"How you are so fucking good at this?" Ellie fumbles with the half-peeled potato that threatens to slip from her hands again.
"Because I've done it a million times now!" Dina drops another cleanly peeled potato into the pot, her third in the time Ellie has been working on one. "Just wait, they'll put you on this job enough that you'll be flying through it soon,"
"She says that because she wants to be done as quickly as possible," I clarify, sitting on the stool across from the girls.
I'm not sure which assignment the younger citizens of Jackson hate more - farming or meal preparation. Though it requires less strenuous labor, the repetition of peeling vegetables seems to wear them down. I try not to take it personally that every rotation I oversee or support happens to be the ones they hate most. To offset their frustration with the tasks, I usually try to spend intentional time working with them and helping them see purpose in their labor and the usefulness of even the most redundant work.
"It's nothing against you," Dina picks up another potato and begins peeling.
"Every time you say that it loses a little bit of sincerity," But I know she really does mean it. "Are you two planning on square dancing tonight?"
"No," Ellie practically scoffs, still focused on the potato in front of her. "No offense, but it seems like a bunch of old people just awkwardly spinning around each other for no reason,"
"Are you saying no offense because you think I'm old?" Antagonizing her about my perceived age probably should not be as much fun as I think it is, but I can't resist.
"You do remember life before the Outbreak," Dina chimes in.
"Plenty of people remember life before the Outbreak, in varying spans of time."
"Joel does, and he's fucking old," Ellie says this to get a rise out of me, watching carefully from the corner of her eye to see how I react. Unfortunately for her, any chance I have to respond is interrupted by the kitchen door swinging open.
Maria walks in and goes directly to the cabinet by the sink, grabbing a mug before heading directly to the carafe on the nearby counter. She does not speak as hot water flows into the cup, intently focused as she unscrews the lid from a jar of loose leaf tea.
Ellie and Dina exchange a cautious look before turning to me, potatoes held tightly in hand. I motion for them to continue working before setting my own knife down and going over to where Maria is brewing her tea. I approach the counter and stand by her side, giving her a moment to speak first. Instead, she continues to methodically dunk the metal infuser slowly in and out of the hot water.
"Everything okay?" My voice is not quite a whisper, but I am mindful of the listening ears behind us that have not - as I expected - gone back to peeling potatoes.
"Yeah," Maria sighs, letting the infuser rest as she leans forward on her hands. "Yeah, everything is fine."
"I'm not sure I believe you."
"No, it is," She turns to face me after removing the infuser from her cup and sipping gingerly. "Just a lot going on today, so I'm trying to make sure everything is taken care of."
"Anything I can help with?" I can see the overwhelm all over her face. I expect her to politely decline my help, not wanting to take my attention from existing responsibilities.
"We just sent out a patrol group out to Teton County. There was a horde spotted out that direction, so the faster we can get that under control, the better. The Denver group are settling in now, but they need clothes. We were able to provide plenty of everything else for their homes, but we have to figure out how to get them more of the necessary clothes, like socks. And as if there were not enough going on, Rosie has finally started showing signs of labor…"
"Someone is having a baby?" Ellie attempts to whisper to Dina, but her almost disgusted tone of surprise is not exactly quiet.
"No!" Dina hisses, starting to peel again as though we had not noticed their eavesdropping. "Rosie is one of the cows."
"Let me do something," I insist. "What about clothes for the Denver group? I can't deliver a calf, but I can find a way to help with that,"
"I know sewing isn't your favorite, but we have a pretty substantial amount of items that could use some minor repairs. If those were taken care of, it would more than suffice for what they are in need of…"
She's right about sewing - it's not my favorite by a long shot. When anyone finds this out, they usually make a sarcastic remark about how I taught myself to crochet so it should all be the same. But there is a major difference, and my attempts at sewing do usually end successfully, just not without several needle jabs into my fingers and some uneven stitches.
"Let me handle that," I insist regardless of my own hesitations. "I can start working on it this afternoon. I told Esther I'd help with square dancing tonight, but I doubt she'll actually need much input from me. I can work on sewing at the same time."
"Not ready to take to the dance floor again?" This is the first time Maria cracks a smile, taking a long sip from her tea.
"No, not at all," I intentionally dramatize my tone, hoping to keep her mind on more amusing matters than her current stress. My foot stomping at the last town square dancing event is a favorite recollection whenever any of us need a laugh. "Leave the stuff here and I'll see how much I can knock out while everyone dances."
"Thank you," I can tell Maria is genuinely grateful. "I'm going to take a shift watching Rosie. Until that calf is here safely, we'll have someone sitting by and ready to grab Houser whenever she actually goes into active labor. Tommy was going to do it, but I felt better having him and Joel lead that patrol group."
"Well, go take over the cow watch and just have the clothes left here. Seriously, I'll take care of it."
She finishes her tea and rinses the cup out in the sink before heading out. I turn back to the girls and sarcastically gesture toward the bag of potatoes still waiting on their attention.
"I can see you're working really hard at getting these done…" I pick up my own knife and get back to work, returning to the stools we have circled around the pot.
"Joel and Tommy are going after a horde?" Dina's tone is concerned, voice still lowered despite Maria having left. Ellie is working intently on the potato in her hands, thick chunks of starchy flesh falling and leaving indentations behind. She does not say anything, but I can see in her eyes that her thoughts are racing.
"That's what it sounds like. I'm sure they'll be fine," I assure her, but for some reason I can feel unease stirring faintly within me. "You're not going to find out though if you don't hurry up and get these potatoes done."
Esther has outdone herself with this event.
For it to be a small weeknight gathering there is so much care put into the tiniest details. The string lights we store away for holiday decorations are wrapped around wood columns, bathing the room in warming, flickering light. The tables have been carefully arranged around the edge of the room, creating a border that gives the room the intimacy of a much smaller space. In the middle, a dance floor is naturally formed by the open space left in the tables' absence.
Lively music fills the room as the dancers go from groups to pairs, flowing in step with the instructions Tara shouts from the front of the room. The crowd is somewhat smaller than expected - the patrol group had only just returned as the sun began to set, many of the Denver group have stayed home as they continue settling in, and others are rotating in and out of the barn awaiting the birth of the new calf. Those in attendance do not seem to mind, laughing as they learn the new combinations. I see Esther spin past with her partner from where I am sitting, a whirl of arms and nimble feet and laughter. I also notice that her partner is not Joel.
Not that I really care, it's mostly just interesting. We had been wondering if she would convince him to come at all. Several potatoes fell victim to jagged peeling as Ellie and Dina amused themselves attempting to imagine Joel dancing in any form. The idea was pretty funny, but I kept that thought to myself and let them continue to joke without any input from me.
It was only two days ago that he caught me spying through the backyard gate, but I found myself continually reflecting back to our conversation over that long awaited cup of coffee. I hear his voice over and over again in my head, making a blunt observation more so than an accusation: You don't like me.
I hate to admit it, but I respect his approach. I still wouldn't say I like the man, but if asked I would be able to honestly admit my disdain for him is waning. Only a person who is at least somewhat decent would offer something as precious as a cup of coffee to a person they caught trespassing on their property. So unless he is playing out a longer scheme of which I am unaware, I can now comfortably believe Joel to be at least a somewhat decent person.
Shit.
I am brought back into the moment by a sharp prick against my finger. Sewing has gone largely well up until now - this is only the second time I have stabbed my finger tonight and this time did not even draw blood. The tub of items Maria left waiting for me is larger than I expected, and full of small items like socks and basic cotton shirts. Thankfully nothing is severely damaged, so most items require only some simple stitching to reattach a sleeve or mend a rip. Sore fingers and mediocre stitching aside, I find that I am actually enjoying myself in the cheerful atmosphere of the night.
A cool breeze flutters through as the front door of the community center opens, a small group of people coming inside. A young couple from the Denver group make their way to the dance floor when the song subsides, preparing to join as the next number begins. My attention is pulled from them as a deep voice exchanges polite greetings on their way inside and catches my ear.
It appears Joel did come after all. He would have to be coming almost straight from patrol, which I can imagine in a startling contrast in scenery to the festivities before him. By the time he walks toward the group of dancers, the next song has already begun and Esther, having not yet noticed his arrival, has taken off with the same partner as before.
I realize I am watching him move around the room and am immediately filled with discomfort - going from eavesdropping in the backyard to tracking movements around a town event is an unsettling pattern of behavior I am not trying to adopt. I turn back to the shirt in my hands which is much more in need of my attention.
I am so focused on not stabbing my finger that I do not hear him approach.
"Well, aren't you just the life of the party?"
This time, the smallest drop of blood emerges when the needle pricks my thumb. I inhale sharply through my front teeth before pulling my thumb to my lips.
"Do I not look like I'm having a great time?" I rub my thumb along the underside of my fingers as the pain begins to pass, holding off on sewing for a moment until I know the bleeding has stopped.
Joel takes a seat in the empty chair to my right, the tub of clothes on the table between us.
"Bringing your chores to a dance," He shakes his head, "You're a real wild one,"
He's laughing, and it takes me slightly off guard. With the chicken coop complete, our paths have not crossed since our talk on his back porch. This is not only the first time we have spoken since then, but the first time we've started a conversation where one of us was not prepared to be defensive.
"You have no idea how wild I am," I jest, resuming my work as he settles in. "Maria seemed pretty overwhelmed this morning, so I offered to do a little multitasking. I had already committed to help tonight, but knew I could also manage a little bit of sewing."
"Not much of a dancer, I take it?"
"Not much," I keep looking down, not to avoid eye contact but to be sure I am pulling the thread tight enough to close the now finished seam. "Don't get me wrong, it can be really fun, but I was not very good last time we did one of these lessons."
"Ain't that the point of lessons? To get better at somethin'?" He leans back and crosses his arms at his chest, contentedly watching the dancers in front of us. The song has faded, so I expected him to go join Esther by now.
"You sure are opinionated for someone who hasn't bothered to step on the dance floor yet. Isn't Esther waiting on you to get out there?"
This time he does not have a quick rebuttal. Instead, he shifts slightly in his seat, but does not get up. The worn sleeves of his shirt are rolled beneath his elbows, the dark gray material fading around the cuffs. It takes a minute or two before he decides on a response.
"I wasn't sure if I'd make it out or not, so I don't think anyones expecting me to dance," He nods toward the sizable pile of clothes still waiting. "Maria's got you fixin' all of these?"
"The Denver group needs more clothes," I explain, grabbing a pair of socks from the pile and assessing the holes along the top. "We normally don't have such large groups show up, so we weren't fully prepared. It's easier to make sure one or two people have everything they need, but the group is a challenge. A welcome challenge, but still."
"Well, I don't imagine you'll be getting through that entire box on your own…" Joel leans over toward the table, assessing the sewing kit I've sprawled out in a mess of needles and thread in front of the plastic tub. He pulls a shirt with a torn collar from the pile before selecting a needle from the old felt cushion, followed by a white spool of thread.
"What are you doing?" There's the defensive tone he's used to hearing from me. It was only a matter of time before it came back. "Since when do you sew?"
"Since they aren't exactly in the business providing pristine clothing for you back in the QZ," He states, the needle resting between his front teeth as he cuts a length of thread. "Not sure how y'all did things in Atlanta, but in Boston, if anything needed fixin' that was on us,"
I've never told him I came here from Atlanta. Before instinct takes over and floods me with paranoia, I try to mentally walk myself through the logical reasons he would know this about me. Realistically, Tommy would have felt it was appropriate to share. I'm sure Joel has had more than one conversation with him about why this random, angry woman they claim as family has been ready to strangle him since he arrived. Ellie has also tried to figure out my past, and Atlanta is one of the sparse details I have allowed her to know. She could have easily told him.
"Good point," I think back to our porch talk and my apology for being so harsh. He's just making conversation, so I should not be so quick to judge.
He guides the needle through the material, using the thread to create fairly uniform, tight stitches that put mine to shame. I can't help but think about how the same hands that are so gently directing the needle to repair this simple shirt are the same hands that once maliciously drove knives into flesh.
"There you are!" Esther's greeting brings me back to the moment. She is glistening and slightly winded as she comes to a halt in front of us, but that does not tamper her happy mood. "I didn't know if you'd make it back from patrol in time to come."
"Yeah, got back not too long ago, so I figured I'd stop by for a minute," He tells her, looking up for a moment before turning his attention back to the needle in his hand.
"Well, I'm glad you did. Come dance!" She looks back and forth between us for a moment, as though she just realized what he was doing instead of taking part in the actual planned activity.
"I don't think anyone wants to see that," He jokes, finishing the last stitch and tying it off much more cleanly than anything I have finished tonight. "I'd hate to take you away from your partner. No need to punish the man for my lateness when he was polite enough to show up on time,"
"Nonsense," She insists, some of the initial chipperness in her tone beginning to fade into an uncharacteristic irritation. "Mike won't care at all. Plus, everyone knew I asked you to come, so…"
Similar to the conversation I walked up on outside the butcher shop when Astrid and Tara were teasing her about this budding relationship, I feel like I should not be hearing this. My eyes stay intently focused on the socks in front of me and I wish I had a reasonable excuse to slip away. I hate how it looks like I asked him to help me when in reality he picked up the task of his own accord.
Thankfully, the conversation is interrupted when Tommy comes sauntering through the door, taking a short moment to scope out the room before spotting us and coming right over. He looks exhausted, but that does not surprise me knowing their patrol returned not that long ago.
"Good to see someone's puttin' you to work," He chuckles at Joel, clearly unaware of the slightly tense atmosphere of the interaction he has inserted himself into. "I was starting to think you weren't earnin' your keep,"
"I was just telling him he needs to take a break and come dance," Although Esther is addressing Tommy, she's still looking in Joel's direction, a hand outstretched in invitation.
"Are you really making this woman come after you?" Tommy gives Joel a look of what I initially believe to be mock disgust, but after a moment he does seem genuinely frustrated. "And here I thought my brother was a gentleman."
"Alright, alright," Joel folds the newly repaired shirt and sets the needle and thread gently on top as he begins to stand. For the briefest moment, he looks in my direction and makes eye contact before turning and accepting Esther's hand to lead him away. "Maybe they should have let the two of you lead that patrol today if this is how determined you both can be,"
Tommy drops into Joel's seat as they walk away. They position themselves in the middle of the floor before Esther starts catching him up on the steps they've already learned tonight.
"Stubborn old fool," Tommy shakes his head, slipping his hands into his pockets as he slides lower in the chair and watches them begin to dance. "I swear, it's like he has just forgotten how to talk to a woman,"
"How was patrol?" I would love any reason to change the topic, and thankfully Tommy takes the bait.
"We've had worse," He sighs, "I was able to take out a number from a distance and Joel led the rest of the group to take the rest out. What took the most time was luring 'em out and then clearin' the smaller structures,"
"Well, I'm glad it went well. Maria seemed pretty stressed earlier with everything going on, so I'm sure she's relieved."
"She is, she is. I gotta head out in a second to take over at the barn. That damn cow is still laborin', so I'm gonna go sit for a bit and let her go home to get some rest,"
"I'll go do it," I volunteer a little too quickly, finishing the socks and placing them on the table. "You're bound to be just as exhausted after being out today, and I've just been here peeling potatoes and stitching socks. They've got things plenty under control here, so I can go sit at the barn and keep working on these. I don't mind,"
"You sure? Because honestly, that'd be great. Normally I wouldn't pass that off on ya, but I'm wore out,"
"I'm sure," I'm shoving the sewing kit together too carelessly and prick my index finger on a loose needle, but I am anxious to get going before he changes his mind. An unexpected restlessness has begun creeping up through me, spreading through my chest like water quickly absorbed into a thin cloth. "Let me just pack this up and I'll head over. You go ahead home,"
"Not gonna argue with that," Tommy lets out a deep sigh and rises to his feet, eyes on the dance floor. "I'll say goodnight to Joel once this number ends and then head out,"
"Sounds like a plan," I throw the sewing kit into the pile of clothes and hoist the tub onto my hip. "I'll get Maria out of there as quick as I can."
About halfway to the barn, the plastic tub had pressed tightly into my side and I realized how greatly I underestimated the weight. When I arrived at the barn, winded and ready to drop the container, the work was really for naught. Maria agreed to be relieved of baby cow watch, but insisted on taking the clothes back with her to work on at home. She claimed it was not about any concern with my ability, but guilt over sitting at home while I took care of two different jobs.
If I had realized I would not be working on sewing, I would have brought something else to do. For all the stress Rosie's labor has caused, it is incredibly uneventful to watch. She is still in early labor, meaning it could be hours before any real assistance is needed. Even then, I'll simply be alerting Houser so he is prepped to take action.
The warm summer temperatures fall drastically at night, occasionally hitting boarderline freezing. While jeans, a short sleeve shirt and light jacket had been more than sufficient in the evening, now that the sun has set I am regretting not coming more prepared. The crackling space heater we store in the barn provides some relief, but I am almost desperate enough to use one of the horse blankets stashed nearby. Instead, I adjust to pull my legs up in the folding chair, watching Rosie rest in her stall.
The clock on the barn wall indicates that I have roughly two hours until the next person arrives, so unless I find some way to entertain myself, I am going to be alone with my thoughts for longer than I would like. So far all I've been able to do is watch the shadows change as they are cast from the lantern resting on the small folding table beside me.
I don't want to admit that I felt disappointed when Joel went to dance with Esther. Not envious or resentful or wanting to be the one dancing instead, because that definitely is not how I would want the night to go - but disappointed because for the first time since nearly tackling the man out of anger back at the dam, I was actually enjoying a conversation with him.
It may be hard for Tommy or Maria or anyone else to believe, but I am capable of admitting mistakes. I don't believe my initial judgment of Joel to be wrong, especially not after all the stories Tommy tells about the trauma he endured from their time together before taking off to join the Fireflies. However, if pushed, I can admit that my steadfast dedication to that opinion upon Joel and Ellie's return may have been a bit harsh.
The sound of footsteps approaching behind me causes me to turn. It's not unusual for someone to check the horses at night, and it would not surprise me if someone were to come by just to see Rosie out of curiosity. More than anything, I'm hopeful at the prospect of some company, even if only for a few minutes.
It's Joel.
At first, I think I am imagining things. It seems too eerie that he would just appear when the last thought that crept into my mind happened to be about our last interaction. But it's definitely him. He must have gone home between the dance and the barn, because he's wearing a brown leather jacket he did not have on before. In one hand he holds a dulled metal thermos and a blanket is draped over his arm.
For a moment, we both just stare at each other and by the look on his face, I wonder if he is questioning coming out here. This time, I'm the one who speaks first.
"My how the tables have turned," I smirk, shivering involuntarily as the wind picks up. "Seems like you're the one lurking around now, Miller,"
"Seems I am," He agrees, walking toward me and holding the blanket out within my reach. "Tommy said you volunteered to take his spot out here for tonight,"
"It's just a few hours," I happily accept the blanket and immediately lean forward to wrap it behind me, concealing my entire body within it as I keep my legs pulled up toward my chest. "But I very much appreciate the blanket. I underestimated how cold it would get and that space heater is only doing so much,"
I'm not going to think too much about why Tommy would tell him I was out here or why that would prompt him to bring me a blanket. I've lived in Jackson long enough to know how the weather fluctuates and should have anticipated the chill. Maybe Tommy knew enough to tell him I'd likely arrive unprepared and sent him to check up on me. That would be about right.
"Mind if I join you?" Joel asks, standing stoically to the side as he awaits my response.
"There's another chair back there," I tilt my head to indicate the stall behind me where supplies are stored. "If you're ready to freeze, pull it on up,"
Apparently he's inclined to the cold, because he walks over to the stall and promptly returns, placing a folding chair adjacent to mine within the perimeter of the space heater. Now that he's sitting, I see that he's not only wearing a fairly sturdy jacket but changed into a thicker flannel shirt as well. He is far more prepared than I was to sit outside in cooler temperatures. He came out here with the intention to stay.
"I uh -" He hesitates for a moment, dropping his eyes to the thermos in his hands before reaching out to hand it to me as well. "-I brought you this, too. Thought it might help even more than the blanket,"
I pause, not so much out of skepticism but because the warmth that immediately begins to build when I wrapped up in the blanket feels so damn good. But I don't want to leave him awkwardly waiting, so I reach out and pull the thermos into my blanket cocoon. When I unscrew the lid, a wave of steam releases and rises upward, immediately filling my nose with a familiar scent.
It's coffee. Very hot coffee.
My head practically jerks sideways, looking at him under furrowed brows.
"Are you trying to poison me?"
"Well, shit. You figured me out," He grimaces sarcastically in my direction.
"I knew it," I shake my head at him as I hold the thermos level with my chin, allowing myself to deeply inhale the earthy aroma from within. "Just when I was starting to think you might be alright after all. So unfortunate,"
"Damn shame," His laugh is soft, a warm kind of quiet that doesn't alarm the sleeping animals around us. "But I have a feeling you'd still drink the stuff even if it was poisoned."
"If it meant I would warm up faster right now, probably," I carefully pour some into the lid and cradle it like a cup, sipping cautiously so as not to scald my tongue on the very first sip. "You'd think after living here this long I would have thought more about the temperature before hiking out here to sit in the cold. Do you want some?"
He holds his hand up and politely declines the cup I hold out in his direction. It occurs to me that he may not want to drink from the same cup as me, which I should have thought about before.
"I'm good. Had my last cup before bottling that up for you. Plus, I came a little better prepared for the weather, so you need it more,"
"Last cup?" I look down into the blankets at the rather weighty thermos and realize how much liquid is inside. "This isn't the last of what Eugene gave you, is it?"
"Nothing lasts forever," Joel shrugs, perhaps getting a little amusement from my shocked reaction.
"Well, damn," I nod slowly, unsure how I feel about the fact that not only did he share a cup with me when he caught me sneaking through his yard, but now gave me the last bit of coffee any of us may see for a while. "Thank you. Seriously. You're like, way too nice to me considering I was pretty much prepared to shoot you on sight back at the dam."
We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of rustling hay and deep breathing emanating from the stalls around us. The slow sips of coffee combined with the blanket wrapped snug around my shoulders melt the cold away and release some of the unease I felt about sitting out here alone tonight. I notice him looking around, observing the space around my chair and the table all but empty aside from the lantern.
"Did you finish all that sewing already?" He seems shocked, which makes sense because it would have taken some super-human ability to finish that all on my own so quickly.
"No, Maria insisted on finishing it since I came to take her place out here."
"But that's different than the other stuff you make?" The cadence of his voice is inquisitive, like he is trying to put together pieces of some type of puzzle. "The blankets and everything,"
"Crocheting? Yeah, that's very different." I explain, happy that for once someone noted the difference instead of making assumptions.
"How'd you get into that?"
I have a choice to make, and only a brief moment to make it. I can tell the curated version I am so used to rattling off, or I can give a little insight into my closely guarded history - the emotional equivalent of the last cup of coffee given away instead of savored alone.
"I was pretty fucked up when I came to Jackson," I can already feel my heart rate elevating as I begin to speak, so I take another sip of coffee to ground myself and buy my racing mind a second. "I don't know what all Tommy has told you, but he and Eugene found me all but dead out near Hoback Pass. I was in really rough shape when they brought me back, so it took awhile before I recovered enough to live on my own. That's how I ended up living with Tommy and Maria. Jackson was smaller back then, the houses were still being worked on and there wasn't as much livable space prepared..."
I pause and take another sip, but Joel doesn't speak. He's listening so intently, facing me in his seat and watching my expressions while I share these seldom heard details about my arrival in Jackson.
"My shoulder was pretty rough," My hand instinctively goes to the rough skin that starts along the side of my neck, but I pull the blanket up higher before he has a chance to truly notice. "I couldn't do much like gardening or patrolling, but I hated just sitting around and feeling like I was the most useless person to ever join this community. I read a lot because I couldn't really do anything else, and there just happened to be several different books about learning to crochet on the shelves of our little haphazard library."
"So you taught yourself from books. That couldn't have been very easy," He does not press for details about why I was near dead or how they found me or even try to catch a glimpse of the scar. The respect for privacy and the details I have chosen to provide is apparent.
"It wasn't, and I'm definitely not as amazing as Tommy makes it sound," The most brief smile crosses my lips thinking of how dramatically he praises what is absolutely a mediocre skill. "Some of my stitches are definitely uneven or I miss one and don't notice until it's way too late to go back without taking half the project apart. And I'm limited because it's not like we have access to a lot of crafting supplies. The yarn is typically one of three shades and I have like three metal hooks we've scavenged from different shops or homes while out on patrol over the years. It's a fun hobby, if nothing else,"
"Been awhile since I even considered having a fun hobby," Joel slides a little more comfortably into the seat as he shares this realization. "It's strange to be in a place where we have the luxury of such things,"
"You don't really get used to it. Not really. A lot of these kids growing up here don't even realize how lucky they are that Jackson is all they'll ever know, or at least remember."
It's true though. They won't know life in a QZ, dictated by ration cards and violence and the constantly looming threat of not enough. Jackson is the closest thing any of us have known to an oasis in the apocalypse, especially those of us who have experienced life outside these well guarded walls.
Like the cold night breeze that continues to blow in jarring, short gusts, the realization that I have willingly opened up this much sneaks up and grips me with unusual fear. Opening up to anyone is a slippery slope, and here I am allowing myself to inch toward that frightening edge with a man I adamantly hated only mere months ago. But the person sharing space with me inside a chilly, well-worn barn seems like a different man than the one I felt such animosity towards before.
"I highly doubt you came out here to have some intense heart to heart though," My tone shifts back to sarcasm and jest, my default when things start diving too deep into the intimate. I suddenly remember something that may save the night from continuing the plunge into intense revelations, and doing so means enough to me that I stand up and allow the cold air to penetrate my bubble of warmth I've captured with the blanket. "Are you a competitive person, Joel?"
"I don't know if I like the way you're asking that…" He matches my playful tone, clearly adept at sliding away from vulnerability as well.
Along the wall of the barn is a wooden countertop holding together three cabinets and accompanying drawers. While most of the space is utilized for efficient storage of supplies and gear for the animals, I remember Eugene telling me that some of the kids had stashed away certain items they used to kill time when assigned to a particularly uneventful barn rotation. Sliding open the left door, I rummage around for a moment before my hand lands on the exact item I am looking for. I return to my seat and reveal a deck of cards, which is largely still intact despite its age. Some of the cards have faded over time, but various people have filled them in with different pens, giving the deck some unique characteristics.
"I'm asking if you're ready to get your ass kicked at gin," My head tilts ever so slightly as I begin shuffling the cards against my leg, not waiting on his reply.
"I don't know that I am, but the way I hear it, you ain't one to really take no for an answer," He quips back, turning his chair so that we are face to face as he waits for me to deal.
I slide the table holding the lantern to the space between us, a warm glow falling gently across his face as he watches me deal the cards out onto the table.
"Funny, I've heard the same thing about you,"
