Chapter Four #2
“If I’m stuck here I’m not going to be a fucking kitchen wench for you.” Even though she’d also be cooking for Dylan, Mara directs her insults at me. “Give me something else to do. I don’t mind helping out around here, but I’m not going to be a slave to house chores just because I’m a woman.”
That’s it. I’m sick of her bullshit and disrespect. If I’d known she would be this much of a pain in the ass, I might have left her in her car in the snow bank.
Before she can protest, I hoist Mara over my shoulder fireman style and head out the back door toward the shop.
She kicks and screams the whole way as if she’s afraid I’m going to feed her to a bear.
I don’t give a fuck that my sneakers are getting wet.
I don’t give a fuck how cold it is. I barge my way through the ever-growing pile of snow outside until I reach the shop.
Once inside, I lower Mara back to her feet amidst her anger and protests. As soon as she’s steady, she slams a fist into my chest and yells, “What the fuck was that?”
Taking her forcefully by the shoulders, I spin her around and point at the CNC machine in the shop. She looks between the stainless steel machine and me trying to decipher my meaning.
“You want me to operate it?” I nod in response. “I don’t know how to use that. What does it do?”
That’s what I thought.
So I point back toward the house just as Dylan catches up to us, looks like he took the time to put on his boots.
“You’re saying that since I don’t know how to use this I have to cook and clean? That’s so misogynistic.”
I’m so fed up with her and her whining. You’d think she’d be a little more grateful she’s alive and we’re even willing to share our precious resources with her this winter.
I take a snow shovel off the wall and shove it toward her instead. Fine, she doesn’t want to cook? Then she can slave away in the freezing cold. As long as she’s contributing.
To my surprise, Mara takes the shovel and storms outside even though she doesn’t have boots on. She goes back up to the house, grabs a coat off the wall and her boots from the fireplace, then gets to work shoveling snow outside.
I wonder how long it will take before she realizes it’s pointless. The storm is going to last all winter long.
And, as it appears, so will her temper.
Two hours later, I’m in the shop working but I can see Mara’s little dark form working away through the window. The speaker on the wall is playing “Richard Petty” by Billy Strings.
I take a break from working on the Damascus steel 1911 and head inside, up the stairs, and into my room.
I open the closet door and start looking on the floor where I think I threw some clothes a girl left here once.
Sure enough, there’s a pair of jeans and a thong down there.
If I remember correctly, she wore one of my shirts home and just the shirt cause we couldn’t find the clothes.
Found them the next morning on the balcony. Oops.
Pausing, I consider that she’s going to need more than just a pair of jeans and underwear, so I take a few long sleeved t-shirts and flannels off their hangers to add to the pile.
I fold the clothes into a neat stack on the hope chest at the end of Mara’s bed.
Then I remember what’s in the hope chest and hesitate.
I haven’t opened it since we first moved in.
I don’t want the reminder she’s not here.
But…I also don’t want Mara walking around in nothing but my shirts for the next four and a half months.
An image pops into my head of her on my balcony wearing one of my flannels that barely covers her ass, hair spilling down her back.
My stomach contracts, my dick twitches in my pants, and then I immediately push that image out of my head.
God, this is going to be a long winter.
“I don’t think she’d mind.” Dylan’s voice sounds over my shoulder. He’s been around me so much, he knows how to read my body language since it’s my only form of communication.
I lift the lid on the hope chest to see the clothes our mom stored here for our visits when we were younger. There’s a few tank tops and jackets, some shorts for the summer, and some undergarments. I never really wanted to think about her wearing shit like that but I guess everyone has to.
“Unless you’d rather she walk around naked all winter.” I shoot Dylan a sardonic glare. That’s the last thing I need, not that it would bother Dylan much.
There’s not much in there, but it’s better than wearing the same two outfits everyday, I guess.
I head back out to the front drive that’s now only two inches of fresh snow that’s fallen since Mara cleared it. She’s gradually working her way down the driveway but her work is getting covered in fresh flakes. The snow is falling softly right now, but it’s enough to leave its mark on the ground.
What? Does she think she can shovel her way back to town? It’s a forty minute drive. It’ll take her two weeks to get down there at this rate. She’ll freeze to death in the process.
Fucking stubborn woman.
I walk into her peripheral vision. I know she sees me but she doesn’t stop shoveling so I take the bar of the shovel in my grip to cease her pointless pursuit.
Her colorful eyes turn to me looking a little weary but just as fierce as I’m used to.
A jerk of my head toward the house is the only gesture I offer.
She looks from me to the house, catches my meaning, then goes back to shoveling.
“You told me to shovel, so that’s what I’ll do.”
Stubborn. Woman.
I step directly in front of her to block the trail she’s making in the snow and lift my chin toward the house once more. If she refuses me again, fine, I’ll leave it.
But she doesn’t. She huffs an irritated breath that puffs white into the air and starts marching back to the house without waiting for me.
If she would just stop assuming everything I do is out of malice, maybe this would be a little more bearable.
But that would be too easy. And it’s not in Mara’s nature to roll over and submit, anyway.
I pass her at the front door to lead her up the stairs, her quiet footsteps so much softer than mine in my heavy boots. I’m honestly surprised she followed me without more of a fight.
I lead her into her bedroom to stand next to the open hope chest. Mara’s eyes travel over the array of clothes in the hope chest and then to the clothing on the bed. The fight in her eyes disappears when she realizes it’s for her, that she won’t have to go all winter in the same pair of underwear.
Though she could just go commando…
No. That’s a terrible idea.
Then Mara’s features shift and she’s angry again. What else is new?
“Are all these clothes from your one-night stands?” Of course she thinks that. I just roll my eyes in response. I’m done trying to be nice.
Then Dylan steps into the room. “So you gave them to her after all.”
“Gave me his past lover’s clothes? Yeah, I’m not wearing those.”
“What?” The look on Dylan’s face almost makes me smirk. Almost. “No. Ew. These were our mom’s clothes.”
The shift that takes place in Mara’s expression is both priceless and heartwarming.
She sees the error in her accusations but also the gesture in my actions.
She locks eyes with me and I can’t help the little pang in my heart at the sight.
I don’t want this to be anything it isn’t.
I’m just giving her clothes for the time she’s here.
I expect her to leave them behind when she goes home after the snow melts.
We gave away most of our parents’ things after they died, save a few of Mom’s things like her sewing machine that she made so many of our clothes on, or the rocking chair she kept in her room after Dylan and I were too old to rock to sleep. That now sits in Dylan’s room.
“You’re letting me wear your mom’s things?” She says in disbelief. “Thank you.” I nod my head in response. That’s the nicest she’s ever been. But I know it’ll be short lived.
“She left them here for family trips when we were younger. Our dad only used it as a hunting cabin the decade before he died so these are from when she was younger and a little thinner. They might still be a bit big for you but better than nothing.”
I walk out of the room without warning and thankfully both Dylan and Mara follow without me having to indicate for them to.
I stalk downstairs to the sewing table I moved up here when we sold the house in town and open the lid to bring the machine out of its hiding place.
I nestled the table beside the front door as a place to drop shit when we walk in like keys and stuff. But maybe it can be used properly now.
When I stick my hand out toward the machine, my question is clear: do you know how to use this?
“I took home ec in school. I think I remember some of it, if you’re willing to let me take in some of her things, I think I can make them fit. I won’t cut anything, don’t worry.” She waves her hands in front of her as if that can ease my worry. But I wasn’t worried about it.
The wheels are turning in her head as she stares at the machine, I swear I can almost see them work. After another glance at me, Mara walks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator to examine what’s inside. Dylan and I both watch her with curiosity. What the hell is she doing?
She takes some cheese out of the fridge and collects the bread from the counter before turning the oven on and moving the cast iron pan over the burner.
“I don’t know how to make much,” she confesses. “How does grilled cheese sound for lunch?”