“However, if you have this spot to pot all the apple trees you want, then I won’t have to try too hard to get you here,” he goes on, confusing me for just a second as my shirt starts to get pushed up on my hips. It’s then I realize what he said this morning about finally putting all the furniture where it goes to get it out of this basement. Because apparently he’s giving it to me to grow my apple trees. No one ever wants me to grow the apples. Everyone likes the oranges.
