“I think…” I roll back my shoulders. “I’m all right. Just tired.”
“You’re bored. I know you better than you think, sweetheart. Coming back to work after an extended break is never easy. I keep saying this, but you really do get used to it.”
It’s all I can do not to groan. I’ve been the ranch’s full-time bookkeeper for over three years now, but if anything, the days feel longer than ever.
“You even start to take pride in it because you know you’re doing work that’s just as important as the work the ranch hands do,” Dad continues. “Because the bookkeeping is important, Billie. You can’t run an operation like ours without money and someone to manage it. We need you here. And this stuff”—he motions to the laptop computer behind him—“you can do it anytime, anywhere, as long as you have a calculator and an internet connection. That kind of flexibility might come in handy one day.”
Really, he’s saying flexibility is important for women. In my parents’ world, women are the ones who take care of the kids, do the cooking, and clean the house so the men can go do their “Important Cowboy Things.”
Or maybe I’m just reading way too much into his comment because I’m feeling salty today.
Whatever the case, I don’t want to get into an argument this early. Dad means well. And it’s ultimately on me to figure out a way to be happy in the world I was born into.
I survived a nasty fall, didn’t I? And my older brother’s very hot best friend gave me the next best thing to an actual kiss. Not gonna lie, I’ve thought about that mouth-to-mouth moment every damn day—and night—since it happened.
Life isn’t all bad, right?
Right.
I spin my own chair around to face Dad and manage a smile. “I know. Gotta think practically.” Mom is always telling me that too.
“Practical ain’t a bad thing when so many lives and livelihoods are at stake.”
I don’t need to tell Dad the respect I have for that fact because he already knows. He raised us with a deep understanding of our responsibility to care for our land and our animals. This is life-and-death stuff we’re talking about.
I get it.
I just wish I felt more enthusiasm for my role in all of it. Or maybe I just wish I was able tochoosemy role. I think that’s part of the reason why I was so gung ho on learning how to barrel race. I felt like I had some control—like I was choosing my destiny, as cheesy as that sounds. And that destiny felt exciting.
Now that those dreams are pretty much dead—I’m not sure I’ll have the ability to ever race again, and even if I did, I doubt I’d have my parents’ support—Ifeel dead inside. It’s not like I expected to be any kind of real rodeo star. I guess I just was secretly hoping that racing would point me in a new direction. One that’s more exciting—that’s a better fit—than bookkeeping.
“No, sir, it’s not a bad thing.” I turn back to my computer.
Dad is quiet for a beat. I wait for him to return to his laptop, but instead, he clears his throat. “I know I’m not, uh, the best at this. Talking. But if you ever need to get something off your chest, I’m always willing to listen. You’re at an age…”
I put my fingertips on the keyboard. “Yeah?”
“Your twenties…It can be a difficult time. I didn’t get much guidance, which is why I try to give it to you.”
My shoulders slump. “I know. And I appreciate that, Dad.”
He’s agoodman. I know he’s just trying to do the right thing by making sure I have a solid start on a solid career path. But sometimes I wonder if he really gets me, really knows what’s best for me, or if he just wants to keep me safe and away from the bunkhouse, where “boys will be boys.”
Or the “cowboys will be cowboys,” I guess. I understand why Dad thinks that way. When he and Mom were my age, they were already married with a couple of kids underfoot. Grandpa Mack was still around, so Dad was foreman before Grumpy Bud came into the picture a few years later. Dad spent his days running the ranch, while Mom stayed home with us. The roles they took on were—are—very traditional. I think that’s why they both keepbringing up how important “practicality” and “flexibility” are in my career.
I wish practicality felt like freedom. The kind of freedom I felt racing at the rodeo or humming along with Ryder to Nirvana at the hospital.
Instead, flexibility feels like a cage.
I close my eyes and try to take a deep breath, but I still feel like I’m suffocating. The idea of being stuck inside this office for another interminably long day makes me feel like crying.
I am not a crier.
God, what is wrong with me?Why can’t I just go along with the great little plan my parents set up for me? Most people would kill for a plum job like this to land in their lap, one with benefits and, yes, flexibility. I feel like a brat for wanting something else.
For wanting more.
I also feel like I’d be letting down my parents—my whole family—if I bowed out of the position. Sure, we could hire someone else to do it. But our focus, and our resources, have been building out our training facilities and staff here on the ranch. No one wants to take the time to find a replacement for me and train him or her.
