Page 25 of Till The Cows Come Home
“That’s not true, Sage.”
If I answered again we’d elevate into a full blown screaming match mid restaurant, so I held my tongue, sipping my water. It was no accident that my parents weren’t knowledgeable about my current life. After the last betrayal I promised to keep my moves private, disabling their ability to interfere again.
They looked me in the eyes when I offered my life savings, which wasalmostenough money to finance the farm, and refused to budge. I swear they gave me every excuse in the book on why they needed the full asking price, but when Miles came in, they ended up negotiating down to the exact amount I had offered. Three years and that wound hadn’t closed.
The waitress brought our plates, and as we shuffled, making room for our plates, my eyes met my father’s. His lips curved up in a small smile, but I could see the guilt underneath, and my insides screamed at the overwhelming urge to beg him to explain to my mother what we were going through.
But he couldn’t.
My mother kept our family together while my dad worked himself to the bone, but the more she had to manage, the further removed she became from the farm. She no longer helped dad milk or feed calves, instead spending her time worrying over bills and balancing checkbooks. While my father prayed over each new calf, begging on his knees that it would be the one that saved the herd, my mother’s resentment grew, because all she saw was another mouth she couldn’t afford to feed. I knew it took everything from my dad when she sat him down, showing him with numbers that we just couldn’t continue. All that to say though, if he wanted to stay on the sinking ship, she would have stood right next to him, but I remember the whispers.
“Do you want our daughter to go down with us, Stu?”
The next day, the farm was on the market.
My dad squeezed my hand, breaking me from the flood of memories I struggled to wade through, and a moment later, my mother grabbed the other.
“I’m sorry, honey. Really. Come for Wednesday dinner and let me make it up to you. I’ll make lemon bars, your favorite.”
“Okay Mom,” I agreed, which I’d done countless times, but in the last three years, I’d never shown. The initial hope in my mother’s eyes dulled, as if she too was recalling all the times she’d set a place for me at the table just for it to sit untouched.
“Please Sagey,” my father murmured, and I could feel the heaviness begin to take over my entire throat when I locked eyes with him and the usual guilt I saw was replaced with despair.
“I’ll be there,” I responded, this time with enough conviction to convince my parents and maybe even myself of my sincerity.
My dad paid our bill and as we walked to the parking lot, I realized I was missing something.
My car.
I’d forgotten I rode with Miles to the market, and I surely wasn’t going to include my parents in that rendezvous.
“Back to the market?” my dad asked, assuming that’s where my car would be.
“Ruby is actually borrowing my car because hers is in the shop. Could you just drop me off at my place?”
My father mumbled in agreement, and once I was at my apartment, I texted Ruby.
Any chance you want to give me a ride to the farm so I can get my car?
After a few moments, her response appeared.
So I’m assuming you didn’t tell your parents you played tonsil hockey with the sexy lumberjack?
LOL, be there in ten.
My eyes rolled as far as they possibly could into the back of my head. I’d been running around since four this morning andthe silence of my apartment was welcomed after I bid my parents farewell. My brain begged me to crawl into my bed, even if just for a few minutes, and as I peeled the covers back, I looked down at myself, sighing. My jeans were covered with dirt and I could vaguely smell the sourness of old milk clinging to my clothes.
I fought the urge to jump in anyways and deal with the consequences later, but the sensible version of myself stomped to the bathroom to shower. Ruby arrived not too long after, catching me walking from the bathroom to my bedroom, hair still wet, plopped in a T-shirt atop my head.
“Getting squeaky clean for the lumberjack?”
“Actually, I happened to smell like sour milk and shit.”
“Sexy,” she retorted, nose scrunched in disgust.
“Ready?” I asked, eager to get my car and come home.
Today was filled with a plethora of emotions, and I needed an evening with a bottle of wine to decompress. We drove in silence and as we neared the farm, I pleaded with Ruby.
