be lying if I didn't admit that every time I pulled into my parents' long driveway, I felt just a little bit ashamed to be sponging off them when they had problems of their own.
These days, money was tight for nearly everyone, especially farmers, thanks to last year's drought – which is why I was so determined to find a replacement sponsor for the festival.
We all needed something to celebrate, right?
By the time my shift ended at the coffee shop, I was exhausted – not from making lattes and mochas, but from trying to come up with some sort of alternate solution.
But it wasn't until later that night, when my parents returned from dinner with friends, that I started to seriously panic.
I was at the kitchen sink, doing dishes, when my mom burst through the back door and announced, "There she is!"
I turned to look. "There who is?"
My mom was petite with curly blonde hair, an impish smile, and a seriously wicked streak whenever something got her riled up. But she wasn't riled now. She was beaming as she replied, "You."
With an awkward laugh, I said, "Yup, here I am, alright."
As my dad hung his coat on the nearby hook, my mom rushed toward me and said, "So tell me. Were your ears burning tonight?"
It was one of my mom's favorite sayings, and I knew what she really meant. Did I realize that I'd been the topic of conversation?
No. I didn't.
But I realized it now. And yet, I wasn't sure how this could be a good thing, considering that I was practically living in my parents' basement.
Reluctantly, I asked, "So…what were you talking about?"
"The festival," she laughed. "What else?"
Oh. The festival.
Still, I tried to smile. "Oh, yeah?"
She gave a happy nod. "Get this. We're out to dinner with three other couples, right? And guess who walks up to our table."
"Who?"
My mom grimaced. "Ginger Hawthorne."
At the sound of that name, I grimaced, too. Ginger was my mom's old rival from their high school days. They'd been frenemies for as long as I could remember.
Oddly enough, the tradition had continued onto the next generation – my generation, because Ginger had a daughter my own age.
We'd been frenemies, too – until she'd run off to Florida with my boyfriend. Now, we were just enemies, considering that the "friend" part of the equation had evaporated the moment she'd lured Bryce into her Corvette for that impromptu road trip.
Or at least, Bryce had claimed it was unplanned, not that it mattered. I'd dumped him by text long before he returned. But it had hurt. A lot.
As the memories churned like bad seafood, I asked, "So, how is she?"
"Ginger?" My mom's smile vanished. "The same. She was bragging about Emory. As usual."
I could see why. Unlike me, Emory was doing fantastic. Just yesterday, I'd seen an update on the high school social media group. Apparently, Emory had just opened her own yoga studio only two blocks away from the coffee shop – the one where I worked as a barista.
It was too close for comfort, especially considering that my current job was nothing to brag about – which made my mom's next statement all the more confusing.
With another smile, she said, "And you should've seen her face when I told her what you'd accomplished."
I wasn't following. "What do you mean?"
Her smile widened. "You saved the Tomato Festival!"
Oh, God.
My mom continued. "And you know how much that means to Ginger."
I did know. For the last seventy years, the annual festival had begun with the crowning of the Tomato Queen – a local girl chosen to serve as a goodwill ambassador, not only at the festival itself, but at similar events throughout the state.
Back in the day, Ginger had nudged out my mom to claim the local crown, along with a modest scholarship and bragging rights. And my mom? She'd been runner up.
Over twenty years later, history had repeated itself when I'd served as runner up to Emory. I hadn't minded too much, until I'd been relegated to runner-up for Bryce's affections. That, I'd minded.
In the kitchen, my mom was still talking. "You should've seen Ginger's face. To think, she had no idea the festival was in danger."
My stomach lurched. The festival was still in danger. Mom just didn't know it.
But I did.
The whole thing had started last August when the festival's biggest sponsor, Skeezak Hardware, had gone out of business. They'd been sponsoring the festival for nearly three decades, and the truth was, the festival committee had