Chapter 23 - Chase Me, Cowboy

Mom’s house is empty when I get back. I didn’t tell her I was coming so I wouldn’t have to answer questions over text. A little bit of me hoped she’d be home so I could crash on the couch with some tea and cry about everything. Except for the whole music thing because it’s so hard to say that out loud. Not many people get a chance at that as a career. It’s a one-in-a-million dream.

That’s why I never thought about it seriously.

Until him.

In my room, I shower and curl up in a sweatsuit with Derry, panting on the end of the bed. For a minute, I scroll on my phone. Then, I open my social media apps one by one and wonder what I would do if I had the courage to just post something.

If I do that, I could fail.

I could be hurt. Exposed to ridicule.

Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling. He said I was good, that I had something, but he also said he wouldn’t sign me, which I understand. I haven’t proven myself. It would be so much easier to know what I’m feeling if he weren’t so closed off. Now that I’m thinking about it, he really didn’t open up to me at all. I talked a little. He was a stone wall.

My eyes are dry. I turn to my side and reach for a bottle of sleeping pills tucked in the bedside table, popping one on my tongue.

I have a feeling I won’t rest well for a while.

The next morning, I wake to a heavy sensation on my chest. Tears linger somewhere just below the surface. As I drag myself into the shower, I can tell it’s going to be a rough few days. Mom texted me during the night to say she’d be home by nine, which means I’ll have to explain what happened. At least, some of it. The really dirty parts can stay between me and him. And the real reason it didn’t work out.

I put on another sweatsuit because I need the comfort and haul my ass downstairs to let Derry out. While he sniffs in the yard, I make a cup of coffee and sit on the porch, legs folded and hood up to blunt the early sunshine. The hot mug sears my fingers. Inside, it feels like nothing.

Why am I so cut up over a man I never actually dated?

Did I really think he was going to be anything more than sex? Am I delusional enough to think that bigshot agent Jamie Iron was going to put a ring on my finger and take me all the way to stardom, like this is a Hollywood romcom?

I swallow past the dry lump in my throat.

I guess, deep down, I did. Because this hurts so much.

A door slams in the house. Sitting up, I wipe my face and whistle for Derry, who runs up the steps onto the patio. He shoves his head under my hand, panting hard, tail swishing. It’s nice to have him; it fills the homesickness for the ranch a little bit.

“Hey, honey.”

I push my hood back and sit up, smiling as Mom steps out. She’s in one of her travel tracksuits, holding an almost-empty iced coffee.

“You must have just got up,” she says.

She’s being careful, not going straight to the point. I stand and stretch, every joint popping. That probably has more to do with the workout Jamie put me through than being cooped up on a plane.

“Yeah, about thirty minutes ago,” I say. “I haven’t had breakfast, so if you want, we can go out.”

“That sounds nice.” She hugs me briefly. “There’s a new brunch place in Somerville.”

“Somerville is…where?”

“North, upstate.”

“I’m down.”

She pulls the sliding glass door open, stepping aside so Derry can barrel inside. “Alright, let me shower and get dressed. Then, I’ll drive.”

She smiles, disappearing. I go back up to my bedroom and unzip my luggage. On one side are the dirty clothes I need to throw in the washer. On the other side are the things he bought me. I pick one of the sweatshirts up and run it through my fingers, then lift it to my face. I might be imagining it, but it kind of smells like him. Like his lonely house up on the cliffs, with salty air whipping through it.

My eyes sting.

Goddamn it, I have to pull myself together.

By the time Mom is ready to go, I’m feeling a little better. We drive out to the brunch spot in Somerville and sit by the window in two big plush chairs with a round table between us. It’s the kind of spot that Mom loves, but nobody would suspect. Everything else in her life is very corporate. But on her own time, she’s in antique shops, at orchards, in bookstores. Maybe that’s how she finds balance.

“So, tell me what happened?”

I glance over the menu. “How detailed?”

“Not that detailed,” she says. “But you know I’ll talk to you about anything, honey.”

The waitress appears, and we both order omelets and coffee. Mom pulls her knees up, wrapping an arm around them.

“You came back,” she says. “But you don’t seem happy.”

I swallow, clearing my throat. “Yeah, I mean…I didn’t think we were going to ride off into the sunset.”

“But you got him out of your system?”

“Yes,” I lie.

Her brows rise. I squirm, saved by our coffee appearing, but only briefly. The second we’re alone again, she turns that hard stare back on me.

“You can be honest with me.”

“Okay, it didn’t work as well as I thought.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t think it would. Do you want to talk about it?”

I open my mouth, but a harsh wave of sadness hits me and pulls me under. When I left, I wanted a different result upon coming back to New York. Maybe the city isn’t far enough; maybe I should go home to the ranch. I could try to lose myself in work during the summer, then reevaluate in the fall. The last thing I want to do is go back to the four walls of my room, but it might be a good idea.

I’ll see how I feel in the morning. Right now, I’m thinking about getting back on a plane and going to Maine.

Did I make a mistake?

But what other option was there?

“No,” I say finally. “I want to have brunch, then go home and watch a movie. Sleep for a while.”

Her face softens. “We can do that.”

She reaches across the table, and I take her hand. “I’m fine.”

“I know, but I was your age once, and I know how it feels.”

She doesn’t know all the details, but I appreciate the sentiment. I change the subject and talk about the ranch a bit, then she talks about her work. It’s nice to do something normal, even if it feels a bit like cosplaying until my heart stops aching. If that’s what I have to do, I’ll do it. It’s no different than before.

I keep my phone off, not that he was going to text me anyway. We’re paying at the front counter when I finally pull it from my purse, and my heart stops.

Ten missed calls from Sabrina.

Oh God. No, no, no.

She never calls me like that unless it’s something important. I slide the screen and hit the call button, putting it to my ear. She answers right away.

“Hey,” I say. “You good?”

Mom turns around, forehead creasing.

“Yes,” she breathes. “He proposed.”

Relief hits me, closely followed by a wave of excitement. “Really? Are you serious? When?”

“This morning,” she says, voice rising until it breaks. I can hear her jumping around, probably in the kitchen. “Is Mom there? Quick, put me on speaker.”

I do.

“Hey, Mom,” she sings. “Guess who has a big rock on their finger.”

Mom’s jaw drops, her hands fisting like she’s about to start jumping around the coffee shop, too. “What? Really? Send us a photo right now.”

“Okay, okay, hold on,” she says.

There’s a moment of silence. Then a photo pulls up of her finger against the backdrop of the living room, a big square diamond, sparkling. It’s stunning, exactly what I would have imagined Sabrina would want. Clearly, Coen did his homework.

“It’s beautiful,” I gasp.

“How’d he propose?” Mom asks.

“Excuse me,” the clerk says.

We both turn, realizing there’s a long line, eager for us to move. Blushing, I grab Mom’s elbow and steer her out onto the sidewalk.

“So, how’d he propose?” she repeats.

“We went on a morning ride up to northern pasture, and he proposed when we were hanging out at the top of the hill.” She sighs. “It was so peaceful.”

My eyes are a little wet. So are Mom’s. Despite my own problems and how unlucky I’ve been in love, this is something I’ve been waiting on, eagerly anticipating Sabrina getting her happy ending. Not to mention, now we can finally take wedding planning out of our scrapbooks and get to work.

“Will you be my maid of honor, Serena?” she asks.’

“I mean, of course,” I say. “Duh.”

“Oh my God,” Mom says, covering her mouth. “I can’t believe it’s happening, my baby is getting married. Oh, honey, we’re so happy for you. Let me ring Hugh and tell him. Or did you want to?”

“No, you tell him,” she says. “I’m actually waiting on Coen, we’re going into town in a minute.”

“Well, give me a call tonight when he’s in, we can tell him together.”

“That works: it’s whatever you want,” she says. “I’m having trouble focusing. I know it’s because this is all new. I’m just all over the place right now. I feel like I’m floating.”

“You go be with your man,” Mom says. “Congrats, honey.”

“Congrats,” I echo.

She thanks us and hangs up. We look at each other and break into quiet squeals, stirring a group of people on the street corner. Of course, we’ve talked about it, but I honestly thought it would take longer for them to get engaged. They seemed content with how they were, living at Maxwell Ranch.

“I should go back,” I say.

I’m not sure I want to, but I think Sabrina most likely wants me around. And…it might be better for me to put a little more distance between New York and the coast of Maine.

“Whatever you want,” Mom says, but I can tell she’s disappointed.

“I’ll be there for a few months, then I’ll be back,” I promise.

She hugs me, and I hold her close for a minute. When she steps aside, she tucks my hair behind my ear.

“My girls are so grown up,” she whispers.

Her chin quivers.

“Mom,” I say. “Everyone is happy. Everything is fine.”

She waves a hand, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “I know, but I’m just so proud of you both.”

Sometimes, it’s hard to know what to say when she says things like that. It’s loaded, given that we didn’t grow up here with her and Hugh. As I climb into the car, I’m determined she gets some of that time back, especially now that Sabrina is getting married.

I’ll be back by autumn, I think. The rest of summer at the ranch, figuring out wedding planning, sounds nice. But maybe autumn in the city would help me get my head on straight.

At least, I hope so.

That night, I pack all my things in anticipation of my early morning flight. I don’t take everything; some of my heavier hoodies and jackets I leave here for when I return. Inside, I’m a tiny bit disappointed in myself. I came all this way to start fresh, and all I did was fuck Jamie Iron a dozen times, crash and burn over my future, and run back home to my mother. Now, I can’t even stay in New York because he’s close. By leaving some of my things, it makes me feel like I’m not throwing in the towel.

I’m not giving up.

Really, I’ll be back. I feel it in my bones, even if I can’t visualize it yet. And maybe I’ll start posting some covers online. Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, it’ll be good for me to do something new—something brave.