“So why is it a pumpkin patch and not like a wheat field or a rice paddy?”
Bishop had the front seat. Like normal, Melinda was driving. She liked to drive, so on short trips, it was normally her.
Summer was wedged as far up from the back seat as she could without making Melinda uncomfortable. She’d spent a lot of her childhood in the middle of the backseat, so it wasn’t unusual, just… not really what she’d thought she’d be doing with adulthood.
There were things about being part of a threesome that didn’t come up in the literature.
“To make it sound cute? Like you know, it’s the part of the garden, it’s a wee home-town pumpkin patch?” Melinda hissed at the four-way stop. “I hate these. I hate these, nobody does them right… right, it’s my turn now. It’s my turn now, stop.”
Summer threw a little curse at the car who was ignoring the rules of the all-way stop and a little blessing at the car and at Melinda, who was probably already blessed enough that she ought to be floating.
Of course, with the way Melinda got when traffic annoyed her, the car ought to be floating, too.
They made it through unscathed and un-honked-at.
“I don’t usually like twee things,” Summer admitted. “Like, orchards, fine. Like two weeks ago.” The apple-picking had been great; the hard-cider drinking when they got home had been wonderful, and two weeks of apple desserts had been amazing. “Orange groves. Peach…”
“Pits?” Bishop added playfully.
“I think they’re orchards, too. We grew up next to peach and apricot trees. And nectarines. I can almost taste them…”
“Little late for peaches,” Melinda pointed out. “When we’re on our way to a pumpkin patch and a maize maze. Now it’s mmm mulled cider and your mom’s pumpkin pie recipe and your brother’s pumpkin ice cream recipe and… your sister’s…”
“Pumpkin ale. Or Peyote pumpkin seeds. Depending on which sister you’re talking about.”
“Pumpkin patches,” Bishop cut it. “Makes me think of cabbage patches. And why you don’t find kids in pumpkin patches instead of cabbage patches.”
“It was lime trees in countries that didn’t have cabbages.” Summer’d done a paper on this last year. “I think it’s the leaves. Pumpkins have smaller leaves. You could fit a kitten or two under one. But you can’t fit a kid under one.”
“Where did the stork get involved?” Melinda took a turn at a sharp right.
“Places where it wasn’t a witch-woman or a woods-nymph. My mother – some kids down the street, their mother told them that the Old Woods Lady brought the babies, the way her mother had told her, and they came up to Mom and asked her where she got the babies from.” Summer chuckled. She was pretty sure she hadn’t told her partners that one, but after five years together, they’d all repeated a few tales.
“So… Not much chance of finding a baby in the pumpkin patch unless a stork touches down or your Mom comes out of the woods?”
There was an interesting catch in Bishop’s voice. Summer glanced at him, but he was doing a good job of hiding his expression. He usually did. They were always too good of actors, all three of them.
“No, just some jack-o-lanterns. And then pies, and pumpkin seeds, and mulled cider.” Summer paused. “If we’re looking for babies, we’re going to need a different patch.”
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