Mex restaurant she picked out. And, we made it to campus, located parking, and found the biology building with time to spare. We were greeted by a few professors in charge of coordinating the talk, and they escorted us to the room I’d be talking in. 

While daydreaming about this moment, I imagined I’d be in a medium sized classroom, about 30 people seated in plastic bucket chairs with the swing around lap desk tops. Maybe a projector overhead, so I could present a slide show I had saved on my usb. They would hand me a red laser pointer, that may or may not work. I’d present my slides, just as I had during school, and save about 5 minutes for questions. I was prepared for this hypothetical scenario. 

One of the professors opened the door and we were led to a dark hallway. The other continued down the narrow path and said, “let me introduce you to Claire. She’s going to be interviewing you today.” 

Did I hear that right? Interview? 

At the end of the path was a pop up vanity, a mirror with several lights, and a redhead touching up her eyeliner. She took notice of us and finished lining her eyelid. She dusted off her hands and then stretched on out to me, “it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Claire. I’m the president of the Undergraduate Student Association. I’m also the host of ‘what’s the scoop’- the campus wide news segment.” 

I shook her hand, mine suddenly clammy, “it’s nice to meet you too. Thank you for having me here. I’m Amelia, but I’m sure you know that by now.” 

Claire retracted her hand and shared a huge fake smile, “I just want to thank you on behalf of the whole UGSA for being a part of our career talks series. I can’t wait to get out there and ask all the questions I have for you!” 

A soft tone played above us, Claire pointed to the ceiling, “that’s my que. I’ll see you out there soon!” 

One of the professors motioned to AJ and Peyton, “would you two like to follow me? I can escort you to some seats.” 

My heart began to race, I didn’t want to be departed from AJ nor Peyton. Could AJ handle being recognized on his own? I needed Peyton with me in case I had spinach in my teeth from the enchiladas I ate at lunch. 

Peyton and AJ were escorted out to whatever mysterious setting was beyond the dark hall. The other professor stayed with me. As they began to speak to me, a red light lit above the door, and they shut the idea of having small talk down. The sound of a crowd cheering was muffled, but distinct. Then Claire began to speak, but I could not make out what she was saying beyond the sound of my heart throbbing in my ears. There was another round of applause and then the professor gestured for me to follow them. We quickly walked past the vanity, through some doors, and through some black curtains. The professor had disappeared. I was on my own. 

I stood dead in my tracks as I became aware of my surroundings. One portion of the room was a brightly lit sound stage and the other a crowd of 500 plus students. Claire sat centered in the sound stage with a coffee table in front of her and one seat across, and motioned for me to join her. I straightened my spine and attempted to walk to the empty chair as gracefully as I could, but forgot to wave. I failed to acknowledge the crowd, the host, anyone but the lights. I sat down and crossed my ankles, unsure of what to say or do. Claire cleared her throat, “welcome to our show, Amelia.” 

My mouth was suddenly dryer than Death Valley,  so I croaked, “thank you, for having me.” 

Claire pushed a coffee mug of water towards me. I lifted the cup to my lips and took a large gulp. As I sipped she continued to speak, “you have taken the gardening and cooking world by storm, with your YouTube Channel ‘Plant to Plate’. On your channel you walk through gardening in various environments and using the produce in various dishes. I’m sure you didn’t grow up thinking, ‘I want to be a YouTube star!’ So, please, tell us how you came to this unique career.” 

I set the cup down and nodded, “you are right. I never imagined I’d become a YouTuber. When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a teacher. Probably because I’m so bossy,” the crowd gave me a sympathetic laugh, “I’m kidding. I’m not bossy at all, in fact my assistant, Peyton is the bossy one. Not a single video would be published if she wasn’t there to take charge.” 

I looked out into the crowd trying to find her, but in a vast pool of people, I couldn’t find her. I turned back to Claire, “I wanted to be a teacher because my grandmother was sort of a teacher. She dedicated about 40 years of her life to Extension, but wore multiple hats. She was the Osage County Extension Agent- in fact she was the only female extension agent for quite some time.” 

Claire’s eyes widened, “wow.” 

I continued, “when you’re an Extension Agent, now they prefer to be called Extension Educators, you wear many hats. Particularly in counties with low populations- well, we all know Osage County is growing in population and popularity now that another internet famous Oklahoman is taking over Pawhuska. I won’t go there, she’s a lovely woman.” 

The crowd laughed and I began to relax a little. 

“My grandma’s area of expertise was Home Economics, which also goes by a new name now- Family and Consumer Science. But she had to be tough as nails. Imagine, a ranch has noticed their herd is dying off but they don’t know why. The county extension office used to be the first place you’d call, sometime before you even rang your vet. Well, unbeknownst to most of these cowboys, my little grandma would head out there and have to keep up with the ranchers- despite all her education revolving around house keeping so to speak. She  prepared 4-H programs for all the schools in our county. So on and so on. It was very demanding, but a great way to give herself to her community. Somehow, it was almost miraculous, she still found time to have her huge garden.” 

I was worried I was rambling, but at this point, no one could stop me, “some of the best moments of my childhood took place in her garden.” 

I hesitated as I contemplated explaining why I spent most of my childhood with my grandmother. Whatever dam kept the river of memories from flowing opened the floodgates. I stared blankly past Claire as my mind brought up snippets of my mother shoving me into a closet as she brought strangers into our single wide trailer to sell crystal meth. All the times the sale went wrong and she would end up beaten close to death. A clip from every time I had to call my grandma to take my mom to the hospital, and we worked together to peel her off the floor as her own blood acted like glue and attached her to the floor. Finally, red and blue lights blinding me from the passenger seat of an old beat up Chevy Blazer on the day it all caught up to her- the Drug Enforcement Administration finally had enough evidence to convict her. They arrested her as we made it home from the grocery store. A fleet of DEA agents surrounded our trailer and practically ambushed her. Luckily, there were no shots fired, but a lot of screaming, she was shoved to the ground and detained. I watched from the backseat of a cop car while the police officer in the front seat tried to distract me by talking to me about Barbie dolls, but he couldn't keep my attention. I was too old to play with dolls anyway. 

About 1 hour later, my grandma picked me up from the sheriff's department and I never returned to that trailer.

I never visited my mother in prison. My grandma refused to take me to visitation hours- and I never really wanted to go. My summers from then on were spent in her garden planting, weeding, pulling insects off plants, harvesting, and smelling any and all flowers. Not a single peony bloomed without my nose being up in it. Grandma also took me with her when she was called to a farm, home, or ranch. I’ve had my fair share of lime green, snotty, cow snouts shoved in my face. 

I snapped out of my daze, with no idea how long I had been staring into space, I said a little prayer in hopes that it was only a few seconds. I took a deep breath in, “anyway, I had a rough upbringing but I don’t want to bore you with those details. Her garden was my safe space- and having had so many great teachers throughout the years, when I went to college, I was dead set on being a teacher… until I took a horticulture class.” 

Claire smiled frantically, indicating to me that I had zoned out for longer than I had expected. I bit my cheek. Claire composed herself and egged me on, “so, like many, once you were at the university level, you realized your childhood dream wasn’t actually what you wanted to do.” 

I nodded, “yes. Of course. So, I switched majors and even got  a master’s in horticulture. I had just finished my thesis, landed a job at a production facility managing a germination department, moved to Oklahoma City, and then the pandemic hit.” 

Claire nodded, “of course. Perfect timing.” 

“Yeah. So, I was laid off since I was a probationary employee. I took a job a friend offered me with their small landscaping company. It was a huge pay cut, but a job is a job. I basically spent 8 hours a day weeding flower beds in downtown OKC. It was draining physically and mentally.” 

“Oh, I bet,” Claire chimed in. 

“So, to have a little bit of fun, I started a YouTube channel- at first I made videos demonstrating what kind of plants you can grow inside or on a small patio. Then a- uh,” I couldn’t think on my feet.

How should I refer to AJ at that moment? Were we friends or dating at that time? I quickly decided, “a friend suggested I share recipes with the plants I grew. I had cooked one dinner for him in my apartment, and I guess he saw something in me I didn’t.” 

Claire chimed in, “they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Maybe it’s true for YouTube stardom too!” 

I laughed, “I guess so. And yeah, I kept growing and growing and here I am now.” 

Claire uncrossed her legs, “you really have grown. This last year you’ve received the YouTube Gold Creator Award, an award given to content creators that reach the one million subscriber mark. Gaining such a substantial following can’t be easy. What kind of hurdles have you overcome? What sacrifices have you made?” 

I let out a nervous chuckle, “how much time do we have?”