Page 71 of Heartland
“She doesn’t respond. At all,” I complain to Rickie. “I’m used to women being mad at me, but I don’t know what to do when they’re silent.”
“She’s not mad at you, though,” Rickie points out. “She’s upset and embarrassed. She has no idea what to say to you. And now you’re sending her the same things you’d send a six year old who was having a tantrum. Chastity hates to be infantilized.”
“But I like goats and bunnies!” I argue. “It’s not supposed to be infantilizing. I really am this cuddly.”
Rickie laughs. “I know, buddy. I know. You’re a good guy. You’re a fun guy. You like to party, and you like everyone to be happy. You help little old ladies cross the street, and then you pass them the bong…”
“Do you have a point to make, or are you just amusing yourself?” God, I’m in a grumpy mood. This thing with Chastity has me all twisted up.
“Easy,” Rickie says. “I’m just saying that we can’t all be like you. Consider where Chastity is coming from—men have been lying to her for years.”
“Which men?”
“All of the men in that shithole where she grew up. Think about it. They told her she’s a special lamb of God. But to prove it, she had to marry an old man. They told her that her body was the only thing of value. But then they told her it doesn’t belong to her at all.”
“It’s all disgusting,” I grumble.
“It is,” he agrees. “But that’s why Chastity doesn’t have much faith in people’s words. If you apologize, she can’t really hear you. She’ll just be waiting for the next lie.”
“So what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“You have to apologize withaction. Just be there and do what needs doing.”
Unfortunately, there are plenty of things that need doing. We have caramels to make. A lot of them. And this weekend has its own complexities.
I try email one more time. The subject line is:200 pounds of caramels. That would get anyone’s attention.
Hey, C:
Look, I understand why you're blowing me off. Kaitlin took a private moment and made it ugly. But it wasn't ugly. Not to me.
You obviously need a break from my company. But there's this little matter of caramel. And Griff needs to get the goat's milk out of our freezers so that he can slaughter a pig and put the meat in there.
We have two weekends to get this done. That means you have a few more days to get over being mad at me. Most people need longer than that, but we're on a deadline.
Come home with me on Friday, okay? This will be easier if we don’t have to do it all at once. And this project is important to me. (So are you, by the way.) I need you to reply to this message to let me know that you're in. This is a team project. And I really want to stay on the team.
- Love, Dylan
“Nice,” Rickie says, leaning in to shamelessly read over my shoulder. “It’s breezy, but heartfelt. Warm, but businesslike. I give you full points for the dismount.”
“It will have to do.” I sigh, refreshing my inbox, already anxious for a reply even though I just hit Send.
“Oh, Dylan,” Rickie says with a chuckle. “You are such a study in contrasts. A farmer who parties. A smart man who’s stupid about women. The guy who likes goats and dirty sex, but not at the same time.”
I put a hand on Rickie’s flannel-covered shoulder and push him back toward his corner of the couch, while he laughs.
“Wait,” Keith says, entering the living room. “Who thinks goats are sexy?”
“Nobody!”Jesus.
“Dyllie Bean! I’m just teasing you,” Keith says. “Dude, I finally got us a gig! A real one. The LGBT Committee is hiring us to play one of their Guerrilla Night events.”
“Wait, what?”
“You heard me! It’s a ninety-minute set at a bar. It’s a paid gig, Dyl. We’re splittingfive hundred bucks. And it’s this Friday.”
“Friday? No way. I can’t.”
