Sex Toys Are for Sinners #2
I guess I could send her to voicemail. But we do need to catch up. And what if she needs me? This is kinda early for her to call. Maybe she and Dad got into another fight.
Sighing, I slide my thumb over the screen and pick up the phone. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, Lainey. How’s it going?”
“It’s going all right. Is everything okay?”
Mom pauses. “Everything’s fine. Why?”
“You’re calling kind of early.” And you sound down. Tired.
“I didn’t sleep all that great last night, and since I figured the day starts early on ranches… That’s true, isn’t it? That those cowboys start their days at, like, four a.m.?”
I chuckle. “Some of them do, yes. But only when it’s hot. They like to start early in summer and fall because it’s much cooler before the sun rises.”
Beck shared that little tidbit with me when I was shadowing him the other day.
“Ah. Right.” Mom pauses again. “So how’s it going out there in God’s country?”
Good. Bad. Both. “Like I said, it’s going all right. The Wallaces are pretty great, with one glaring exception.”
“Oh? Do I need to drive down there and kick some cowboy butt?”
“I’m perfectly capable of kicking cowboy butt on my own, thank you very much.”
Mom laughs. “I know you are, but I’m always here if you need an extra pair of hands. Boots. Whatever.”
“Thank you, Mom. I appreciate that more than you know. The oldest son—Colton—he’s foreman, which means he’s kind of the second-in-command after Dale. The dude hates me.”
“Really? Why? Don’t tell me you’re being rude.”
My chest tightens at the memory of her words. Why do you have to make everything so difficult?
“Of course I’m not being rude,” I say thickly.
“I’m sorry, honey. I just know you can be a little…tough sometimes.”
As opposed to what? Sweet and easy? I’m tough because I had to be growing up in our house.
Sure, I was taught to be sweet and easy.
And I was, on the outside at least. But being easy meant being self-sufficient.
Self-sacrificing too. That required an inner toughness, a sense of responsibility for meeting my own needs from a very young age.
But Mom has very little support outside of, well, me, so I’m not about to rock her boat by starting an argument.
“Anyway. Everyone’s been super great except for Colton. He busts my chops any chance he gets and for no good reason. When he’s around, he makes doing my job an absolute nightmare.”
“Maybe you should talk to him.”
“I’ve tried. The man is impossible. And lewd. And just—yeah, the absolute, absolute worst.”
Except, of course, when he’s inexplicably helpful and kind. But that occurs about one percent of the time, so…
Mom doesn’t respond for a beat. Then another.
“Mom?”
“Yeah? I’m sorry, the boys had a workout this morning and they drank all the coffee and—Goddamn it, now I have to make another pot because I haven’t had any yet.”
I furrow my brow. “Are Pete and Andrew drinking coffee now?”
“They mix it with buffalo-milk butter or protein powder or something like that. I guess their coach told them it’s good for building muscle mass, so now they drink it by the gallon.”
A familiar weight settles on my neck and shoulders. I roll my head to one side, then the other. “They should be making the next pot, then. Not you.”
Because I know she was the first one up in the house. She always has been, for exactly this reason: to make the coffee and, back in the day, make the lunches too.
“Well, you and I both know that’s not going to happen. How long are you going to be in Hartsville again? Hopefully it won’t be long if that Colton guy is giving you such a hard time.”
“Why wouldn’t you want me to stay here and crush this job?” The words come out of my mouth despite my efforts to keep calm. Maybe because I’m hurt she dismissed my feelings without a second thought. “So I can come back to Fort Worth and help you?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
It kind of is, though. And it makes me feel like I don’t matter.
“Whatever.”
“Look, Lainey, I don’t have time for your attitude today.
If you don’t like the job, then quit. This complaining is not going to get you anywhere.
Maybe then you could keep looking for a real job.
I do think it’s important that you go into an office every day.
Like, an actual office and not a coffee shop.
You got an MBA for a reason, right? It’s time to grow up. ”
My chest feels heavy. “Of course. I’m still looking for a more permanent job, Mom. Why would you ever think I wouldn’t want a job like that? Let’s not forget that you’re the one who pushed me to take this job.”
“Well, yeah. Because you had no other options.”
“Low blow. I’ve always worked hard, Mom.”
“So have I. Do you see me complaining?”
Wow.
Just…wow.
“That’s unfair,” I manage.
“Life is unfair.” I hear her turn on the faucet, probably to refill the coffeepot. “Your father’s up, so I have to go.”
“All right. Hope your day gets better.”
“Yours too. Bye.”
“Bye, Mom.”
I hang up and stare at the blank screen, feeling overwhelmed.
Rationally, I know Mom is undercaffeinated and unhappy, and that’s why she was a little harsh with me. I also know she has a habit of saying stupid shit without thinking. I think our call was a prime example of that.
Still hurts like hell hearing her say those things.
Still hurts to have her ignore my thoughts and feelings. She sometimes has a way of making me feel silly, stupid even, for thinking or feeling anything at all.
Taking a deep breath, I attempt to get back to work.