My phone dings and I pick it up immediately, hoping it’s Brantley with an apology text, but it’s not. It’s Wes.
Wes- “Got done mowing hay early. Want me to pick you up for Bible study?”
Slightly disappointed it’s not Brantley, I open the text thread.
Wesley and I carpool to small group when he can. He doesn’t always have the chance to go. Farming takes up a lot of time, especially this time of year.
Me: “I’m not really having a good day. I wasn’t gonna go.”
Wes- “It might help to go then.”
Me- “I know. Would you wanna skip and just do one together? Me and you?”
I hit send and he reads it instantly. The text bubbles pop up, indicating that he’s typing, and I wait for his reply.
Wes- “Your place or mine?”
Me- “Mine.”
Wes- “Be there in 10.”
I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and grab my Bible and highlighters from my nightstand before heading downstairs.
When I walk into the dining room, I’m met with a variety of different fabrics spread out across the table, Mom sitting in the center with her sewing machine, her glasses on the bridge of her nose.
“Oh, are you doing this all night?” I ask.
“I just got it out. I’m making a few baby blankets for Jesse and Ella.”
“Oh. They don’t know what they’re having though.”
“I know, I’m just making one of each and a gender-neutral one.” She stands to hold one of the blankets up. It’s a pattern of solid-colored squares—dark green, cream, yellow—and then a goose-patterned fabric. Definitely for a boy.
“That’s cute. Jesse would use it too, I bet.”
“That’s what Mason said.” She laughs and sits back down.
“Well, Wes and I were going to do a Bible study, but maybe I should go over there if you’re in here? I know Dad isn’t going to want to give up the living room, so…”
Mom tucks her chin and peers over her glasses at me. “Promise you won’t decide tonight’s the night to confess you’re in love with each other?”
My jaw drops and I laugh. “Mom!” My cheeks flush. I wasn’t expecting her to say that.
“Promise me?” she warns.
“We’re just friends!” I argue.
“I know…so, you can use your room. Door stays cracked though,” she adds.
I get this weird feeling in my stomach that I can’t quite describe but I push past it. “Okay. Yeah. We’re just friends,” I remind her, again. I feel like I say that five times a week to everyone else, but not her. It’s never been her.
Mom mumbles something to herself as I head to the fridge, but I don’t stop to listen. I grab two sodas, cheese sticks, bologna, and grapes. Setting it all on the counter, I grab a cutting board and cut the cheese sticks into bite-sized pieces, along with the bologna.
After I lay it all out on a plate, I throw in some crackers and pretzels before taking it up to my room. A knock sounds fromthe front door just as I start back down the stairs.
Opening it, I do a once-over of what he’s wearing. Jeans, dark-blue Grunt Style shirt with an American flag on it, and a clean, brown trucker hat with the Kimes Ranch symbol on the front. In one hand he’s got his Bible, and in the other, his keys and a water bottle.
“Trail was muddy,” he says and slips off his boots.
