With an unobstructed view of Manhattan’s iconic cityscape, the urban farm sits high atop a defunct Brooklyn warehouse, built so close to the East River’s edge that if you jumped from the roof, you’d land in the water. The sprawling green space is sectioned off into grids and planted with a vast array of crops, many of which have finished producing for the season.
This morning when she’d arrived for her first volunteer shift, Nora had felt like she’d walked into a spectacular party as the band was playing the last song. But it turned out there’s plenty to do here even with harvest winding down.
Ricardo Diaz, a middle-aged man with a quick smile and huge heart, is grateful for the help.
“Finally, someone who knows how to tell a ripe squash from one that needs a little more time on the vine,” he comments, surveying the bushels she’d filled this afternoon. “Do you know how many times I’ve told my volunteers to leave the shiny ones alone?”
“Wait, I thought we were supposed to pick the shiny ones!” Jules calls, scrubbing her hands at the slop sink.
Ricardo rolls his eyes. “Now you know why I assigned you to manure duty today, tarada.”
“Something tells me tarada doesn’t mean ‘genius’ in Spanish, Ricardo,” she shoots back, and he chuckles.
Pulling on her jacket, Nora sees clouds the color of wet cement rolling in on a stiff west wind. “Looks like you won’t need to water overnight, Ricardo.”
“No, there’s a storm coming. Get home safely, amiga. See you on Tuesday morning. Oh, if you get here before I do, let yourself in and come right up. The door lock code is 1–2–4–4.”
“1–2–4–4,” Nora repeats, committing it to memory. “1–2–4–4.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got the same shift. We can come together,” Jules tells her. “I’m so glad you liked it enough to come back.”
“I loved it. Thanks so much for suggesting that I get involved.”
“You mean, for driving you crazy and pushing you into something you really didn’t want to do?”
“No, I wanted to do it. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to commit.”
“Funny, that’s exactly what Heather said the first time I proposed. But I can be very persuasive.”
Nora laughs. “Understatement of the year. But in this case, I’m glad you are.”
If Jules hadn’t badgered her about meeting Ricardo this week and signing up for today’s shift, she’d be at home, brooding.
“Any other day, that would be okay,” Teddy told her on the phone yesterday. “But not tomorrow. You’ll only dwell on things.”
“It’s not like I’m going to forget what day it is, though, no matter what I do.”
“No, but you need to get out of that house.”
Not the house. That house.
Teddy was right, as usual. Maybe about a lot of things.
Nora and Jules step into the slow-moving freight elevator that will transport them down to the street level.
As the doors close, Jules’s phone vibrates. She looks at it and sighs.
“Everything okay?” Nora asks.
“Unknown caller. It must be spam. I’m on more telemarketing lists . . .” She puts it back into her pocket without answering it.
They emerge in an industrial neighborhood that used to be “no-man’s-land,” according to Jules. Now the warehouses have been converted to restaurants, clubs, shops, and residential lofts. There are no subway stops in the area, so they walk along looking for a cab. The streets are thick with hipsters, graffiti murals, and marijuana smoke.
“Want to stop off and get a happy hour drink?” Jules asks, gesturing at a crowded bar called Lovely ’Ritas, according to a lime-green neon sign shaped like a margarita glass.
“Dressed like this?” Nora’s wearing tattered jeans and Jules has on denim overalls.
“Look at this crowd. We fit right in.”
“Maybe, if we were twenty years younger. We could be their mothers. Oh, there’s a cab. Taxi!” Nora steps to the curb and flags it down before Jules can protest.
The last thing she needs right now is cocktails and conversation. She’d dutifully gotten herself out of that house, but now she can’t wait to get back.
Marla had come through with a pair of coveted orchestra seats to Hamilton for tonight. Keith and Piper should be gone by now.
“Anyway, speaking of our kids . . .” Jules says as they settle into the back seat, and the cab carries them toward Glover Street.
“Were we?”
“You mentioned being mothers, and that reminded me . . . is everything okay with Stacey?”
“What do you mean by okay?”
“Heather took Lennon out to dinner last night at his favorite sushi place to cheer him up.”
“Why did he need cheering up?” The moment the question leaves her mouth, Nora is sorry she asked.
“Because Stacey blew him off.”
“Last night? She had plans with her friends.”
“Well, do you know if she—”
“I have no idea what’s going on with them, Jules, and even if I did, I’m really not comfortable talking about it.”
“I just figured I’d ask. I hope they’re not headed for a bad breakup, like his last one.”
Jules had mentioned it once before, but that was when Nora had no personal stake in her son’s romantic mishaps.
Now she asks what happened there. “You said they weren’t together long, right?”
“A few months, but at that age, well, you know how it goes. He was devastated when she dumped him.”
“Why did she?”
“She needed space—code for ‘I’m cheating on you,’ right?”
“Not necessarily. Some people don’t like to feel . . .”
“Loved?”
“Smothered.”
Jules smirks. “Yeah, that was exactly the word she used. But he’s insecure, deep down inside. And with relationships, he tries so hard, and he falls so hard, and sometimes I wonder if he’s too intense for his own good, or anyone else’s. I wonder if he smothers people. Why? Did Stacey say something about that?”
“No.”
“Good.” A pause, and then, “What has she said? Never mind, sorry, I know you don’t want to talk about this. It’s just . . . I worry about my kid. I don’t think he’ll survive another heartbreak. Anyway, to change the subject . . . Heather and I were thinking of checking out that new Creole fusion place on the boulevard, if you and Keith want to join us?”
“Oh . . . we can’t tonight. He took Piper to see Hamilton.”
“Then why don’t you and Stacey come with us? I’m sure Lennon would want to—”
“Thanks, Jules, but I can’t make plans for Stacey, and I have a mountain of clean laundry to fold.”
“Laundry? Really? On a Saturday night?”
“Yes. And I’m really wiped out from working on the farm all day. All I want to do is take a hot bath and go to bed early.”
She’d said almost the same thing to Keith last night, when he had second thoughts about going to the show without her.
“Maybe I should just give Piper both tickets, and she can go with a friend instead.”
“I’ll be exhausted by the time I get home,” Nora had said. “Anyway, you promised her dinner, and we don’t want her running around the city at night on her own.”