Stacked together against the cottage door, two packages awaited Kutone the next morning. One, a copious amount of parsnip seeds, courtesy of Mayor Lewis. "Something to get you started," read the note inside. Spring was parsnip season at Stardew Valley, and though it wasn't the most profitable crop available, it was the easiest launch to a young woman's new farming career.
The second smaller package contained an envelope and a new notebook, tags still stuck to its back cover.
Kutone,
Hope you're safe in the Valley. Still not sure why you decided to take up Pop's old hobby as your career, but you took whatever action you needed. That's what matters, and I'm proud of you.
Sent you a new journal. I know you like to take notes on a new job.
Will keep in touch. Stay safe.
"Dad" had signed the note inside. Always the guy who floated with life's current, unflappable Dad only got upset when high-school Kutone went too long into the night without an "I'm okay" text. Even then, while Mom's waterworks flooded into salty stains on her sleeves and collar, Dad poured himself a port, sipped on it, nodded in approval, and snuck a sip to Kutone. When the acidic-but-smooth flare hit the back of her throat, she visibly cringed, and Dad said, "That's how it would feel for us if we lost you."
He'd also left a postscript, alerting Kutone that "Mom is still a little upset," but added his assurance that "she'll come around in time." And the journal was perfect, a russet orange with a snap button latch. According to the same letter, Dad had purposely steered clear of leatherbound, "since you don't have to impress anyone except yourself." She carefully folded Dad's letter into fourths, and along with the title deed to Breezy Banks Farm, tucked it into a pocket on the inside cover. Then, closing her new notebook, she slid it into the back pocket of her jeans.
Now she was ready for her new job.
Gathering her tools, Grandpa's old tools, from against a dusty corner of the cottage, Kutone ran her fingers down the worn handles and miniscule flecks of rust. Still usable, she thought, and with the clumsy weight of hoe, axe, and pickaxe already straining her wrists, the realization of her new life settled like the moment sunshine warmed her cheeks and cascaded over the Banks.
How was any of this real?
Real, like the afternoon sun blazing high overhead, and though a spring breeze from the rivers kept the farmland cool, Kutone wished for an icy skinny dip in the river. Her arms shook from the six hours of mining, trimming, and tree-felling, but she'd cleared out some of the overgrowth for a patch of usable soil. Lewis's parsnip seeds were in the ground in neat rows, and with Grandpa's old watering can, sufficiently watered as well.
She crumpled onto the dirt, and, disregarding her tools clattering behind her, stared up at the sky. "A little elbow grease," as Robin put it, hardly began restoring the farm. Trees still clumped together with weeds and stinted saplings on each of the farm's islands, and the leftover hardwood stumps threatened to splinter her old axe. Already, callouses budded on her shaking palms, and the sunlight raised a line of light bumps down both her forearms. Sun rash, she grimaced. Long time, no see. At least for now, they didn't itch. Kutone took out and opened her journal, and pulling out the pen nestled in the spine, wrote her first note of the day.
Pacing—don't overdo it. Get work gloves and sun protectors.
Her arms gave out again after the second period. She was seriously that out of shape? Cubicle Hell really did do some atrocious things to a woman's body, after all. At least the new work would force her into a regular workout routine. And, who knew, her squishy 26-year-old body—just starting to threaten its second puberty—might eventually pare down to her teenage sizes again. If not that, at least she'd have nice arms and shoulders.
But that started with slowing down.
Shielding her eyes against the sun, she straightened her back and surveyed the farm once again, noticing for the first time, the mailbox just to the side of her cottage. Its red flag stood up—somehow she already had mail. Whispering encouragement to her worn limbs, Kutone struggled upright, and trudged toward the mailbox.
Inside was another note from Lewis. He'd probably delivered it with Kutone's packages.
I hope you rested well!
I understand you have much work ahead to get Breezy Banks back in working order, but I want you to join the Pelican Town community as a core member. We're a small community, but close-knit, and I'd hate to see you remain an outsider due to work overwhelming you.
So take some time to walk around and introduce yourself. It'll be a good start.
Willfully speak to other people? Kutone sighed—hadn't she escaped that chore by dropping off the Zuzu City grid? Mindless, pointless small talk that went nowhere except in circles, in a careless imitation of friendship—hadn't she left that Mobius loop of asinine relations, with end results always a drink too many and another regret in bed? But maybe… Kutone turned toward the path leading down to the village. Maybe it was the people of the city. Maybe the people of Pelican Town would convince her, no, humans held on to each other longer, and for more reasons than a vapid pretend. Country air tasted fluffy and crisp, unlike the acidic, doughy taste of the city, and maybe, flavored the people differently.
Her arms weren't going to relax any time soon, anyway.
The last time Kutone had taken people-watching notes, she fancied herself a high school sleuth of character, and voraciously recorded the results of her psychoanalysis into her trusty notebook. Such results included long, detailed bios of her high school peers and teachers, but, just like any other failed high school endeavor, she almost always turned out wrong in her assumptions. Of course, back then, she considered "disheartened" a foreign word, and abhorred the judging eye. If only she hadn't lost that zeal during college, after undergrad, through Joja…
So when she stared at her notes and her heartbeat went giddy with haughty understanding, Kutone felt odd. Incredibly odd. Her notes were, for certain, wrong, weren't they?
Gus – bartender/owner of Stardrop Saloon. Best spaghetti and wine—chef at one point? Saloon financially OK in the countryside?
Lewis – mayor, dedicated, like a second Grandpa Issu. Looks out for everyone. How about himself?
She paused with the point of her pen still on the page, and furrowed her brow with consternation. Just why did she try reading so much into people, anyway? For preparation's sake, she immediately thought.
Preparation for what?
Robin – female carpenter, vibrant, energetic, always helpful. Friends, maybe?
Friends—in name only, because friends are good for nothing except backstabbing—
Oh. Oh. She took notes, because she was really, truly okay without having another "friend" dig a figurative hook into her back and throw her off a building.
Come off it, she told herself, and scrubbed her knuckles across her stinging eyes. The townspeople will be different. As if to prove the statement to her own doubt, Kutone doubled her pace through town, introducing herself, talking to the residents, and after each interaction, taking notes in her book. With such a small, interconnected community, just as Lewis had hinted, she found herself flipping back to other pages and adding notes to previous entries. Like when she met Maru for the first time, Kutone turned back to Robin's entry and added a little star, with the note,
In a mixed-race relationship, and has a mixed-race daughter. Like my parents and me.
Other times, her first impressions clouded her judgment. She made a second trip back to the Saloon in the evening, where she noted about Shane,
Rude a.f., like he goes out of his way to be an asshole.
Not that she could say much better about herself. If possible, however, she liked living without the memories of her businesswoman self, or the surly stockers, receivers, and cashiers at every Joja Mart branch she had visited during her golden age, which was why she also avoided crusty George in his creaky wheelchair, preferring sweet-voiced Granny Evelyn and her constant aroma of freshly baked cookies.
But if anything matched the sinking feeling in her stomach like the moment she sighted a Joja Mart branch across the town river, it was the moment she met those of her generation in Pelican Town.
Alex – High school gridball star. He filled out the shoulders and bulk of his letterman jacket well, and his shoes, no doubt a designer brand from the city, were pristine. Kutone smelled him before she saw him, if Alex were nothing but the slick of hardened hair gel and chemically sour cologne. Typical jock. He stopped her as she, holding her breath, tried to pass, and waving aside her introduction, dubbed her "Farm Girl." Then, he grinned wide and declared, "You can officially call yourself my first fan, when I go pro." He smirked at Kutone's skeptical glower, leading her to later write, Probably has insecurity issues somewhere.
Haley – Prep. Fashion-oriented. Why she chose to wear wedges on Pelican Town's cobblestone roads, however, Kutone couldn't guess. But Haley wove around the cobble in practiced strides, and with a wrinkle of her nose, tossed her sun-kissed hair as she passed Kutone. Is clearly looking down on me. Fair enough. None of Kutone's peers back in Zuzu City ever approved of her flannels or denim or worn sneakers. They only liked her in her pinstripe pants and blazer, black pumps and white blouse. Probably has no perception of a world outside of herself.
Abigail – Standoffish. She had a perpetual glum pout to her lip, and though she returned Kutone's self-introduction with some warmth, pointing out her hair as a lighter shade than Kutone's, her amicability quickly disappeared. Adopting a distant, wistful tone, she turned in the direction of the Banks. "I always had fun exploring those overgrown fields," she said, which prompted Kutone to additionally note, Maybe invite her over as a guide sometime.
Sam – Sunshine. Kutone grimaced at her own note, but what other way could she describe him? Unlike Abigail, regular contentment left an easy smile in his features, and he had no problems maintaining it, either. He talked of music and writing songs and starting bands, but also admitted he'd never finished a major project. Very open. Free in thought. He shined a lot like the best businessmen in the city. Kutone hoped he'd never go out.
Sam, she thought, possibly redeemed his generation of Pelican Town residents.
Unfortunately, one person mirrored Kutone's brand of coldness, the type she'd adopted at the lower-floor offices. It still stuck with her even as she powered through her self-introductions with what others called practiced ease.
Sebastian – Won't even say hello.
Either because of the fringe of dark hair partially covering his sight, or Kutone's pressing-business "Hello?" as he sauntered past, Sebastian refused to stop for greetings. He stared at the ground, hands in his sweatshirt pocket, and maybe cast a small shrug in reply.
She did that type of thing once. At almost every lunch, The Girls asked her about that other thing as Kutone stared at the ripples of her acidic Joja coffee, and often got their answer as a shrug, or Kutone excusing herself from the table. Whispers followed her down the corridors of the building, but she kept her eyes on the carpeted floor, on the elevator buttons, on her computer screen.
Anywhere but up, because up meant hope, and Kutone's hope had died about a year and half ago.
So what had killed Sebastian's hope? And what would resuscitate it?
She closed her notes for the evening and turned the questions to herself.