CHAPTER 3 #2
“Well,” Mom tries to sound contrite, “going just to New York won’t be enough.”
Ah. I can see where this is going now and I already don’t like it.
“We’re going to spend a few days in New York, but then we’ll go to Paris and Milan. It’ll be the perfect spring wardrobe shopping trip. We’ll just miss fashion week, I think, but all the designers will open their shops for us,” she says it like I care.
I don’t.
“Mother,” I start and pinch the bridge of my nose, “I already agreed to the trip to New York, but that’s it. Going overseas is too much. I don’t know what is going to happen when it’s time to go to market again. There are no guarantees in ranch life.”
She narrows her eyes and I’m fairly sure she’s not listening anymore, but I still can’t help but add, “One viral outbreak or too much equipment breaking down and the whole year could be shot.”
I’m reminded about the trouble Kendrick Watts was having a few months ago over at Watts Ranch.
He only found out about the problems because his father had a heart attack and he came back home after leaving years ago.
Remembering when he confronted me, like I had anything to do with the issues over there, is still amusing as hell.
But I get it. If someone was sabotaging my operation, I’d look at everyone as a suspect. If Kendrick hadn’t come home and fallen in love with the town’s local good girl, would Watts Ranch still be going now?
It doesn’t take much for everything to crumble.
Mom’s mouth turns down into a frown as Crystal crosses her arms and pouts. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I don’t need to ask your permission. I’m telling you what is going to happen.”
“If you’re not here to ask for permission, why are you here?” The question is rude and my tone is gruff, but I can’t help myself.
I think I hear a snorted laugh from the other room but ignore it as I watch my mother turn a few shades of purple.
“I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, my only son and the pride of Sagebrush Ranch. You know,” she gets this wistful quality to her voice like it’s going to lull me into agreeing to anything, “I’ve always loved this land.”
The only thing I can do is stare at the woman. Even Crystal looks surprised for a moment before she smooths her face out into a vapid mask that makes me want to shake her.
“Fine,” Mother snaps, “I never liked it here. But I gave my life, my best years, to this place and it’s time I’m paid back.
” Her lip curls, which is surprising because they look more enhanced since the last time I saw her, “You wouldn’t understand.
You’re just like your father. He was a simple man who only cared about the land and the cows, too.
He could never see the bigger picture and never found joy in the money he made. ”
I think she’s meaning to insult me. I’m not insulted, I’m sad.
Sad that it’s come to this. Sad that this is her life. Sad that my sister seems to be just like her.
“You should be careful,” she threatens me, “I could easily take away everything you hold dear. The land? Gone, along with the ranch. Rosalie and whoever else you have running the place would be out of here, and you’d be scrambling to find new meaning in your life.”
“Mother,” my voice holds a warning, one I hope she heeds but know she won’t.
“No,” she snaps, “I’m serious. You need to remember your place, Ford.”
The sigh I let out is layered in years of abandonment, fear of more cutting words, and the death of hope because Crystal just sits there without saying a word. I’m not sure it would matter whether she backed me up or not, but it would be a nice gesture.
“Fine,” I breathe out, “go on your trip. Enjoy it.”
After practically slamming her teacup down, Mom stands up, her movements brisk, “The fact that you think I came here for your permission is so disappointing, Ford.” She shakes her head at me.
“You’ve always been a disappointment to me, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
” I rear back and I swear her eyes fill with genuine tears.
“You were always following your father around and treating him like a hero. Where were you when I needed you?”
I have no idea what to say. Her words are full of lies and I hardly recognize the woman in front of me. But it’s not worth arguing about.
“Come on, Crystal,” she orders my sister who is very quick to stand up and follow behind mother like a puppy.
“You’ll simply love Paris on Valentine’s Day.
The city of love on the day of love,” she gushes.
When she looks at me, malice flashes in her eyes.
Or maybe it’s resentment. “I’ll have the travel agent fax over our itinerary. ”
Then she’s striding out of the room with her heels clicking and the cloud of her floral perfume lingering.
“You know, you should have your beau fly over for Valentine’s Day.
It would be so romantic, and it’ll prove that he’s really invested in taking you off the market. You’re not getting any younger.”
Her words fade, thankfully. Crystal is 23; still plenty young. The need to protect my sister tries to rise up, but I push it down. I’ve tried to step in for her over the years and show her that she could make a different choice. If it’s not the path she wants, I can’t force her.
As much as I wish it weren’t true, my mother’s words sting. An ache starts in my chest, and I find myself rubbing the spot where my heart beats. It’s not like I was holding my breath and thinking my mother and sister would show up for my birthday this year.
Honestly, I gave up thinking they were going to show up a while ago. Still, it would have been nice to hold onto the illusion just a little bit longer.
As long as I get a letter from my Sunflower, I’ll be fine.
When I think of her, my head snaps up and I look at the ridiculously ostentatious clock on the oversized mantle. I shoot up to my feet and am out the door before I fully realize where I’m going. By the time I reach the mailbox, I’m huffing out breaths and my palms are sweaty.
I adjust my cowboy hat about twenty times, trying not to appear too eager, even though no one is watching, before I wipe my hands on my jeans and open the mailbox. My heart starts to pound when I see the familiar yellow envelope. I rip it open and pour over my Sunflower’s words.
She talks about the history of Valentine’s Day. For my Sunflower, showing up once a year isn’t going to be enough. I get it, I always thought the holiday was overblown.
But I was also a little bitter about sharing my birthday.
I’ve always escaped into books and into my own head, where it’s safe. I think if I lived out on Sagebrush, I would escape in the land.
I hope the sunset is beautiful for you today and I hope you enjoy it. Go take a ride for me.
As I look down at the end of her letter and the sunflower sticker right below the last line, I marvel at the timing. My mother’s harsh words aren’t so jagged. My sister’s indifference doesn’t hit me right in the chest with the same intensity.
My Sunflower has no idea what her letters mean to me. I’ve fallen in love with the woman who writes me letters. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the chance to make her fall in love with me too, but I can hope she’ll be revealed to me one day.