“You’re saying that since I don’t know how to use this I have to cook and clean? That’s so misogynistic.”
I’m so fed up with her and her whining. You’d think she’d be a little more grateful she’s alive and we’re even willing to share our precious resources with her this winter.
I take a snow shovel off the wall and shove it toward her instead. Fine, she doesn’t want to cook? Then she can slave away in the freezing cold. As long as she’s contributing.
To my surprise, Mara takes the shovel and storms outside even though she doesn’t have boots on. She goes back up to the house, grabs a coat off the wall and her boots from the fireplace, then gets to work shoveling snow outside.
I wonder how long it will take before she realizes it’s pointless. The storm is going to last all winter long.
And, as it appears, so will her temper.
Two hours later, I’m in the shop working but I can see Mara’s little dark form working away through the window. The speaker on the wall is playing “Richard Petty” by Billy Strings.
I take a break from working on the Damascus steel 1911 and head inside, up the stairs, and into my room. I open the closet door and start looking on the floor where I think I threw some clothes a girl left here once. Sure enough, there’s a pair of jeans and a thong down there. If I remember correctly, she wore one of my shirts home and just the shirt cause we couldn’t find the clothes. Found them the next morning on the balcony. Oops.
Pausing, I consider that she’s going to need more than just a pair of jeans and underwear, so I take a few long sleeved t-shirts and flannels off their hangers to add to the pile. I fold the clothes into a neat stack on the hope chest at the end of Mara’s bed. Then I remember what’s in the hope chest and hesitate. I haven’t opened it since we first moved in. I don’t want the reminder she’s not here.
But…I also don’t want Mara walking around in nothing but my shirts for the next four and a half months. An image pops into my head of her on my balcony wearing one of my flannels that barely covers her ass, hair spilling down her back. My stomach contracts, my dick twitches in my pants, and then I immediately push that image out of my head.
God, this is going to be a long winter.
“I don’t think she’d mind.” Dylan’s voice sounds over my shoulder. He’s been around me so much, he knows how to read my body language since it’s my only form of communication.
I lift the lid on the hope chest to see the clothes our mom stored here for our visits when we were younger. There’s a few tank tops and jackets, some shorts for the summer, and some undergarments. I never really wanted to think about her wearing shit like that but I guess everyone has to.
“Unless you’d rather she walk around naked all winter.” I shoot Dylan a sardonic glare. That’s the last thing I need, not that it would bother Dylan much.
There’s not much in there, but it’s better than wearing the same two outfits everyday, I guess.
I head back out to the front drive that’s now only two inches of fresh snow that’s fallen since Mara cleared it. She’s gradually working her way down the driveway but her work is getting covered in fresh flakes. The snow is falling softly right now, but it’s enough to leave its mark on the ground.
What? Does she think she can shovel her way back to town? It’s a forty minute drive. It’ll take her two weeks to get down there at this rate. She’ll freeze to death in the process.
Fucking stubborn woman.
I walk into her peripheral vision. I know she sees me but she doesn’t stop shoveling so I take the bar of the shovel in my grip to cease her pointless pursuit. Her colorful eyes turn to me looking a little weary but just as fierce as I’m used to. A jerk of my head toward the house is the only gesture I offer. She looks from me to the house, catches my meaning, then goes back to shoveling.
“You told me to shovel, so that’s what I’ll do.”
Stubborn. Woman.
I step directly in front of her to block the trail she’s making in the snow and lift my chin toward the house once more. If she refuses me again, fine, I’ll leave it.
But she doesn’t. She huffs an irritated breath that puffs white into the air and starts marching back to the house without waiting for me. If she would just stop assuming everything I do is out of malice, maybe this would be a little more bearable. But that would be too easy. And it’s not in Mara’s nature to roll over and submit, anyway.
I pass her at the front door to lead her up the stairs, her quiet footsteps so much softer than mine in my heavy boots. I’m honestly surprised she followed me without more of a fight.
I lead her into her bedroom to stand next to the open hope chest. Mara’s eyes travel over the array of clothes in the hope chest and then to the clothing on the bed. The fight in her eyes disappears when she realizes it’s for her, that she won’t have to go all winter in the same pair of underwear.
Though she could just go commando…
No. That’s a terrible idea.
Then Mara’s features shift and she’s angry again. What else is new?
“Are all these clothes from your one-night stands?” Of course she thinks that. I just roll my eyes in response. I’m done trying to be nice.
Then Dylan steps into the room. “So you gave them to her after all.”
