2. Cake in the Fridge
Cake in the Fridge
Iarrived home twenty minutes later to find my stepmother’s luggage in the entryway of the house, and this time, I didn’t even try to suppress the sigh that escaped me. She was back from her conference.
There were benefits, of course, to having her back.
For one, she actually knew how to take care of the horses.
Even though she preferred me to do it, in a pinch, the woman was quite skilled.
It was one of the reasons Dad had noticed her when they first met.
And with her around, it would no longer fall on me to hint to my stepsisters that they should do their chores.
But Casey being home also meant tension.
It meant arguments about money and threats to sell the horses.
It meant passive-aggressive remarks about my less-than-stellar college grades and reminders not to make excuses when I pointed out that running a ranch and doing school simultaneously was no walk in the park.
But in an attempt to start her return with a sliver of civility, I pasted on a smile and made my way into the kitchen, where Casey was emptying the dishwasher.
“Hi, Casey,” I said, putting my stuff on the counter. I’d eaten the cupcake on the way home, and the books were in my satchel, so now I was only holding my drink.
“Oh good, you’re home.” Casey straightened. Her red hair was pulled up into a stylish knot, and she was still wearing her favorite green suit jacket, white blouse, and matching green pencil skirt. “Where is the detergent? I told Harper to put it back under the sink each time.”
“I think it’s behind the paper towels.” I paused, trying to gauge her mood. “How was the conference?”
Casey liked to attend breeder, industry, and show horse conferences more than she enjoyed actually working with horses.
Which might not have been so bad if Dad had still been alive.
That was how they’d met, after all. But conferences were expensive, and the ranch was not up to supporting expensive things at the moment.
“One of the more mediocre ones. I’m hoping the next one is more useful.” She waved a hand at me. “How did the camp go?”
I nodded. “It went well. They got some sort of grant, so we got three more riders than we expected.”
“Good.” She started the dishwasher. “I’ll talk to them and see if they would be interested in doing long-term lessons. If they’re able to get another grant, it could mean a good income source in the future.”
I studied my drink. I had actually enjoyed running the camp that week.
It had been Casey’s idea to offer a riding camp to one of the retirement homes nearby for older riders who had prior experience riding horses.
I wasn’t qualified to give actual equine therapy, but what we offered could supplement it.
I would have enjoyed it more, however, if it hadn’t been dropped on me just before my finals.
“...made new gains recently in the microbiomes of struggling foals.”
I snapped my attention back to Casey, who was, apparently, still talking. But at least she was talking and not lecturing.
“I also ran into that vet… the social media one. Oh, I forget his name. But his wife knew your father from some class they took together twenty years ago. So that was a fun coincidence.” She paused and looked at me.
“You’re awfully quiet.” Then she zeroed in on my drink and books spilling out of my open bag.
“Treat yourself today?” The question was casual.
“Um, no, actually. These were gifts. From friends.” I didn’t dare mention Margaret by name.
As much as I adored the nosy bookshop owner, my stepmother did not.
Margaret had spent a lot of time checking on me after Dad died, and Casey had found it insulting.
Someone who meddled that much, according to Casey, was insinuating that she couldn’t take care of me as well as her own children.
To be fair, Casey was probably right.
As was Margaret.
I wondered for a moment if Casey would press now to know who had bought me the gifts, but after a moment, she went back to the dishes.
“I need you to eat dinner quickly tonight and get ready for the final night of camp,” she said as she began putting the dishes away.
“Hopefully, we can turn this into something more regular.”
I hesitated.
“What is it?” Casey asked.
“I…” I took a deep breath. “I was hoping I could maybe have the night off. Seeing as I ran the camp all week.”
Casey gave me a blank look.
Remembering my cousin’s words, I took advantage of her confusion and pressed further. “I just took my final,” I went on, “and I was hoping to read my new book. Seeing as it’s my birthday and all.”
“What did you make on your final?” Casey closed the cabinet and turned to lean on the counter.
“I made a B,” I said. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I wanted to kick something. I could have easily made an A.
If I’d ever been allowed time to study.
Still studying me, Casey made a noncommittal noise.
Annoyance rose up inside me. “I’ve worked every day for the last eleven days straight,” I said, standing.
“We didn’t have any clients on Sunday,” Casey pointed out.
“Yes, but the horses still had to be taken care of!”
“And you didn’t think to ask Harper?”
“You know Harper doesn’t listen to me!” I cried in exasperation. “When has she ever done anything I’ve asked?”
Casey looked like she wanted to argue, but after a moment, she just shook her head and began putting dishes away again.
Yet another chore Harper hadn’t done. “I am sorry, Ella, but I really can’t give you the night off.
I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me that has to get done.
” She glanced at her phone. “And your riders will be here in less than an hour. You’ve got to get ready. ”
I didn’t move immediately. Instead, I held her gaze for a moment longer before finally turning and heading to my room to change clothes. Because I knew–and so did she–that if I didn’t do the work, no one would.
Harper, who was four years younger than me, could have easily helped.
She was eighteen and knew very well how to care for horses.
She even had a social media account where she pretended to take care of them.
And her subscriber count always seemed to be growing.
Which would have been great–if she actually ever did any work.
Jaelyne, my youngest stepsister, did actually like helping me in the stalls…
sometimes. But where Casey rarely required Harper to help, she rarely required Jaelyne to finish what she started.
Despite being only twelve, she had quit more activities, sports, and music lessons than most people twice her age.
And her lack of follow-through was the same for her chores.
Too many times to count, I’d come across some poor horse Jaelyne had started to groom and before she got distracted and abandoned the task halfway through.
Before I was out of the room, though, Casey called after me. “Oh, before I forget, there’s a cake in the fridge for you when you get back in.”
“Oh, um, thank you,” I said in surprise.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gotten a cake for my birthday.
My fifteenth birthday, maybe? I used this knowledge to comfort myself as I changed, trying to smother my disappointment at the loss of an evening of reading.
My stepmother had gotten me a cake, at least. And that was more than I’d gotten in a long time.