I look at her questioningly. “How’d you know about her?”
“Small town. Big bar. Everyone’s talkin’ about the hottie down at the ranch.”
I look around the bar and shake my head. “Jeremiah gossips like a girl.” Della starts laughing.
“Too right.” She walks away, only to return with a full glass for me. “From what I hear, y’all knew each other when you were young’uns?”
“Yeah, she and her momma moved to New York City a few years back. Uncle Bobby says she got into some trouble and her momma shipped her back here to finish out school and for the summer. I don’t know what she did and we ain’t really talking yet, mostly on the count that I made a fool out of myself when I picked her up.”
Della throws her towel over her shoulder and shakes her head. “Sweetie, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
I spin around on the stool and cross my arms, resting them on the lip of the bar. “It was bad. I went and made this big ole scene, picked her up and swung her around, you know like you’re always talkin’ about in them books you read? Anyway, it wasn’t her, just some random girl that got off the bus with her and ever since then, her demeanor is cold.”
Della tries not to laugh, but can’t hold back. I rest my head on my arm and sigh.
“Listen here, sugah, you have to remind her why y’all were friends to begin with.”
“How?”
“Well I don’t know Tyler, you have to find somethin’ that was special and just go with it.”
“You mean ask her out?”
Della shakes her head. “Not all girls want to go out. Just remind her of what a sweet, charming boy you are. She’ll be putty in your hands.” Della walks away to tend to the rest of the patrons, leaving me with thoughts of taking Savannah out on the horses or even four-wheeling. Thing is, I don’t know if she likes those types of things anymore. If she were from here, it’d be a no-brainer and even though she is from here, she’s changed.
Savannah
Every time Tyler walks by or his voice echoes over the ranch, images of him driving away with me standing on the porch continue to replay in my mind. They serve as a constant reminder that he and I are no longer friends. Being stood up is not high on my qualifying list of being friends. He is, according to Aunt Sue, my boss and I’m to do whatever he asks of me. I also have to complete his requests in a timely manner without any sass.
However, it’s very hard to be near him right now. He promised me shopping and a stop at his hangout, only to leave me standing on the porch being swallowed by a giant dust cloud. The tears I fought quickly turned to frustration. Doesn’t he understand that a woman needs more than fifteen minutes to get ready? I was standing knee-deep in manure for heaven sakes. I had to shower! He may be used to hanging out with women that smell like crap all day, but that’s not me and it never will be.
To make matters worse, when he does walk by, he ignores me. Not that I want him to talk to me, because I don’t. I have nothing to say… except I do, and it’s not about taking me to town so I can submit my homework. I want to ask him why he stood me up. Why he made such a big deal about me going if he had no intentions of taking me. I had hoped after our brief conversation that maybe we were turning a corner and he and I would be friends, but it’s clear that he thinks I’m nothing more than an employee to him.
I know I deserve this. I haven’t exactly been approachable or worthy of any friendship. I don’t want to be here mucking horse stalls or shoveling manure. This. Is. Not. Me. Life’s unfair, I know that, but never in a million years did I expect my mother to decide she can no longer care for me because of my out of control ways. I get good grades and do what I’m told. Just because she found me in one compromising position doesn’t make me a bad person. It makes me human. I know she’s made mistakes in her life. Half the time she makes me feel like one.
When I boarded the bus to come here… a bus, not a plane… I told myself that a wall is going up and nothing will bring it down until I’m on a plane heading to Paris. My aunt and uncle may be the only family I have, but they don’t know me and they definitely don’t know my mother anymore. She’s not the same person she was when we left here. Sometimes I wonder if moving to New York City was her downfall as well as mine. Frankly, I’m getting irritated hearing “remember when”… because no, I don’t want to remember when I was young, carefree and had no worries in life.
Except I’m starting to and I’m afraid to ask any questions for fear they’ll be happy and think I’m enjoying my time here. I’m not. If it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity and the smell. It’s the looks I get when I come downstairs dressed in shorts or a dress. My aunt and uncle can’t honestly say they’ve never seen a girl in a sundress before. I have eyes, I see the girls that show up to feed Jeremiah lunch. Their clothes are no skimpier than mine and lord knows what goes on in the barn when they get here. As soon as I hear the catcalls, I hightail it back to the house and hide in my room. It’s the only safe place where I can escape. Tyler can’t bother me there and watching him eat lunch in my aunt’s kitchen really bugs me.
I fill the horses’ water trough and replace the hose where Tyler likes it. I’m done for the day and now have to find the courage to ask Tyler if he can drive me into town. I know it’s something my uncle discussed with him before I got here, but I have to make the arrangements. Uncle Bobby says that Tyler’s in charge on the ranch, I do what he says and Tyler will be accommodating. We both know the latter is not true.
I kick off my unfashionable pink boots and leave them by the back door. My toes wiggle from the freedom they’re feeling at the moment. I know I’m missing the essential clothing necessary to survive on a ranch. I was hoping to take care of that minor issue last week when Tyler offered to take me shopping. Little did I know he was just kidding with that invitation.
He’s leaning up against the counter when I enter the kitchen. The non-benefit of having a big ole country house is that when the screen door slams, it alerts everyone in the house that someone’s coming. Maybe that was my intention, because I definitely could’ve snuck up on him and if I had done that, he wouldn’t be facing me right now, eyeing me up and down like he has done every day since I arrived. I’m not sure if he’s expecting something with me to change or not, but if he is, he’ll be waiting an awfully long time. I’m me. He can take it or leave it. Part of me wants him to take it, but I’m not willing to admit that out loud. I’ve done enough pining over high society boys, and the rejection that they dish out is enough to last someone a lifetime. To them, it doesn’t matter what your mother does now, it’s whose blood runs through your veins. Regardless of her checkbook balance and club memberships, I’m still an outsider to them.
It took me a year of speech therapy to drop my Texan accent. Being teased one too many times about saying “fixin’” or “y’all” had me visiting five days a week until I could speak without a southern drawl. I was still an outsider, but they were my friends. Tyler used to be my friend and so did Jeremiah. The memories of the three of us running in the fields, climbing hay bales and swimming in the pond are slowly starting to come back. I can try to fight them, pretend they don’t exist and just live my life as this outsider on a ranch not really fitting in anywhere, or I can start exploring on my own.
I walk right up next to Tyler, my hip brushing him out of the way. My elbow bumps into his back as I maneuver to make my lunch. I don’t need to be in here, but it’s where I want to be. I feel his gaze on me, but refuse to acknowledge him. He’s breathing loudly... either that, or we’re just close enough that I can hear him clearly. Everything in me is screaming for me to turn and glare at him, but I don’t. I just continue to make my lunch and allow my arm to touch the back of his shirt every chance I get. If he wants to be a jerk, fine. I’m going to be a tease.
Tyler clears his throat and adjusts his legs, crossing one over the other. I’d like to think that I’m getting to him, but the reality of the situation is that I’m probably getting on his nerves. One final elbow to his back, followed by a shallow groan and I’m moving away.
“Did ya have to elbow me?”
I turn and set down my sandwich. I mimic his stance with my ankles crossed and my hands resting on the countertop behind me. I tilt my head slightly, open my mouth just barely and say, “Huh.”
“Huh? Is that how they taught you to articulate yourself in that fancy private school in New York?” His words bite.
“What do you know about my school?” I bite back.