Page 23 of Ember Meadow
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.
Chapter 9
Two Whiskey Sours
As soon as Iarrive at Branding Night, I realize Miles and Parker downplayed this event by a lot. There are literally hundreds of cowboys here, and the bonfire Parker mentioned is closer to the size of a small forest fire. Before I got here, I was ready to have some fun with the only people around here that I know. Now, I’m feeling so far out of place, my heart is practically beating through my shirt.
A few cowboys I overhear by the makeshift bar mention that Branding Night isn’t just Lone Pine Ranch, it’s all of the local ranches coming together for a celebration.
It’s held at Lone Pine each year because Lone Pine is the oldest running ranch in Jackson Hole. Another detail I wasn’t aware of. One I found by googling it on my phone as quickly as I could while sitting on a wooden barrel at the end of the ‘bar.’
The ‘bar’ is really just a collection of worn pallets and barrels that have been setup in a sort-of rectangle shape near the big barn. There’s one very quiet cowboy behind the pallets serving drinks without a word. I heard someone yell, “Walker” at some point so I’m guessing that’s his name. I’m just about to ask Walker for a drink when a familiar warm breeze wisps across my arm. Turning around, my elbow makes contact with a hard chest.
“I told you you didn’t need to come, Mac,” Miles grumbles from above my shoulder.
“Nice to see you too, Autry,” I counter with a smile. He answers with a sigh, as if he just can’t put up with me any longer. Can’t wait to test that limit, because I’m not leaving for his sake.
“I just mean it’s a lot of rowdy cowboys acting like children until all hours of the morning. I’m out of here by eleven at the latest,” he says, placing an elbow on the pallet bar. Always leaning on something like he’s exhausted.
