My day from hell is coming to an end. I swear I hate waking up late; that shit really throws my whole day off. After leaving The Phoxes Den with my money andonly nine empty jars instead of fifty, I shook Mr. Sexy but Clumsy out of my head, went back to my ranch, and resumed my normal morning routine.
After removing the old sheets I keep in the goat pen, I rake the floor and use my leaf blower to clear the debris. I add more sheets, towels, and straw and replace the stall deodorizer. Goat urine has a strong ass smell. I wash their feed and water buckets next, then refill them. I milk my girls and freeze the milk. For soap making, I’ve discovered frozen milk works much better and the soap is creamier.
When I take the milk to the freezer in the barn, I double check to make sure it’s still cold. The wiring in here is off and my freezer trips sometimes. I have to get an electrician here soon before it stops for good. I can’t afford to lose my milk; my soaps are a vital part of my income.
While in the barn, I check the soaps in the molds and flip them. They are forming good and will definitely be ready on Thursday so I can deliver them to Yelena. I grab one of the peppermint and take it into the house after I collect my eggs from the coop. Amara and I will test the soap. It’s not fully formed but still usable.
I love our little ranchette and land. Being able to work and take care of something my dad loved and left us is everything. And although I’m tired as hell by the end of the day, it’s a tiredness I appreciate and will endure every day of my life.
Before picking Amara up from school, I take a much-needed long shower then head to the grocery store. I grab the veggies needed for my dad’s stew and a rotisserie chicken from the deli. The already cooked chicken is a cheat but I don’t have time or the energy to roast a whole chicken, not today. I also grab another case of canning jars.
As soon as Amara is in my ride, she starts to talk my head off and I just smile. She is so full of life and words. When she talks, it’s nonstop. I know everything about every student and teacher.
“And it’s something different for the rest of the week. Tomorrow is pajamas and even though it’s not twin day—that’s Wednesday—Kimmie and I are going to wear reindeer pjs. She has the same onesie I have but in green. Wednesday, we are going to wear red sweaters, jeans, our Santa hats, and boots. I don’t know if she has red boots but I hope she does,” she blurts out.
“Can you wear a onesie to school?” I ask.
“Yes, as long as it’s not too tight. They went over all the rules in homeroom. I’m good but I do need an ugly sweater for Thursday. I can’t wear the one I wore last year, that shit’s ass.”
“What! I know you didn’t just curse at me,” I say, amused as hell.
“I mean ass is in the bible,” she says.
“But shit isn’t, lil girl. I swear you try it sometimes,” I say, still amused but hiding it.
“You act like you’re so old sometimes,” she says, then rolls her eyes.
“Hell, I am. So, stop cursing. Shit,” I tease and we both laugh. “But we can try to make one of your hundred Christmas sweaters ugly or go to the store tomorrow after school. You have chopping to do tonight, remember?” I ask, then glance back to the backseat. She turns around and sees the bag.
“Oh, I remember. I’ve been dreaming about the stew all day. And I want grilled cheese with it too.”
“I’m glad I grabbed a loaf of bread then,” I say with a smirk. Of course, she wants grilled cheese. I do too; that’s exactly how my dad prepared it.
As soon as we make it back to the house, we grab the bags and go inside. She showers and changes while I get things readyfor us to cook. Once we chopped all the veggies and I debone the chicken, everything will be put in my Instant Pot with chicken bone broth, a splash of heavy cream, and my dad’s secret ingredient, brown sugar barbecue sauce made locally, Uncle Pete’s. While the stew’s in the Instant Pot, Amara works on her Algebra homework and I prepare the grilled cheeses and call Reece on FaceTime. When her face appears on the screen, I see she’s in the kitchen.
“Are you cooking for two, bitch?” I ask.
“Aren’t you?” she fires back.
“Yes, for me and Amara. But I see two big ass steaks back there. I know you are not about to eat steak for days. Let me find out it’s a man.”
She leans in close to the screen then whispers dramatically, “It is.”
“Bitch who?” I whisper back and she laughs.
“Let me head back to my room to do something to this mess on my head before I cook and I’ll tell you, but why the hell are you whispering too?”
“Hell, I don’t know. You are so I did. Who is he? And why does he deserve steak?”
“It’s him.”
“Mr. Sexy, Melvina sent to the house?” I ask.
Miss Mel is a sweetheart. She knows everybody and everything in Miller’s Pointe and she’s a self-proclaimed matchmaker. Like me, Reece needs a few things done on her ranch. It’s much bigger than mine so she needs a ranch hand. This morning, Miss Mel sent Reece a fine ass man to help.
“Yes,” Reece sighs dramatically. “He worked hard out there today and deserves a home cooked meal, and me, hell.”
“I swear,” I say with a smile. “Your day sounds so much better than mine.”
