Even though it’s still dark out, I roll out of bed feeling good. Last night’s auction was torture, but it’s over now.
No matter how early I get up, Zoe is always up first. Right now she’s inspecting the chickens. To me, they always look exactly the same: beady-eyed and fierce. But Zoe can detect all kinds of ailments and then remedy them. She once spent half an hour telling me about chicken lice, facts I promptly forgot.
I nod, and Zoe calls out a cheery good morning. She is both a morning and evening person. I don’t know how that’s even possible. I sip the coffee that she leaves out for me.
We have a system now. There’s a chore board where we check off everything that has to be done that day. It’s because I keep forgetting stuff, but Zoe is too nice to point this out. When I walk into the barn to look at the board, Katman comes running up to greet me. I scoop him up and give him a belly rub, and he purrs in delight. I’m just about to see if there’s milk for him when Zoe walks in.
“Caught in the act. Katman is a working cat, not a baby.” But she doesn’t really sound mad, so I put the cat down and give him some of the refrigerated goat milk.
“Did you bring that saucer out here for Katman?” she asks.
“Of course not,” I lie. Cats can’t drink out of a bucket; they need something shallow.
“If there are mice in the barn this winter, I’m blaming you for spoiling him.”
“A man needs a few simple pleasures, even if he’s a catman,” I say. The tabby lifts a milky face to agree.
But Zoe doesn’t crack a smile at this. Instead she pulls out her phone. “Did you see the auction results yet?”
I shake my head. She hands me the phone, and the first thing I see is: A date with Zoe Meyers: Martin Gunnarsson.
Damn it.
“I don’t want you to go out with Martin,” I blurt. Man, I really need to finish my coffee before speaking about anything important. I have no right to tell Zoe what to do. “Uh, sorry. You should do whatever you want.”
Zoe looks straight at me. “What I want is for you not to go out with Helen.”
Helen again? I look back at the phone. A date with Noah Goodwin: Helen Hendricks. “God, how did she manage that? Do you think she fixed the results somehow?”
“I do. But I don’t think there’s an option for a judicial recount. So you don’t like Helen?”
I take Zoe by the shoulders until she’s facing me. “Okay, it’s way too early in the morning for this conversation, but three things. One: I like to take things slow when it comes to relationships. Two: I am interested in someone. Three: it’s not Helen.”
Her smile is impish. “Who is it then?”
“Do we have to go through this?” I hate relationship talks.
Zoe crosses her arms. “Yes, we do. I’m sure I’m not the first one to tell you this, but you’re not the easiest person to read. I have no idea how you feel.”
“Really?” I point to the floor. “Because we kissed in this exact spot.”
Zoe’s cheek flame up. “And that kiss was amazing. But you didn’t follow up by asking me out or anything.”
“Why is it all on me?” I ask. “Besides, it’s hard enough trying to weave my way through all the Martins and Bobbies.”
“Oh please. If there’s anyone in this barn who has to fend off dates with a pitchfork, it is not me.” Zoe crosses her arms and waits.
“Okay. Zoe, would you like to go out sometime?” Then I shake my head. “This is dumb. What am I going to do? Knock on your bedroom door to pick you up?”
“It’s not dumb. I deserve to know when it’s a date or we’re just doing chores together.” She sounds a little pissed, so I don’t point out that milking goats takes two hands so that precludes anything intimate. Besides, doing anything together is fun.
“Okay, let’s do something when you get back from your road trip on Sunday,” I say.
Zoe beams. “Great, let’s—oh wait. We have to fulfil our auction dates first. Because we’re supposed to be single.”
“Who cares,” I say. “It’s not like we were ever going to get serious about someone just because he or she bid on us.”
She frowns. “It’s the fantasy you’re bidding on. The idea that romance might happen. Well, I’m going to get my date over with. I’ll see if he can go out on Sunday night.”
“Instead of our date? Isn’t that rushing things?” I ask.
“Well Mr. Turtle, you may like to take things slowly, but I’d really like to get this fake date over so we can go on to…” She hesitates and turns pink again. “Um, whatever it is we’re going on to.”
Ironically, for someone who plans a lot, I have not thought about what will happen between me and Zoe. I like hanging out with her, and I want to see what develops.
“Besides, with games every weekend, it’s not like we have a ton of free nights,” Zoe says.
“What are you talking about? We’re together almost every night,” I say.
“Yeah, but we’re not together-together,” Zoe says. Then she absentmindedly pokes one finger into the circle of her other hand in the signal for fucking.
I laugh, and when Zoe realizes what she’s doing, she turns red and rushes out of the barn. Zoe’s unexpectedness is what makes her so intriguing. I resolve to text Helen this afternoon, so Zoe and I can go on to… whatever.
The weekend goes by quickly. We play Maine and win both games. Our winning record is getting fans excited about the team, but it’s way too early for all that. It’s boring at the farm when Zoe is not there, so I spend more time on campus. I’m either at the library working or hanging out with the guys at the hockey house.
Finally Zoe returns from her road trip, and the house is alive again. She does a circuit of the farm, and I follow her.
“I know you’re checking up on me,” I say.
“I’m not. I just like seeing the farm after I’ve been away,” she says.
“Please. You were inspecting udders to make sure the goats were milked enough.”
“Okay. I have trouble delegating. But you’re doing a good job,” she concedes.
I have a secret weapon. I message Meysy if I’m having problems. I don’t ask Zoe because I don’t want her to worry.
“I found out how Helen won you,” she says.
“How?” I ask because she expects me to, not because I’m interested.
“She paid off the girl who actually won. Offered her money for the winning ticket.”
This makes me feel even worse. I never liked the idea in the first place, but a draw meant an element of randomness. Someone who pays for a date is going to have expectations.
“I hate b.s. like this. I hope you guys made a lot of money.”
“Yeah, we made enough for new tracksuits. Thank you for doing this.”
“You’re welcome.” Zoe is the only person who could have made me do it.
“I guess we better get ready for tonight.”
Yes, it feels weird that we’re both getting ready for dates—but not with each other. Helen wants to go to the Biscuit in the Basket, which is the hockey hangout on campus. I know exactly why: she wants everyone to see us together. I have zero patience for this shit. I’ve never had a real conversation with Helen because she’s too busy trying to impress me.
But I have to do this, so I’ll play my part. I shower, shave, and get dressed.
When I go downstairs, Zoe is cooking. There’s a cake on the counter, and she’s stirring something on the stove. It smells amazing in here.
I sit down at the table. “I thought you were going out with Minnesota Mild tonight.”
She laughs at my joke, which makes me feel better.
“Now I’m going to be thinking of that nickname all night,” she says. “Our date is here. I didn’t want to waste money taking him out.”
“Will your mom be here too?” I ask.
“Of course not. That would be too awkward. She’s going out to a movie.”
“But you hardly know him. What if he turns out to be—” I try to think of the right word. He seems like a nice guy, but that’s what they always say about serial killers.
“Don’t worry about Martin. At least I’m not going out with the human octopus,” she says.
“Hey, I’m an undersized defenseman, I’ve spent years avoiding hits.”
Zoe giggles. She seems happier lately, and I’m glad. Although what originally intrigued me were the glimpses of seriousness under her cheery exterior, now I want good things for Zoe. Like getting to play more games. Or maybe getting a break from all the work she does.
“It smells like a really good dinner,” I say.
“Well, I’m not going to poison him. Besides, it’ll be easier to let him down if he gets a good meal first.”
I may not like it, but that makes sense. I get up and put on my heavy coat and scarf. Now that it’s November, there’s snow on the ground, but the roads are clear.
“Have a horrible time.” I pause at the door, wishing that I was the one staying in for a cozy private dinner with Zoe.
She walks over. For a moment, I hope she’ll kiss me, but instead she rubs my arm in a comforting way. “You too.”
“That’s a guarantee.” I head out into the cold.
I’ve been to The Biscuit before. There’s always someone from the team around, and tonight there’s a bunch of them.
“Goody!” they holler when we walk in.
“Do you want to join them?” I ask Helen. I can see the calculations going on in her mind: a private “date” table or showing off to the maximum number of people.
“Let’s sit with them,” she decides. We walk over with Helen’s hand tightly gripping my bicep. The downside of going out with a hockey player is that she’s stronger than most women.
We settle in at a big table with the guys and a few of their dates.
Brian Pokroy leans over and whispers to me, “So, you and Helen?”
“She’s my auction date,” I confess.
“Ohhh.” He grins. “I heard Meysy got lucky with his auction date.”
“Well, that won’t be happening tonight.” Is saying this is a violation of my dating contract? I really don’t care. Since we sat down, Helen has spent more time telling everyone we’re on a date than talking to me.
Pooker nods. “I guess a guy like you gets to pick and choose.”
A guy like me. I don’t bother correcting him. Whatever Pooker might think, I’ve never had a one-night stand, and I’ve probably dated fewer women than he has. Besides, hockey comes first for me, and most women don’t appreciate that.
“So, what would you like to eat?” I ask Helen. The sooner we eat, the sooner this date will be over. Maybe I can even get home in time to interrupt Zoe’s date.
We look over the menu. The chicken wings are the best bet here, but they’re not filling enough for dinner. I decide on a burger and salad. Lucky Martin is probably digging into Zoe’s pork roast, potatoes, and sautéed cabbage right now.
Helen decides on a fancy salad and a local cider. Ciders are a big drink out here.
“I thought hockey players ate bigger meals,” I say. My sister demolishes salads as an appetizer before a steak or fish course.
“I don’t want a food baby later.” She pats her tummy. I hope this isn’t for my benefit. I have no plans to see any part of Helen’s anatomy.
When the waitress comes, we order our meals.
“Aren’t you drinking?” Helen asks me.
“No, I have to drive back to Shelburne,” I say.
She leans over and coos in my ear, “No, you don’t.”
“I have lots of rules about first dates,” I warn her, which sounds prissy even as I say it. But Helen has paid zero attention to my negative signals since we’ve met. Instead she becomes more obvious, as if our only issue is my failure to understand her overtures.
“Noah, you need to relax more. You take life so seriously.” Helen rubs my shoulders but that only makes me tense up. I’ve argued with my sister about the fact that men need body autonomy as much as women. Chi calls me a ridiculous baby, but if a guy touches her in the wrong place, she gets to twist his arm behind his back and curse him out. I’ve seen it.
“Why do you look so grim?” Helen asks. “You should be happy. You guys won both your games.”
“And you split your games?” Zoe already told me how the women’s team did.
“Yeah, and I only played on Friday. Is it true that you’re coaching Zoe privately? She’s playing better. Can you help me too?”
Well, making Helen better would defeat the purpose of helping Zoe.
“I’m sorry. My schedule is pretty jammed between hockey and farm work.”
She sips her drink. “I don’t know why you do all that crazy farm stuff. It’s gross.”
“I like it.” And to my surprise, I find that I do. I don’t love the farm like Zoe does, but I enjoy the fresh air, the quiet of the Meyers property, and nature. I’ve seen the leaves turn brilliant colors and then fall. Last week, I woke up to the first snowfall. At night, I’m amazed at all the stars in the sky. And I like the satisfaction of seeing my work. Like when we turned over the garden bed, leaving rows of soil that looked like chocolate cake.
Helen shakes her head. “I’m from Philadelphia, and I’m a city girl all the way.”
“How did you end up out here?” I ask.
“Oh, it was a combination of things. The right program and a chance to play hockey. Plus when I saw the campus here, I thought it was straight out of a movie.” She’s right about that: Moo U is very picturesque. I like Helen better when we talk about normal things.
Our dinners come, so we start eating. The food is good, but somewhere in Shelburne, someone is eating a better dinner.
Helen orders another cider. “At least with you, I don’t have to worry about breaking the bank.”
Wrong again. Helen begins talking about travel, which is mildly interesting, except when she makes it all about the high-end places she’s stayed. While I hate to admit that my father is right about something, maybe money is something I’ve taken for granted, and that’s why pretension bothers me so much now.
I drive Helen home and then walk her up to her apartment.
“You have such good manners.” Her tone implies that I should be less of a gentleman.
To avoid any awkwardness, I pull Helen in for a hug. “Thank you for bidding on me. It’s for a great cause, and I hope you had a good time tonight.”
Helen frowns. “Is that it? What happened here? Are you seeing someone else?”
“No.”
By any official definition, I’m not seeing Zoe yet, but perhaps I owe Helen an apology. Because this whole evening, I’ve been comparing her to Zoe and wishing that I was with Zoe instead.