“Mom, hi.” My voice is breathless as I hop up and down, trying to fit the tight jeans over my hips.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Freshly washed jeans,” I explain, sucking in my stomach to button them.
“Squat,” she tells me. “Deep squat. Works every time.”
It’s a trick I’m well aware of, but I don’t tell her that. “Thanks,” I say, bending my knees and pressing the speaker button. I slide the phone onto the dresser and continue to stretch out the jeans.
“How are you? I haven’t talked to you since you got a new ranching instructor.”
I look out the window at her mention of my new instructor, my gaze swinging toward his cabin. “I’m good. Getting ready to learn how to ride a horse.”
“Kind of important.” The way she says it makes me picture her with a wry smile.
“Just a smidge.”
“So everything is okay, then? You’re okay?” Worry trickles into her voice. And guilt too. Probably a sliver of embarrassment. She feels bad for how they’ve pulled me into this mess. She doesn’t need to feel that way. I’d do anything for her and my dad. Anything.
“Mom, I’m good.” I haven’t told her about having to leave the house I was staying in. I don’t want to worry her. She put up such a fuss about me driving out on my own, and she’d been right. I mean, yeah, I lucked out as much as a woman could when Warner stopped to help me, but what if I hadn’t? She’d also fussed about me staying in that house on my own, in a town I didn’t know. Turns out, she was probably right about that too.
“How are you, Mom?”
“Good, good. Just going through my closet. Getting rid of some things.”
I pause, a mascara wand in my hand. My mother’s closet is her treasure. She keeps everything, and I meaneverything. My sister and I learned the hard way that Mom’s closet was not for dress-up, no matter how much we wanted it to be. Once, while she was out of town, we snuck in and tried on her red carpet gowns, and even though we’d been meticulous about how we’d rehung each item, she knew. So her offhand comment about going through her closet is complete and utter bullshit.
“Oh, cool,” I say, arranging my voice to be light and airy. She is a pot of water just before it boils, the bubbles swirling under a calm surface. She is acting also. “What are you doing with the items you’re getting rid of?”
“Oh, you know, maybe give it to the local women’s shelter. Might sell some of the designer pieces on consignment.”
There it is. What I’d assumed all along. I don’t say this though. I know better. “That’s great, Mom, but don’t you dare give away that white pantsuit. I’ve had my eye on it for years.”
She laughs, and I recognize the throatiness, the way it curves around the edges. It’s her Cassidy Malone laugh. The character she is most known for playing.
I understand how that can happen. You can move on from a character when filming wraps, but the character stays inside you, hooks set. I suppose I am Brooke fromSingle and Loving It, Janine fromLittle Black Book, and Jody fromWorst First Date, among others. The characters have brought out parts of me hidden in shadow, facets unseen because of larger, brighter sides of my personality. And as much as I appreciate what each character has meant to me, I’m looking forward to my next chapter, whatever that may be.
Mom assures me she’s saving the vintage pantsuit for me. I want to ask why she’s preparing to sell her closet. Does she think this movie won’t do well enough to pay off my dad’s gambling debt? We end up making small talk, and then she says, “I won’t keep you, hon, I was just checking in.”
We promise to talk next week when filming begins and say goodbye. I slather sunscreen on my face and pull my hair back into a ponytail, then head out to meet Warner at the stable.
* * *
Warner isn’t here yet.
I contemplate hanging around out front, but decide to go inside the stable to wait. I step in, nose slightly wrinkled, expecting to be hit in the face with the smell of manure.
Oddly, it smells good. I mean, the manure scent is there, but it’s buried under layers of rich leather, wood, and something I can’t identify but I know I like. I walk past each stall, peeking in as I go. Most of the stalls are empty. It’s midmorning, so that makes sense. The cowboys are working. Earlier this morning I saw a group of five riding out, perpendicular to Wyatt’s cabin. I was sitting on the front porch after Warner left. I don’t know if they saw me, but even if they did, they’d be too polite to gawk. Except maybe Troy. He’s a handful, but I think he means well.
I go to Priscilla, knowing Warner will probably put me on her. The honey-colored horse nudges her head forward, as if prompting me to do something. I’m nervous because I don’t know what she wants from me, but happy to know she likes me enough to make a request.
“She wants you to pet her. She remembers you.”
I startle, my shoulder blades squeezing together. Warner stands in the open door. The sun shines in from behind him, turning his dark hair into a lighter, warmer brown. He moves toward me, his eyes on me at first, and then the horse. It was only an hour ago I saw him, but a thrill runs through me.
“Thanks for not giving me a wild stallion to learn on.” I hear it after I say it, but it’s too late. I can’t take it back, so instead I laugh. Warner’s shoulders move as he chuckles. “I don’t often sidestep an opportunity to tease, but this time I will.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say dryly.
