Page 86 of Valley Girls
Back at the Grove, she washed her hands and presented herself as assistant to Gage. “At your service,” she said, hands outstretched. It was dark and everyone seemed to be coming in and cleaning up, looking hungrily toward the kitchen.
He chuckled. “I need you to wash the spinach.” He nodded to some grocery bags stuffed with fresh picked spinach sitting by the sink.
“Where did you get this?” She hadn’t seen a garden around.
“A farmer outside the park.”
“I guess it could grow ...” She shrugged. “Since it’s cool at night.”
“Did you live on a farm at home in West Virginia?”
“No.” She pulled out a handful of spinach and tossed it into a colander, turning on the water. “I lived in a duplex. But my granny had a big garden before she died. I used to help her weed.”
“My grandma gardened too. Flowers. She had incredible roses.”
“Oh, roses are so beautiful. They grew on the side of our house and I always loved it when they bloomed.”
Rilla emptied the other bag of spinach and started washing the leaves of the dry dirt. “What are we making?”
“Gochujang bibimbap. It’s hot rice and beef with vegetables basically.”
“Cool.” She shook the colander and glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’re in school?”
“Structural engineering.” He nodded.
“How did you get into climbing?”
“I went to a friend’s birthday party in fifth grade that was at a local climbing gym, and I just got hooked. I loved it. I had a lot of energy as a kid ...” He cleared his throat. “... and my parents were pretty relieved when I found an outlet.”
Rilla laughed. “A lot of energy is usually code for trouble. Were you a troublemaker, Gage?” She glanced over her shoulder, teasing.
He suppressed a smile as he cut cucumbers. “Of course not. I was a well-behaved, adorable child. I absolutely did not torment my parents by climbing out of my bedroom window when I was six.”
She could just imagine a rambunctious little boy version of Gage with his button-up and a terrible grin. “All I did was practice the piano and read quietly,” he finished.
She snorted.
“I’m kidding, I was a terror.”
“No!” she said in mock surprise.
Something wet hit the back of her head. She squealed as a cucumber chunk hit the floor. “Ah. Spinach is not a good weapon.” She plucked a leaf from the bowl. “On guard.”
He shook his head. “You’re supposed to be cleaning. Not playing.”
“I wasn’t the one who launched cucumbers.”
She handed over the colander piled high with washed spinach and followed his instructions for laying out the food.
And when they sat down to eat, Rilla dug into her bowl of hot rice, julienned cucumbers, zucchini, sprouts, spinach, mushrooms, and radishes in colorful piles, with steaming tenderized beef to the side, and a hot chili paste for the top. “This is my new favorite food,” Rilla said.
Something about it felt like home—maybe just the same things, cucumbers from Granny’s garden, spicy radishes eaten raw, and tenderized beef served over cheap rice. Who knew that food could make her feel the potential for home existed in places she’d never even seen?
Twenty Seven
“How’s it going?” Mom asked cheerily, a rustling sound mixing with her words.
Rilla frowned at the phone and put it back to her ear. “Mom, what’re you doin’?” She gulped to hear the accent she’d swear she didn’t have. “What are you doing?” she asked again, carefully.
