Chapter Text
She was “the farmer” to Shane. Sure, Marnie had told him her actual name, but he didn’t really care. When she had taken over the old farm in early spring, Marnie had let him know that what’s-her-name had moved in, and that was it for a while. He didn’t see or hear from her, and his days carried on as they always did. The routine was all at once comforting and numbing; each day was the same as the last.
Then, she walked into Joja Mart.
Shane had barely noticed; he tried to keep his awareness of anything in Joja Mart to the absolute minimum. Really, he had only realized somebody was trying to interact with him when the girl crouched so she was at eye-level with him.
“Hi,” she said.
Shane gave a grunt of recognition, and returned to stocking the shelves. She took the hint, got up, and left. Roughly thirty seconds later, Morris was standing next to Shane.
“Shane,” he asked, “what was the first thing we covered on the first day of orientation?”
Oh, shit. “Customer satisfaction?”
“Yes. Now, that young lady came and left without spending any money. Can you think of anything that could have caused her to have an unsatisfactory experience?”
Shane sighed. “Could it be that I failed to engage her in a friendly and welcoming manner?”
“Yes, Shane. Please keep that in mind the next time somebody stops to talk to you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Shane, try to smile.”
“Yes, sir.”
The day passed as they usually did; slowly and forgettably. By the time five o’clock rolled around, the Stardrop Saloon was calling to him from across the river. Shane changed out of his uniform and managed to avoid eye contact with Morris as he booked it out of the front door. This was the daily routine: his path to the Stardrop had been so ingrained in his mind that he could do it blindfolded and half dead. He’d drink in peace for a few hours, go home, and hopefully be able to sleep. He was so caught up in his schedule that he didn’t even notice her until they ran right into each other.
“Oh! Sorry!” She was short, her hair messy, sweat clinging to her brow. It was the girl from earlier, and Shane knew that this had to be the farmer. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shane muttered, and continued on his way.
“Hey, I recognize you.” Damn it, she was walking with him. “Do you work at Joja Mart?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw you today! I’m sorry, you must have been busy when I tried talking to you. I just moved here.”
Shane sighed. “I don’t know you. Why are you talking to me?”
“I-I just thought I’d-”
Shane picked up the pace, and, thank goodness, the farmer stayed where she was, still stammering. He arrived at the Stardrop at the same time he always did, ordered his beer, like he always did, and stood by the fireplace in silence. After several hours and several pints, Gus caught his eye, and Shane knew that was the signal to pack it in. By the time, there was only him and Pam left, and they traded the sort of glance that comes to people who are routinely the only folks left in the bar at closing.
Marnie’s house was dark and quiet by the time he slipped through the front door. He had enough time to microwave a frozen pizza (waiting so he could hit “stop” with one second on the clock), which he ate standing up in the kitchen. Once his dish was washed and he was satisfied that he’d left no trace of his presence, he stole upstairs to his room, on the drowsy side of being buzzed, crawled into bed, and stared at the wall. After a while, he finally fell asleep.
It was maybe a week later, and the day was uncharacteristically warm for spring. The air was heavy and close, and the smell of flower petals was everywhere you went. It was, by all accounts, a beautiful day, but Shane was hungover, and everything felt cloying under the heat of the afternoon sun. He just wanted to get indoors with a beer and some pizza. The only thing that could have made this worse was being stopped by somebody he didn’t want to talk to, which was everyone in town.
“Oh! Shane!”
He turned around and saw the farmer coming toward him, her arms loaded with parsnips.
“Hey, I was hoping I’d run into you. Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I just moved in a couple weeks ago.” She stuck out a hand for him to shake, and he saw that it was covered in bandages and patches of raw skin. He did not motion to return the gesture. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Shane looked at her with bare disinterest, pulled out his wallet, withdrew a few crinkled bills from it, and pressed them in her outstretched hand. She looked up at him, confused.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m paying you five dollars to leave me alone,” Shane explained. “Don’t spend it all in one place, now.”
“I just-”
“Do you want ten? Is that how much it would cost for you to take a hint?”
“I’m sorry, I just wanted-”
“Don’t care. Look, go make friends with other people. We’ll both be happier, that way.”
It was a second time he left her on the road, and Shane hoped it would be the last.
It wasn’t, of course, but Shane could dream. She was at the egg festival too, smiling and talking to everyone, laughing and joking like someone who had been in the town for years instead of days. Shane swallowed his distaste and ladled some punch into a cup. He wasn’t going to let her ruin this for him; everyone at Marnie’s ranch had worked hard for this festival, and he was proud of what their efforts had yielded. Even Jas had helped, gingerly plucking eggs from the hutch and telling Shane that she didn’t want to hurt the babies inside. That had especially made him proud.
He took a swig of punch and immediately choked.
It probably wasn’t noticeable to many people, but someone had definitely spiked the punch. He immediately found Jas in the crowd, and then Vincent, and felt a surge of relief that they hadn’t gotten to it. He did notice several people who were holding cups of the stuff, one of them being the farmer. She was red-faced with laughter at something Sam had said, which made sense, because to Shane he really only seemed tolerable after ingesting grain alcohol.
“Shane!” Jas came running over, her smile wide. “I want some punch.”
“Well, you can’t have any.”
“How come?” Jas demanded.
“Because it’s bad for you. Go ask Aunt Marnie for some water.”
“But you’re drinking it!”
“Yeah, well that’s because I don’t have my whole life ahead of me like you do. No punch.”
“No fair!”
“Come on, Shane.” Marnie had pulled herself away from conversation with Lewis long enough to intercede on Jas’ behalf. “It’s the egg festival, and she’s been such a good helper.”
“Here,” Shane said, offering Marnie his cup, “why don’t you try it and tell me what you think?”
Marnie eyed him suspiciously, took a swig, and Shane watched as her expression shifted to muted horror.
“No punch!” She announced.
“But Aunt Marnie!”
“Let’s go get you a drink of water.”
“Aunt Marnie!” Jas continued protesting as Marnie hauled her away from the refreshment table. Shane considered the cup in his hand, drained it in one long swallow, and tossed it into the garbage. He saw Pam on the other side of the plaza, looking mighty smug. Even if she hadn’t, though, he could have guessed that she was behind the punch. He considered saying something, then quietly decided against it.
“Lewis.” He tapped the mayor’s shoulder. “Keep the kids away from the punch, okay?”
“Why?” Lewis looked alarmed. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“Not if you’re of age. Just tell Jodi to watch out for Vincent, okay?”
Lewis looked suspicious, but Shane brushed past him to a more secluded corner of the courtyard. The farmer was still there, her hands outstretched while Leah cringed over her numerous blisters.
“You got all of those from clearing out your farm?” She asked, possibly drunk.
“Yeah! I guess I’m not used to handling a pickaxe yet.” The farmer was still smiling, her eyes fixed happily on Leah.
Oh, he hated her.
Shane’s resentment of the farmer didn’t subside through most of spring; in fact, it only seemed to grow the more he saw her interact with the other residents of Pelican Town. Any time he saw her, she was smiling, giving gifts, and he even saw her high-five Sam once, which he considered to be an act of unbridled deviancy. But later on, if someone were to press him, he’d say that the first turning point was on his birthday. It was a Friday, and he was at the saloon, desperately trying to enjoy himself. The farmer walked in with a carton of fruit, which wasn’t unusual for her; she often came to the saloon to distribute presents to people. What surprised him was that she walked over to him and presented him with a carton of green beans.
“Look,” she said, “I know you’re not really interested in being friends, but happy birthday.”
“These are for me?” Shane asked, eyeing her with suspicion. Green beans weren’t his favorite thing in the world, but he didn’t exactly hate them, either.
“Yeah, freshly harvested.” She smiled, her expression hopeful.
“I’m surprised you’re still trying to make friends with me,” Shane remarked, setting the green beans down beside his beer. “Haven’t I been rude enough to you yet?”
Her expression fell, and she shrugged. “I guess you have. Anyway, happy birthday.”
Shane watched her return to the bustle of the saloon and strike up a conversation with a few people, her expression never really lifting into its usual cheeriness. Shane did his best to hold down any nagging feelings of guilt as she left, but got an unwanted jolt of surprise when he turned and saw Gus glaring at him.
“What?” He asked.
“She gave you a birthday present, and you don’t even say thanks?”
“Look, it’s no big deal. She doesn’t want to be friends with me, she just hasn’t realized it yet.”
“You should apologize,” Emily chimed in from behind the bar.
“Apologize?”
“She remembered your birthday!”
“That is the exact opposite of what I want,” Shane shot back. “Nobody else remembered, and that’s exactly how I like it.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself.”
The evening rolled by, and Shane felt drunker than usual when he left the bar and wandered home. The river was choppy that evening, and the moonlight was pebbled along its surface so it looked almost like cobblestone. At that moment, the thought of just walking into it and never walking back out came and went from Shane’s mind like a flash of lightning, there and gone in less than a second.
He crept into Marnie’s house and saw a slice of cake sitting on the table with a single candle in it; next to it was a bouquet of daffodils and dandelions, fashioned with the crudeness and care of a young child who was obviously trying her best to make something nice-looking. The note next to it read, in penmanship too nice to belong to Jas, “Dear Shane, happy birthday! Love, Jas and Marnie.”
Shane felt like there was a rock in his gut. It was some mix of feelings he couldn’t wrap his thoughts around, and didn’t care to parse anyway. He gently set the carton of green beans down beside the cake, and only then did he realize that he’d brought them home.
Home. That word was still ill-fitting in Marnie’s house, where he’d only lived for a few months. Without much thought, he popped a green bean in his mouth. It was delicious. Of fucking course it was delicious.
Whether he realized it or not, Shane was a complete mess by the time he crawled into bed, and maybe that was why he didn’t find sleep until it was almost morning.