Chapter 8 #2
Parker gasps sarcastically and brings a hand to his chest. “Did Miles not invite you? Well I’m glad you asked darlin’.
You see, Branding Day is a day of, well, branding cows.
But Branding Night is a night-long celebration that branding is over for the year,” he explains.
Miles is already shifting uncomfortably where he stands, pretending to kick down some dirt with his boots.
“There’s a bonfire, music, booze, and of course, I’ll be there. ” Another wink.
Without a side glance at Miles, I smile up at Parker. “Sounds like a great time, I’ll be there.”
“Yeehaw,” Parker yells, kicking his horse up and turning back towards the ranch. He’s gone as quick as he came. The only difference is, when he got here, Miles was a whole lot happier than he is right now.
“You really don’t have to go to Branding Night,” Miles grumbles, not looking me in the eye. “It’s just a bunch of drunk cowboys and a few of their girlfriends. I only go because I have to.”
“I wasn’t lying, it sounds like fun. I want to go,” I say. “Is there some reason you don’t want me to go?” I bat my eyes innocently at him when he looks up at me. If Miles has a vendetta against me, I’m not letting him get away with pretending he doesn’t.
“No,” he says slowly. “I suppose there’s not.”
“Great,” I say louder than I mean to, clapping my hands together. “I’ll see you then.”
Turning on my heel, I head back towards the cabin again. Only this time, Miles doesn’t stop me. I close the back door behind me and slink onto the ground, letting out a big sigh. I have a lot of work to do. And my to-do list isn’t getting any shorter.
But what’s one night off to spend time up at the ranch? I’ll just come in earlier tomorrow.
Plus, I can’t say no to another opportunity to annoy the heck out of Miles Autry. It’s just too much fun.
I take a deep breath as I stare at the familiar name on my phone, buzzing away on my countertop the minute I lock myself away in the guest cabin for the foreseeable future.
Florence.
Not Mom. Never Mom.
Florence is Florence. My boss, the one who signs my paychecks, the queen of MacPherson Enterprises. The woman who sent her own child to live with her sister-in-law instead of raising her.
I swallow the anxiety crawling its way up my throat, and press accept on the call.
“Yes?” There’s more bite in my greeting than I intended, after the tension I’ve felt all night. But, I can’t find it in me to feel guilty.
“Hello, Kathrine. Is this a bad time?” Florence’s monotone voice crackles on the other end of the phone. Stone cold, as usual. I twist an imaginary phone cord in my hands. One that hasn’t existed in a few years, but old habits die hard.
“No, it’s not. I just walked in the door.”
“Ah. That explains the short greeting, I suppose. How is the property coming along?”
As used to it as I am, a knife still twists in my gut when my parents ask about their business before their daughter. Nowadays, the pain just goes away a lot faster than before.
“It’s going well.” I switch my tone to business, stifling out any remaining warmth. “We’ll be moving onto phase two this week. The crew has been great. And the cabin is very beautiful. I’m confident in its marketing potential.”
“Wonderful. Be sure to check in with your father, I’m sure he’ll want a progress update as well. We haven’t heard anything from you since you arrived in Wyoming.”
“Can’t you just tell him?” I roll my eyes. The lack of communication between them is astounding.
She sighs, as if I’ve asked her to make a powerpoint presentation for him. “Katherine, you know how busy I am. Please don’t argue with me.”
The line is silent as I shoot daggers into the wall next to me with my eyes. I take three deep breaths, my usual coping strategy for phone calls, much less effective in person.
“Is there any other reason you called?” I ask, separating the conversation from my mother in my head. She’s just your boss. Be firm, but accommodating.
“No, I just hadn’t heard from you about the property all month. Do you know how it looks to have to go to my daughter’s manager for updates on her project because she won’t send a quick email?”
“I’ll email you a brief every week if you’d prefer.”
“That’d be preferable. Thank you, Katherine.”
Once polite goodbyes are exchanged, I collapse onto the wool couch, staring up at the wooden planks on the ceiling. I don’t notice I’m crying until my hands meet the wet trails down my cheeks as I cover my eyes.
It isn’t often I still cry after a phone call with either of my parents.
I’ve become numb to it all. Separated them as my bosses.
Distant relatives instead of my mother and father.
Every once in a while, though, my emotions get the best of me.
And after the confusing dinner I had earlier with Miles, I’m far too exhausted to hold it together.
So, I let the tears fall. Give myself permission to sit in my feelings a while longer in the hopes that tomorrow I’ll be fine again.
It’s not often I wish I had a partner in life. I’m fine on my own. I’m independent. I’ve never needed anyone. I’ve had a job since I was fourteen years old. I travel solo often for my work. I can cook dozens of different meals for one.
But on nights like this, I just wish I had someone to share a tiny bit of the burden with. Someone to grab me and curl me up into a hug. Whispering it’s going to be okay in my ear until I start to believe it myself. A person to lay with me in the darkness so it doesn’t swallow me whole.
I tell myself I can do it all on my own. And, I can. But just once, it’d be nice not to have to.