Love, Loss & Blueberry Pie

By Stace Sprinkle

After the sudden loss of her mother, twenty-nine-year-old Gabby Meadows leaves her head chef position at a farm-to-table restaurant in the outskirts of Wilmington, NC to process her mother's death and further examine her own life. With a nudge from her therapist, Dana and the support of her father, Eddie, Gabby signs up for an eight-week volunteer program on a small family run produce and egg farm in Maine.

While Gabby is excited about the chance to get a more hands-on approach to all that farm-to-table stuff she was so use promoting as a chef, she wasn't expecting the son of the farm owners, and her personal guide around town, to be so ridiculously gorgeous.

Remy Martin was born and raised on his family's farm; recently named Muddy Puddles Farm and has been working it for most his life. He likes things the way they are, so when his parents sprang the news on the whole family at brunch one afternoon about a stranger staying with them for eight weeks, he was not pleased. The last thing he wanted to do was babysit some random person who probably doesn't know the first thing about manual labor. But when hard working and beautiful Gabby Meadows shows up, Remy starts to think that maybe eight weeks alongside this woman won't be so bad after all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350935790

Book preview

Chapter 1 – Gabby

Dad! Can you get the door please? Finally, my food is here. The app said thirty-five minutes, but it’s been more like fifty. I could easily have just made the chicken fajitas myself, but found myself a little too busy for shopping, slicing, marinating, and whatnot. A beautiful sunny spring day, and this is the first day of Gabby 2.0. I was on a roll. Not only did I clean out my closet, filling three bags for donation, clean my windows, blinds, color coordinated my book collection, I know…adorable, deep cleaned my toilet, and scrubbed my shower. The neglect of my shower tiles over the last several months had really started to show.

I lost my mom, Anne almost a year ago. I’ll never forget that day. I was working as head chef at a restaurant called Herban Spice here in the outskirts of Wilmington, NC when I received the phone call that would forever change my life. It was my dad, Eddie.

Gabby, it’s your dad, sweetie. Your mom…she’s gone.

I vaguely remember collapsing down onto the floor before one of my co-workers picked me up and drove me home. It wasn’t until several days later we found out it was a heart attack. My mom had been working sixty hours a week and barely took the time to relax.

After spending about six months isolating myself at home, watching old home videos, and eating take out, I finally started talking to a therapist. It was my dad’s idea, really. He and mom had been in therapy off and on for years for marriage tune-up sessions, he called them. After reviewing profiles of therapists, I found Dana and we connected right away.

She had told me that sometimes you need to remove the static in your mind and the clutter in your environment to see where you currently are in life and where you would like your path to take you. Well, I’m not sure where the path will take me, or what path that is exactly but I could get on board with the whole clean your clutter thing. Clearing the static made sense too. It’s the static in your mind, Gabby. Like white noise. Dana had said during one of our sessions.

Ever since I turned off a couple of my social media apps, I have felt clearer headed and more focused. I made room for time for those creative and healthy outlets like yoga, baking, and doodling. I wanted to start a garden, but we had such a small yard, it could present a challenge. Maybe I could do some container gardening. That could work! Being late spring, I could plant all my favorite greens like kale, arugula, bibb lettuce, maybe some Roma tomatoes, jalapenos, beans, spicy chicken. Oh geez, I’m getting off track here.

My food! I run down the hall and turn the corner in the kitchen and practically knock my dad off his feet. Yup, almost thirty years old and I still live at home…and I love it.

Whoa, sorry dad. You know how I get when I’m hungry I said.

He steadies himself, Oh, I know all too well, Gabby. Hey, thanks for buying dinner tonight. I could have whipped up some of my famous box mac and cheese, you know.

I chuckle. I’m not sure if adding a couple slices of processed cheese makes it famous, dad, but it is good. I admit to him.

The sun is just starting to set as we take our food to the table. My dad, Eddie, built this table for my mom as a late wedding gift after they got married. Early on in his career, my dad did a landscaping project for a guy a couple towns over that built custom furniture for a living and my dad bugged had bugged each day until the man would teach him some basics of table making. In exchange, he brought the guy lunch from the restaurant where my mom was working at the time. She too had been a chef.

The table simple, yet beautiful crafted in oak. The narrow squared tapered legs had been painted a beautiful forest green color. If the table had ears, it would have heard all the laughter, crying, and yelling over all these years. Me, chatting nonstop at dinner time when I was in elementary school. I would do this thing where I would go through each kid in my class and give a play by play of what they had for lunch that day. I don’t know why I did it, really, but apparently, I found it fascinating enough to relay to my parents. If they got tired of it, they never mentioned it. Middle school was full of drama and high school was a whole other world where I was a bit of a loner. Other than talking with a few kids from my home-economics class, I pretty much kept to myself.

Ugh! C’mon…cilantro? I can’t eat this. I whine.

I hate cilantro. I know hate is such a strong word which is why I save it for things that fit the list. Cilantro is on the top of such list. Cilantro, horseradish, Dijon, wasabi, and contrary to its popularity, coffee. I’m one of the rare ones that don’t like coffee and yes, I absolutely can taste that little bit of espresso powder you put in the brownies, random guy at the bakery.

My dad looks at me with his really, Gabby? expression and says, So just take it off, Gabs. No need to waste a whole meal because of it.

Fine. I say while flicking the little green soap flavored leaves off my plate. But I bet if they put diced tomatoes on your meal, you’d be singing a different tune.

My dad hates tomatoes. Likes pretty much everything else, but tomatoes are his nemesis. One time in high school, on a rare night when the three of us were home for dinner, my dad sent me to pick up some burgers from my favorite burger place. I did something I’m not too proud of; I ordered all three of our burgers with tomato. When he unwrapped his burger back at home and saw the tomato, he refused to eat it since it touched the bun.

Weird. I told them no tomatoes. Guess they messed up. I had said to him as I reached over the table for his burger. My mom gave me a knowing look and offered to make my dad a quick grilled cheese and pesto sandwich for him. I scarfed down two burgers and fries and later had a terrible time trying to fall asleep: stomachache. Or Karma.

Gabby, if there were tomatoes on my fajitas, I would know how they got there. He winks at me. I guess he knew about my old trick after all.

After meticulously removing all the cilantro off my rice and beans, I got up to rinse the smell off my fingers. Our kitchen sink is deep and sits under a large picture window overlooking our postage stamp sized back yard. When my parents first moved in, they planted an Asian pear tree and a golden delicious apple tree. My dad had a ritual eating a pear a day when they were in season with just a dusting of cinnamon and sugar. The apples eventually became prolific and whatever we didn’t share with neighbors, my mom would use to make applesauce and apple crumble. Her apple crumble paired with a scoop of vanilla bean ice-cream was one of my favorite desserts. It had been a long time since she made it as those last couple years before her death, she was working more than not. Now, the fallen fruit from last season sits rotting on the ground below.

Did I tell you I ran into your therapist the other day at Whole Foods? Dad asks me while he takes a hefty bite of food, guacamole lands on his shirt.

Geez, dad. You need a napkin; drop cloth maybe? I hand him a napkin to wipe up his shirt, How did you know it was Dana? I didn’t think you two ever met before. I asked curiously.

Well, I would see her every now and then around the building when your mom and I were in counseling, and I recognized her. Her profile was on the website link I had sent when you decided to therapy. He explained.

I raise my eyebrows. Oh, is that so? That’s not giving stalker vibes at all.

My dad’s cheeks pink. What! I’m not a stalker and will you pass me another napkin you made me spill my sweet tea with your stalker vibe talk. My dad loved his sweet tea. When my parents moved into this quaint little neighborhood all those years ago, they were welcomed by their new neighbor Betty, with a pitcher of sweet tea and the fluffiest biscuits they had ever had. Ever since that day, my dad has been making a pitcher of ‘Betty’s sweet tea’ every Sunday evening that would get him through the week. Before Betty passed away many years ago, she gave me her biscuit recipe and it’s the only one I use to this day. I like to think my biscuits and gravy can’t be beat because of Betty’s recipe.

Anyways, we met up near the dips and spreads. She helped me pick out that baba ghanoush hummus you liked. She’s very friendly. He said, nonchalantly.

Is my dad blushing again?

Mm Hmm. She is nice, dad. So, you guys didn’t talk about me?

No, sweetie. Patient privacy and all that. I told her who I was though and mentioned you. Cross my heart, no juicy secrets were spilled.

Dad, I hardly have anything juicy to spill and besides, I only have two more sessions with her and then, I guess I’m finished. It seems odd to say that now. I know I’ll come across plenty more challenging things in my life, but we talked about it, and I told her I felt like I was at a point in therapy where I’m ready to finish out my sessions. She fully accepted that. That’s what I like about her, her listening skills and validation. Well, that and her dog, Pancake. He’s adorable. This makes my dad laugh.

Pancake! That’s awesome. I’ve got to meet this dog.

Maybe you will if you keep running into her. I wink at him.

I haven’t mentioned to my dad yet about wanting to take the summer off and find something outrageous to do. Okay, not outrageous, but something new and interesting. I thought about traveling to the Pacific Northwest and taking in some of the trails, maybe eat my way through the Seattle area. One of my students at the cooking school mentioned a vacation he and his fiancé had taken there last Summer; said it was incredible. When I left my position at Herban Spice almost a year ago, I knew I didn’t want to go back. I found a part time job teaching mid-level cooking classes at a private school about five months ago and have been there ever since. It’s kept me busy enough, but it’s not exactly fulfilling.

So, while the thought of spending time in trails and trying new restaurants in Seattle sounded cool, I still feel like I’m looking for something else. I don’t think I’ll mind traveling alone but I also know it’s about time I started breaking out of my little shell. Maybe I’ll bring this up when I see my therapist next week. Bounce some ideas off her. I probably shouldn’t spring it on my dad at the last minute, though.

"Dad. I was thinking of taking some time off this summer and maybe doing some traveling or finding some kind of travel volunteering thing. I mean, I hate the thought of you being all alone stuck in this house and I just want to see what you think. So, what do you think?"

I look at him with what is probably a pathetic expression. Like I’m sixteen again and asking permission to borrow the car.

My dad gives me a sincere look. I wouldn’t be stuck here in the house. Work is already picking up again. People want to get that landscape beautification going and it tends to get busier in early summer. And don’t forget about my Friday night bowling with the guys. I’ll be fine, kiddo. It makes me happy to hear you are thinking about doing this, you know. I only want good things for you. I want you to be happy. We’ve spent enough time sitting around here being sad since your mom passed. Time for us to find some joy again, kid. Maybe even start dating now that you aren’t working so much. Whatever you decide to do, I support you 100%.

I wipe away the tears that have formed. Ever since my mom passed, I have relied heavily on the support and validation of my dad. He’s pretty much the only person I have left except for a few others from my old job. But we haven’t been in touch for months.

Thanks dad. I really appreciate that. And maybe I will get myself back out in the dating scene. But just the thought of it... I’m just a bit goofy and awkward. I say and my dad chuckles.

Gabby, there’s someone out there that will love that about you, you know. He said reassuringly.

Thanks. I’m going to run this by Dana this week and see what her thoughts are. She’s been super helpful in showing me how to recognize, acknowledge, and process my thoughts and emotions.

That sounds like a great idea, kiddo. In the meantime, how about we clean up this mess you made, and we’ll go get some ice cream. He said convincingly.

You mean clean ‘your’ mess; all that rice and guac? Sure, dad. I’ll drive if you pay.

Chapter 2- Gabby

A few days later I’m sitting in traffic on my way to my last therapy session with Dana. I left work a little earlier than normal because I wanted to pick up a gift for her. I wasn’t sure if that was appropriate because of the whole client patient relations thing but after checking with the office manager, I found that a lot of clients like to do the same thing for their providers once their sessions have ended.

Dana likes plants, even has several in her office so I decided on a beautiful healthy rattlesnake plant from a little plant boutique near my work. I thought about getting a plant for myself but decided against it for the time being. I currently own one single plant, a spider plant that I’ve managed to keep alive for over six years now.

I make it to my appointment about ten minutes late due to traffic. I grab a parking spot near the entrance, grab the plant and hop out of my trusty pick-up truck. I bought Edna, my truck, right after I graduated culinary school. It’s a 1999 Ford Ranger with only 100K miles to it. The original white has long since been painted over with a beautiful teal green. She is a reliable beauty.

Hi Gabby. I was wondering where you were. Dana greets me as I turn the corner to the hallway that leads to her office.

So sorry I’m late! I got caught in a little traffic over on Castle Drive. I show her the snake plant, I really wanted to bring you something. Were you about to head out? I ask.

Dana’s face lights up, This is very kind of you, you know I love my plants, thank you. Not heading anywhere; just grabbing a coffee from the break room. She replied, lifting the steaming cup of coffee in her hand.

I follow her into her office where Pancake is snoring on his bed. Hearing our arrival, he leaves his sunny corner and pads his way across the room to get his belly rub before heading back to his nap. So. Last session. How are you feeling about that, Gabby? Dana asks.

I pause before I speak, something Dana has helped me work on. Honestly, it’s bittersweet. I am so grateful for everything you have helped me through and the tools you have given me to continue going forward but I’m also going to miss talking with you.

Dana hands me a tissue because she can see that my eyes are starting to pool up. She tilts her head to the side. Gabby. When I met you six months ago, you had told me you felt like your world had stopped when your mother passed and that you didn’t think you could ever be the same again. Do you remember that?

I nod my head.

"And through all your healing and the conversations we have had here do