We make it to the end of the path and reach our first fork in the road. Rides sit to the left of us while more food trucks are straight ahead and the arenas are on the right.
“What do you want to do first?” Nate lets me take the lead. “If I remember correctly, you had some kind of schedule you used to make us stick to.”
It sounds a little unhinged when he says it like that, but it’s true. There’s an art to getting optimal enjoyment out of a fair. If you start with food, you end up with your head in the toilet when you move to rides. If you start with the arena shows, your legs get all tired, and then you need to inhale sugar, which will also disrupt the rides.
It’s science.
“Thank you for remembering. I do take my fair agenda very seriously,” I say with total sincerity. “We need to see what the show schedule is, but the general outline is rides first, then food, then a show, back to rides, and grab a final treat on the way out.”
If I had this level of focus and discipline in any other area of my life, I could run the world. But as it stands, I run the fair and that’s good enough for me.
* * *
? ? ?
After we settle on the lumberjack show and petting zoo, we head to the rides. Nate pulls me to the ticket booth and we each get a wristband so we can ride as many rides as we want to.
Peter took me to the Creative Arts Emmys one year. I bought a new fancy dress and had my hair and makeup professionally done. It was a fantastic date night.
It doesn’t hold a candle to this.
I don’t know what day of the fair it is, but the lines to the rides aren’t too long. Nate follows me from ride to ride as I zigzag my way through the most dangerous-looking ones first.
“Oh my god! Do you remember that ride?” I grab Nate’s hand and point to the Gravitron. “It’s the one where you stand in front of the board and as it spins around, you’re suctioned to the wall and it moves up and down.”
It was my favorite ride as a kid. It felt like magic as I climbed upside down while my cheeks were being pushed to my ears. I’m not sure my adult body will handle it as well, but I’m willing to give it a try.
“Is that the one we went on with your dad and he ended up sitting on a bench with a warm pop for the rest of the day?”
I laugh remembering the way my poor dad came off the ride looking so pale, he was almost the same shade as me. He couldn’t even speak; it was like he’d witnessed war and not just gone on a ride with his daughter and her friend.
“Yup, that’s the one.” After that day, the only ride he’d ever get on with me was the Ferris wheel and the very occasional go on the Tilt-A-Whirl. My mom, on the other hand, loves a ride as much as I do. I might have to come back again with her. “Do you think you can handle it or are you going to pull an Anderson Carter?”
“My goal is to live as closely as possible to Anderson Carter in just about every aspect of life,” he says, looking down at me with a knowing smirk. “But I think I’m going to stray a little on this one.”
Even though we’ve moved past most of our issues, when he says that, I can’t help the wave of annoyance that rushes over me. If he admires my dad so much, how was he so quick to issue the HOA fine that launched a thousand wars? I don’t want to be the one who causes this truly perfect date to go sideways, but as we stand in line and wait for our turn, I can’t stop thinking about it.
“Can I ask you something?”
Worry creases his forehead, but he still nods. “Of course. You can ask me anything.”
“The HOA fine.” I take a breath and think about how to ask my question. I don’t want him to become defensive. “If you love my dad so much, why did you issue the fine?”
Since Ashleigh tends to lean a little—a lot—more on the gentle side of things, Ruby has taken full control of debate prep. She’s a goddamn monster and has forced me to read the bylaws more times than anyone should ever have to read HOA bylaws in their entire life. It’s cruel and unusual punishment, but the masochist can’t get enough of it.
But in repeating the bylaws to Ruby word for word and answering mock questions, I know that there was nothing wrong with my dad’s landscaping. Since the tree that was already there was knocked down by an act of God, he didn’t need to submit plans for approval from the HOA to replace it.
“I forgot about that.” His shoulders relax and a mischievous smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. “There was never a fine.”
The screams coming from the surrounding rides fade away as my focus narrows on the man in front of me. “What do you mean there was never a fine?”
“I typed up the letter at home,” he says. “I was soaking wet and pissed because you sprayed me with the hose. I had things nice and organized and then you waltz back in, turning my life upside down all over again. As soon as I saw you outside of Cool Beans, I knew I wasn’t over you. It was like no time had passed and all of the growth I’d done since high school flew out the window. I tried to think of something I could do to you that would convince you to leave, but I knew you’d brush it off. But your parents? That you’d take seriously. The joke was on me though. I thought you’d leave. I never expected you to show up at that damn meeting. I almost threw up when you stood up and announced you were running.”
I try to glare.
I want to be pissed that I might end up being the president of the HOA because Nate printed a letter in his home office.
But instead, I laugh. “You’re an evil genius.”
“And, Collins Carter”—he bows and draws the attention of everyone standing in line with us—“you’re the most worthy opponent.”
This I know, but I still like hearing it.
“Thank you, sir.” I curtsy. “And now knowing this entire election was built on a bed of lies, I can’t wait to destroy you at the polls.”
“It’s a punch ballot that they drop in a glorified shoebox, but yes. Same energy.”
In front of us, the riders start to filter out of the exit. Every single one of them is a disheveled mess, but other than two people who look like they might throw up at any minute, they all run straight to the back of the line for round two.
And standing next to Nate, I totally understand the need to keep going back for more.
* * *
? ? ?
By the end of the day, Nate definitely agrees that my schedule is the only way to do a fair.
Not only did we outlast almost every person we spent our early afternoon with, we also rode every ride multiple times, demolished lunch, learned about chain saw safety, fed baby goats, and now we’re back for dessert before we hit the road.
“I’m getting the corn bread funnel cake.” I make my final decision, looking at the deep-fried cookie dough once more . . . just to be sure. “Yeah, definitely going with the funnel cake.”
Classic with a twist. Perfect fair food.
“Would you judge me if my dessert was another donut burger?” Nate asks.
“There’s no judgment at the fair,” I tell him. “Unless you’re that one person who brought their own salad. I mean, leave the virtue signaling at home, lady. Nobody wants to see that nonsense.”