Unfortunately, Jules didn't visit the farmer's market as much as she wanted these days. With parenting and mostly the flower shop, some thing had had to go. Going to the farmer's market was one of those things. But whenever she did have the time to do so, she would.
The smell of the many fresh products was calming to the woman. It was all so simple, so many possibilities when it came to the products.
Visiting the farmer's market definitely meant sometimes bumping into familiar faces and Grey was one of those. She looked at the package that he had mentioned and then scrunched her nose. "I have never tried that before, unfortunately so I can't help you there. But I think many things here are okay."
A smile appeared on Jules' face when she once more realised why Grey's home was a 'picky prison'. "Don't you mean picky eaters? Or rather one picky eater? How is Leon, I can imagine he wanted to come with you to the market?"
Grey nodded, and grinned as he replaced the packaged treat to it's neat little basket. "Unfortunately, he'll eat just about anything. I think picky is the wrong word. Judgy, maybe? He's a judgy eater." The man laughed, the skin around his dark eyes crinkling. "That kid's schedule is almost as hectic as mine. I don't know how that can be healthy for a 10 year old. He's apparently had a-" his hands rose, fingers forming into air quotes, "'-daydate with my besties' on the books for months now. What do I know?"
Kids certainly didn't come with manuals. Leon was a special person indeed. He was insanely smart, and focused, and if he were being honest, the last year felt an awful lot like Leon taking care of him instead of the other way around.
"... Actually, this market gets bigger every week. That's what I know." He looked back to Jules, his grin reappearing, "Which way are you headed? How do you feel about a tag-a-long?"
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Really, she should be eating more salads. As Mar walked among the stalls at the farmer's market, she'd tell herself to inspect the different produce available, to consider building a nice salad and eating well. And sure, she generally tried to follow a healthy diet, but all the salad in the world hadn't stopped her from getting sick before. So she let herself indulge in the baked goods from the vendors across the aisle, buying a brownie here, and a loaf of bread there, and then suddenly her tote was looking like she really needed some greens to balance it out.
Mar was considering where to go next when she heard someone near to her speak, and she glanced over to see a young man asking about one of the pastries. "Honestly?" she started, looking down at it and back up at him. "It's not really my favorite. The flavor's not bad, but the consistency isn't really for me." She paused again and considered the facet of him presumably buying for a picky eater. "I think you're probably better off with a cookie from here."
"If you want to try something different," she added after a beat, "I just stopped at the Estonian baker and got a tart, which I do recommend."
Grey's eyes flickered up from the pastry in his hand to the voice that had answered him. He didn't recognize her, but he hadn't been very dedicated to crawling the market in the single year he'd been here. One of his favorite things about the busy warmth of the shared space, was how easy it was to pick up conversation with strangers. Something he was learning to treasure about small cities like Ann Arbor.
"Oh, I'm sure we'll be eating our way through every tart that Michigan has to offer before too long." He laughed, thumbing over the wrapper of the pastry once more in consideration before he placed it back down. Grey shrugged slightly, to himself, as if in defeat. "I'm terrible at this. My nephew said, uh.. 'You couldn't taste the leather in a shoe.' I think it was meant to be an insult."
The man shook his head, resolved to find at least one additional 'treat' for the boy at home before he left. "I don't suppose you have any other little known secrets with a direction you could point me in?"
Greyson couldn't remember a period in his life where he'd ever spent so much time (and money) at a farmer's market. If he really wanted to split hairs, he might go as far as to say he'd never spent much time in any market, ever. Leon, though, loved them. He loved all of the curiosities and goods offered by the locals- many of which he knew by being the seasoned ten year old market guru that he was. As his guardian, Grey was just thrilled to find something he could also participate in that didn't make Leon absolutely hate his guts.
Today, Leon couldn't be with him, but had made it a point to stress how imperative it was that Grey grab the Marupo Egg Tarts on his way home. A task not exactly unsuited to the man, but he'd had a hard time keeping a his debit card in check once he'd started to wander the booths at the market. This was made evident by the fact that he'd barely passed by two vendors before veering off to sate his curiosity.
"Have you tried this before?" His fingers smoothed over the front of the small, colorful package, before he snatched it from it's spot for inspection. "My home is a picky prison," he smirked softly, "I don't know what will happen to me if the vanilla is sourced wrong."
Grief is an interesting phenomenon. It has the power to both traumatize and inspire, a duality that Greyson found worthy of exploration. He became obsessed with understanding it, especially the way that everyone seemed to experience it in their own way. He realized that grief itself could be both a burden and a driving force. Reluctant to accept the fact that he couldn't change the past or travel back in time, he found himself drawn to the study of stress disorders and recovery after the death of his older brother.
In his earliest memories, Greyson looked up to Zavier, the eldest of five Verdon boys. Zavier was always a little bigger and a little smarter and, naturally, was the first to do just about everything. While their other brothers may have felt overshadowed by his 'big-brother' magnitude, Greyson kept pace beside him. They were close in age, barely a year apart, and ran in the same social circles. Like many typical American families with one too many kids, their parents were often stretched thin. Although none of the children suffered from neglect, they also didn't experience the distinctive nurturing that could come from attentive parenting. Once they were old enough to care for themselves, they were all but raising each other.
After Greyson, there was Marshall, who was two years his junior, followed closely by River. The two younger boys kept their mother on her toes constantly, leading her to decide she was done having children. It worked for them for a while-- until Isaiah came along, five years later. They did just fine despite it all, even as catastrophic as boys can be. Grey couldn't tame the rough-and-tumble nature of his younger brothers, but then, he never truly wanted to. They were smart and, sure, a little crude, but they were good-natured. He never had to worry about what kind of people they would become in the world. Zavier, however, didn't share the same concerns. He was uninterested in their futures and never bothered to hide it. That was when things between them started to change. Once, they'd been determined to graduate college, and establish careers. Together. Then, as if overnight, Zavier's plans had changed. He met a girl, and joined the military-- couldn't wait to get the hell out of dodge.
Grey stuck around much longer than he should have. Having a father who was all-but absent, he'd felt a responsibility to his family that he couldn't ignore. For two years, he took classes at the University of Michigan. Ann Arbor was a short drive from Canton, and so it was feasible.
Until it wasn't.
He'd eventually succumb to a sense of suffocation, and the fear that he'd turned himself into a martyr. By the time Grey was twenty, Marshall and River were old enough to be considering college for themselves. So he took the opportunity to GO. The semester went by so fast, and not once did he hear from his older brother. The Christmas before, their mother had received a holiday card featuring Zavier along with a woman and a baby Grey had never met. As heartbroken as she was, it was evident Zavier looked… happy. For Grey, that was all he could have wished for his brother.
The East Coast resembled his home in some ways, yet differed in every significant manner. Fresh faces and new places were precisely what he needed to feel like he was beginning his own life. Every moment he didn't have his face buried in a book, he'd had a drink in his hand and a new friend at his side. He'd amassed acquaintances from far and wide. School was tough, but he thrived beneath deadlines and demand. His grades were commendable— not at the very top, but certainly impressive. Everything was going so well, and he'd finally gotten the chance to be caught up in his own life. What began as four years transformed into six, and a handful of courses blossomed into a Master's Degree. Greyson had a PLAN.
However, life had a way of pivoting, and it came crashing into Greyson's world one cold autumn evening.
He received the call just as he was settling in at his small apartment after a long day of classes. The voice on the other end was shaky, filled with a mix of urgency and sorrow that sent a shiver down his spine. There was an accident, they said. Zavier and his wife were gone. The world spun, and all those years of feeling responsible, of trying to hold everything together, rushed back with full force.
The funeral felt surreal to Greyson. Anger bubbled inside him—anger at his brother for leaving them behind, for never returning to mend what had been broken, and for not allowing Greyson to express his long-standing desire for connection. That connection felt impossible to rekindle now.
In the days that followed, he navigated a mix of grief and responsibility. Greyson moved back to Michigan, settling in Ann Arbor, where Zavier had lived with his family. The remnants of that family now rested on Greyson's shoulders: a 10-year-old boy, whose parents had been killed in what felt like a waking nightmare.
It's been about a year since Greyson and Leon started over in Ann Arbor. He works as a Substance Abuse Counselor, and is just a few credits (and a thesis) shy of his Master's Degree. He whiddles away in the small pockets of time he gets while navigating the very sudden perplexities of parenting.
GREYSON VERDON has the face claim of ARCHIE RENAUX and is written by CEE.
