“Yes, Tanner. I’m just fine. You can go back to work.”
“Right. Alright. You have a good day, then. If you need anything else?—”
I give his shoulder a brief shove, giving his movements momentum. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, great. See you, then.”
Waving my fingers, I watch him pick up the pace. He spins at the last minute and nearly clocks himself with the side of the truck. I watch him until he disappears inside of it and starts the engine back up.
“Your father tried telling me not to worry about you here, but I think I needed to see you just now to convince myself,” Mom says, her voice cutting through the trailer.
I let the screen door slam shut and turn to her, snorting. “You forgot how deep my hatred of men runs?”
“No. More like your ability to tell one off. You’ve never cared much about upsetting a man.”
“That wasn’t even me telling him off. He was nice.”
“Just unwanted?” she asks, smiling as she wanders into the kitchen and sets a reusable bag onto the counter. “He offered to drive me up. I didn’t even have to ask.”
I join her, trying to look into the bag. “So he had manners. Good for him. I doubt Jed Carrigan keeps men on his payroll that don’t have them. He likes being the only asshole on the ranch.”
And I’m sure his son is giving him a run for his money.
“You’re going to make them hesitate to offer you any help if you ever find yourself in need of it,” she advises.
“Well then, it’s a good thing I don’t plan on getting into a position like that.”
Mom hums lowly and unpacks the food she’s brought. Soon, the counter is full of items I didn’t ask her to bring. There’s cling-wrapped banana bread, a bag of ambrosia apples, a giant jug of chocolate milk that I doubt will fit in the fridge, and a multi-pack of condiments. I arch a brow at everything.
“You should have asked how full my fridge was before bringing all of this,” I say, letting my voice soften.
“Don’t doubt my organizing abilities, my sweet girl.”
I step back and make room for her in front of the fridge. “Alright. Have at it, then.”
“Cut us a couple slices of bread while I get to work. I’ve got a square of butter in the bag.”
“There’s no microwave to warm it up,” I state while unwrapping the bread.
The square of butter is thick, and my chest constricts. It feels like she remembers everything about me still, and I don’t know what to do with that. I’ve always slathered everything in butter. Even when my dad would warn me that my arteries would be plugged with it by the time I turned thirty.
I search the drawers for a knife and grab the first one I find. It’s dull enough that I have to saw through the soft bread before setting both slices on the cling wrap.
“You don’t have plates?” she asks, glancing up from her place on the floor. The fridge is open, and she’s scowling at the temperature settings. “Maybe I’ll get your dad to pick up a new fridge and bring it over.”
I swallow the sudden emotion in my throat and shake my head, abandoning the knife on the chipped countertop. “You’re not getting me anything else. The fridge is fine. It’s just old and hasn’t been running in who knows how long. We’ll give it an hour, and if it doesn’t cool by then, I’ll buy a new one myself.”
Mom sighs, her gaze lingering on my face as I take the slab of butter and rub it across the bread. It’s hard enough that itcrumbles more than spreads, and I ignore the annoyance that sparks in me.
“You’ve been gone for too long.”
I turn my head to stare at her despite telling myself not to. “What does that have to do with this?”
“You’ve forgotten what it’s like to have your parents in your life,” she states, her eyes refusing to look away from me. “I’ve been too far away to offer you much help over the last few years, but you’re not across the country anymore, Tilly. You need to learn how to accept it again.”
“I’m not a teenager anymore. Maybe I just don’t want to have to rely on anyone for anything. I’m a grown woman now.”
“And there’s a rule about grown women not ever accepting things from people? Because if there is, I must have missed that life lesson.”
