“Stop it. This shirt was expensive. Well, twenty dollars, but that’s expensive for me.”
She pulls harder.
“Rita, I said no?—”
My phone buzzes.
Wyatt: We miss you.
Three words. Simple. Honest. Devastating.
I look at Rita, who’s still holding my shirt.
“It’s easier this way,” I tell her. “For everyone.”
She lets go of my shirt and headbutts me harder this time, right in the stomach.
“Ow! What is wrong with you?”
She bleats again, and this time, it sounds kind of like “coward.”
“You can’t call me a coward. You’re a goat. Goats don’t talk.”
But, she wouldn’t be wrong. I am being a coward. Sitting here on my porch, hiding from feelings, from difficulties, from the possibility of something that could be… pretty cool.
My phone buzzes again. Jesse’s sent a video this time. He’s successfully roped a calf, the crowd’s cheering, and he’s looking directly at the camera. “Wish you were here, pretty lady.”
Then the camera swings around and there’s Madison, trying to get in the frame, reaching for him. The video cuts off.
“See?” I tell Rita. “Ex-girlfriends with prior claims.”
Rita lies down at my feet with a heavy sigh, giving up on me.
We sit there as the sun sets, me and my judgmental goat, both knowing I’m making excuses. Both knowing I’m scared. Both knowing that somewhere across town,three cowboys are at a roping competition, probably not even thinking about me because let’s be real, we had some hot nights, not a relationship.
Regardless, I want to be there. Want to watch Jesse compete and mock his form. Want to steal Boone’s nachos and critique the cheese quality. Want to see if Wyatt ever actually smiles.
But wanting and having are different things, and right now, I’ve got a goat who eats garbage and a father who’s banging the town gossip. My plate’s full.
“Tomorrow,” I tell Rita. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
Good. At least one of us has standards.
Tomorrow feels safer than tonight, and right now, safe means not watching Madison drape herself over Jesse while I pretend not to care.
My phone buzzes one more time. A photo from Boone. There’s an empty seat next to them, Rita’s collar on the bench (when did they get that?), and the caption “Saving your spot.”
I turn my phone off. They’ll survive. It’s been two weeks of fooling around, not a marriage. Madison can have her Instagram moments. I’ve got better things to do.
Rita makes one more sound of disgust and goes to sleep at my feet, done with my shit for the night.
“Yeah, well,” I tell her sleeping form. “At least I’m not humping the neighbor’s fence post like you did last week.”
The stars come out, bright and clear, and I sit on my porch reminding myself that this was always going to be temporary. Fun while it lasted. A good story for when I’m old and boring.
The weird tightness in my chest is probably just indigestion from lunch.
