“Wren! You’re so extra,” she screams as she jumps out of her bed and rushes toward the TV to turn it off. “I was going to get up,” she scoffs.
“I just made sure,” I smirk. “Your cup is on the table. Get dressed.”
After playfully rolling her eyes, she looks up at my cup then at hers on the table. “Wrong mugs. It’s Christmas. We have to use the other ones,” she says.
I love Christmas but Amara is obsessed with it. It was Daddy’s favorite holiday. He made sure that he chopped down the biggest trees, decorated the outside of the house, and always made us hot chocolate in our Ho-Ho-Ho coffee mugs.
“I’ll remember tomorrow.”
“And what about the tree and lights?”
“This week,” I remind her. Financially, things are tighter than normal. We are blessed to own the house and the land but the upkeep of forty acres, our berry farm, goats, chickens, and wear and tear on the house adds up. I do pretty good with my jams and natural soaps and I’m really depending on that this season. Rodeo season and Christmas are my biggest times, especially Jubilee.
Our little town is overrun with visitors and tourists during rodeo and Jubilee. People love to see Black cowboys in the flesh. Cowboys and country living are the new fascination and I capitalize on it by selling jam and soaps. Handmade, natural products are a draw and my fresh fruit canned jams and natural goat milk soaps are highly sought after.
While I do well during rodeo season, that nearly doubles during Jubilee. The week of Christmas, the heart of Miller’s Point turns into a huge market. Local vendors and farmers set up and sell. People come from all over to shop. There are also food trucks, an ice-skating rink, and other holiday-themed festivities. The culmination of the week is Jubilee night on Christmas Eve. I will be selling all day, and that night, the Mayor lights the town’s fifty-foot tree. Thank God because this year, I need to sell out. Between the ventilation in my canning shed, electrical issues in the small barn, and the roof on the house, myexpenses are higher than normal but I don’t want her to know. The sales from today will cover the tree and gifts to put under it.
“Now, get dressed before you are late,” I tell her.
While she gets ready, I get ready too. First, I go outside and start my truck so it can warm. I place my long braids up in a high bun, then load the crates in my backseat. When I walk back into the house, she’s dressed and sitting at the island, scarfing down her breakfast. Amara and I are thirteen years apart but we practically have the same damn face. We don’t have the same metabolism though. She puts food away like a sumo wrestler but barely weighs a hundred pounds. I, on the other hand, can look at a piece of bread and gain three pounds. My ranching keeps me healthy and fit though. These thighs are thick but they’re toned too.
“What are you going to do for lunch?” I ask.
“I’ll eat from the cafeteria. I still have thirty on my lunch account. But can you make papa’s stew tonight?” she asks.
“Are you gonna help chop up the veggies for that stew?” I ask because his Brunswick stew has chicken, potatoes, corn, tomatoes, onions, bell peppers, and celery and it all has to be fresh, not frozen or canned.
“I will,” she says.
“Okay, then I’ll make it. Let’s go.”
She grabs her bag and coat then we head out. The high school is only twenty minutes from the ranch and we make it right before the first bell at eight-twenty. Five after nine, I’m pulling up to The Phoxes Den.
Because I make monthly deliveries here, the security, Terrance, buzzes me in as soon as I press the call button. The Phoxes Den is one of my favorite ranches. Not only is it big as a damn city, it’s just beautiful and the owners are just as beautiful. Beauden and Yelena Phox love Miller’s Pointe and they support all local businesses. Besides their monthly orders for the lodge,Yelena also allows me to sell in the merchandise store inside the lodge. After tasting my jams and using my soaps, the guests love to take them back to their respective homes.
When I pull up, Beauden is out front. He’s sitting in one of the chairs feeding his goat. Unlike me, he only has one, Billy. I have seven: Bell, Biv, Devoe, Left Eye, T-Boz, Chilli, and Whitney. The Phoxes Den is a cattle and horse ranch not goat farm.
Yelena is one lucky woman. Beauden Phox is too damn fine. Before she came to town, he was one of the most sought-after ranchers. So many women were trying to be Mrs. Phox but Yelena killed that shit when she came to visit and never left.
The moment I’m out of my truck, Billy prances over to me. Normally, I have animal crackers in my pockets for him but not today. Waking up late really affected my entire morning.
“Sorry. I don’t have any crackers for you,” I tell him but that doesn’t stop his jumping and prancing.
“Billy,” Beauden’s deep and smooth baritone calls out as he walks over to me. Billy’s jumping stops, he drops his head, then he prances back to the porch and his food. “Are they on the bed?” Beauden asks me.
“Nah, in the back seat.” He walks over and grabs the crates then I follow him into the lodge. “Where’s Yelena?” I ask.
“She’s in the store. I’ll empty this and bring it back out,” he says.
“Thank you. I’m going to the store,” I tell him.
When I walk into the small store, Yelena is behind the counter stacking Christmas snow globes. She spots me when she turns to grab two more.
“Girl,” she sighs. “How long have you been standing there?”
“I just walked in. Are those new?” I ask as I step in.
“Yes. Stacy, who does the create-your-own snow globes at Jubilee, has started selling them. I thought they were two cute,” she says. “Where’s the jam?”
