My phone vibrated. Mom was calling.
“Hey,” I answered. “You guys doing okay?” I should’ve checked on them earlier. Usually, they were the ones tracking me down, but I could call first. They were aging, and Dad was paring down his ranch duties, taking on fewer heads of cattle for a semiretirement.
“We’re good,” Mom crooned and my tension eased. I really should’ve checked in with them. “I’ve been checking the power outage notices, but they’re pretty minimal, thankfully. You’re doing well, then? Not getting too lonely all holed up?”
I lifted my gaze to Summer. She’d clicked the TV on and turned to see who I was talking to. Now she was scrolling through listings. “No, not lonely.”
“Oh?” Interest painted Mom’s voice. Who would she think I was with?
“I’m watching movies. Taking a break from building.”
“Oh.” Disappointment this time. “Right. I’m glad you’re not tromping back and forth in this weather.”
“I’m careful.”
“I know, but anyone can get hurt being careful and with it just being you out there, well. I worry.”
“I know you do.” If there was a “shitty son” award, I was in the running. I’d been all about myself and how Summer made me feel. I hadn’t thought of my isolated parents alone in a blizzard. Sure, they’d been dealing with this weather their entire life, but they were also worrying about me and I hadn’t had the courtesy to be concerned about them. “I have my phone on me all the time, but I’m staying in for a while. Tell Dad to keep his ass planted on the couch.”
She chuckled. “I can try, but you get your stubbornness from somewhere.” There was a hitch in her breath. “You’re doing good, though? You have enough food, water, and entertainment?”
“I’m not going to get scurvy anytime soon.”
She laughed again, and it was good to hear the sound from her. “Aye, matey. Goodness, wait until I tell yourfather. Hey—did I tell you that your aunt Shawna showed one of your tables to her boss and he wants to buy a couple?”
Shawna lived in Idaho. “Give him my info.”
“Oh, he snatched it up.” Mom’s tone was impressed awe. “He looked up your site right away and scribbled notes.”
“Even better.” Mom’s sister Shawna got the friends and family discount—free—but if her boss was on my site, he’d seen examples of my prices.
“You sure you’re doing okay? I know you’re always making and shipping tables and stools and whatnot, but are you okay... financially?”
I could’ve laughed, but I hadn’t realized until this moment I didn’t discuss finances with my parents. I made good money. The tools and materials could be expensive, but after so many years, I had all the big equipment bought and paid for and I maintained it well. My time and expertise cost the most. I charged for packaging and delivery and my fees gave me a comfortable living. I had built the shop within three years of starting custom furniture. “I make over six figures a year, Mom. I’m fine.”
“Oh.Oh. Well. Your expenses are probably?—”
“I still make over six figures. I’m not a cheap hire.”
“Well. Isn’t that just... Mind if I tell your dad?”
I roamed the living room. I wasn’t used to Mom being stunned in a good way. She could be taken aback by my curtness, and she fretted over my isolation, but proud? When was the last time she’d been proud?
When I’d walked out of the hospital, infection-free and full of resentment? No, she’d been relieved and thankful. When I’d built the shop? She’d thought Imight be a prepper and start stockpiling more supplies so I’d never have to go to town. I hadn’t given her any other indication, steeped in my bitterness and disappointed that she lacked faith in me. Had she been proud at any time in my adult life? I hadn’t gone to college like a lot of kids. I’d planned to ranch like Dad, but it’d been an obligation and not a calling. Then I’d been one fall off a horse away from never walking again and I’d needed too many pain meds after bumping through the pastures on a four-wheeler.
I’d started selling furniture over a year after that last hospital stay. For over thirteen years, I’d been building my own business and becoming an in-demand custom table maker. Had I never shared my success with my parents?
“Go ahead and tell Dad. I’ll update the gallery on my website so you guys can see more of my work. I’ve got a good thing going and I enjoy what I do.”
“You never talk about it.”
I didn’t. Even the drivers that delivered old barrels or the delivery guys that brought supplies and shipped my furniture knew I wasn’t a talker. I kept to myself, not wanting to prove shit to anybody. And I’d just stayed that way. “There were a lot of opinions about what I could and couldn’t do after the accident.”
I tried hard not to sound accusatory, but her breath hitched again. “I understand.”
“I didn’t mean you. Or Dad.” They’d seen for themselves what I couldn’t do after the accident.
“I’d love to see your shop,” she said almost tentatively.
