Chapter 7 - Chase Me, Cowboy

It’s balmy in New York when I land. My bag is lost, but this isn’t my first rodeo, so I packed the necessities in my fluffy pink carry-on. Hugh is away on a work trip, so I’m scanning the cars for Mom’s white Cadillac SUV. She’s chronically late. Maybe I should dip into the bathroom and change before registering my lost bag. I wait a few minutes, then head inside. There’s a café first thing. I drag my roller carry-on across the glossy floors and get in line.

I’ve always lived on the ranch. But inside, I’m the girliest girl I’ve ever met. I’ll cowgirl all day long if needed, but in my heart, I want to roll around in fluffy pink, drink iced coffee, and swipe somebody else’s credit card. And there’s no shame in that.

The person in front of me steps up. I move with them.

Dad has paid us for working on the farm since we were kids. I have a fair amount saved up, not a fortune, but enough that if I were careful, I could travel for about six months. And I could live with Mom without working for at least a year. That would give me time to figure some things out.

Like who I am without the expectations of other people.

Who I could be if I dared to dream a little.

“Ma’am.”

I blink, stepping up to the counter. “Can I get a shaken espresso, sub with almond milk and sugar-free vanilla?”

That’s my favorite from the coffee shop in Nelsonville, WY. When they slide it across the counter, I take a sip, and my brows rise. Alright, that’s good. Maybe I can get used to this whole being—city-girl thing. Distracted, I drag my bag, coffee in hand, out to the pick-up point.

Someone beeps. I look up, and my shoulders sink. It’s Mom, in her brilliant-pink workout set and matching shoes. For the first time, I take a beat and really see her. After the divorce, I spent most of my time in Wyoming with Dad and Sabrina, but the older I get, the more like Mom I am. I missed that, lost in the back-and-forth across the country.

I feel a hint of guilt for up and leaving the way I did.

“Hop in!” Mom calls, rolling down the window.

I heft my bag in the back and climb into the passenger side, rolling up the glass and setting my coffee down. Mom always smells good, from her sharp, clear floral perfume, and everything she owns holds the scent, including the inside of her picture-perfect car. I lean back and inhale. My heart slows.

“Thanks for coming to get me.” I sigh.

She pats my knee. “Always. Now, when your sister came running up here last summer, it was over a boy.”

I don’t say anything. She taps her fingers on the wheel, turning out of the pick-up lane. I glance at her, and she glances back at me.

“I’m going to figure it out at some point,” she teases.

“Can we go to the house, have some dinner and wine, and I’ll get tipsy enough to admit everything?”

“Fine, I get it.”

I shift in my seat, crossing one leg. “I promise I’ll talk about it, Mom. Not that there’s anything to talk about.”

“You tell me what you want to tell me,” she says. “How about we go out to eat at Morello’s tonight?”

Morello’s is the upscale Italian place near the country club she and Hugh frequent. We used to either go there or order in almost every week during our visits. The thought of comfort food and a glass of wine there sounds nice.

“Let’s do it.”

“Alright, Hugh is getting back late, but that’ll give us time to unwind and get ready.”

I nod, sinking into the seat. The feeling I got when I left the house for the airport comes back in waves. It genuinely feels like I’m leaving a dark tunnel, which doesn’t make sense because it’s not like I was suffering at the ranch. I love Sabrina and Coen, and it’s been nice that Dad is enjoying his retirement in Portland. By rights, I should be happy, too. Which leads me back to one mustached country music agent and the havoc he’s wreaked on my mental health a year after falling into my bed.

God. I hate him.

Mom reaches over and turns on the radio. Neither of us speaks over the soft pop song until we’re pulling up outside her and Hugh’s enormous house outside the city. I drag my bag out while Mom unlocks the door, stepping aside to let her goldendoodle, Derry, out to greet me. He nuzzles my hand, licking my knuckles. I smile, feeling at home.

This was a good idea.

We step inside, and Mom heads to the kitchen, probably for a drink.

“You go unpack,” she calls. “I just had the pool cleaned. Why don’t you go out for a bit while I finish up some work and we wait for Hugh to get home?”

That sounds like heaven.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, heading to the stairs.

My room is pale pink, with Sabrina’s cream bedroom a door down. I step inside and inhale the vanilla-candle scent that always clings to the carpets and bedding. My shoulders sink. Emotions surge beneath my ribs, pouring out from where I’ve kept them dammed up for so long. Silently, I ride them out until all that’s left is relief.

Tonight, I can spill everything to Mom and Hugh.

Tomorrow, I’ll feel so much better.

Right now, I’m putting on a bikini, making myself a drink, and baking in the sun for an hour or two. I can focus on that. Unzipping my bag, I take my swimsuit out and get dressed before grabbing my phone and a book off the shelf. In the kitchen, Mom has left a blender full of fruit drink and a full glass with a strawberry on the rim. I smile, scooping it up and padding out the side door to the fake grass and sparkling blue pool.

I settle in a lawn chair and close my eyes, having a sip from the curly straw Mom added. She’s always had these in her house. A twinge of guilt goes through me, a guilt I’ve felt my entire life. When Mom and Dad divorced, post his cheating fuck-up, we were offered the choice of where to live. Deep down, I wanted to live with Mom, but Sabrina felt like she needed to be at the ranch. Of course, I picked my sister and told everyone it was my choice to stay, too.

I’ve always picked my sister.

Until now, when she doesn’t need me to choose her anymore.

I pick up my phone and scroll through social media. There’s not much there, except some snaps from girls I went to high school with. Our school was really small, and due to how rural it was, nobody really kept in touch after graduation beyond random check-ins on birthdays. In the last year, I’ve noticed Sabrina reaching out more and making local friends, now that Coen is helping out on the ranch and she has more time.

Not me, though.

I wonder why. If it’s just part of this whole disjointed feeling I can’t shake.

Or whether there’s something wrong with me.

I put my phone down and take up my drink and my book. For the next few days, I’m going to force myself into vacation mode whether I like it or not.

It’s late when Hugh finally makes it back. Mom and I are in the kitchen, about going shopping. There’s a really ritzy mall just a twenty-minute drive from their house. She wants to go when she has a minute off work. A car rolls into the drive, and the door opens to let in Hugh, my lean, white-collar stepdad. Derry starts yapping until he stops to pet him.

“You want to change before dinner, honey?” Mom calls.

Hugh leans in the kitchen doorway. “Hey, Serena,” he says cheerily. “Nah, I’m okay. I was just at my desk all day.”

I smooth down my dress. It’s a short cream piece I bought the last time I visited, but never had a chance to wear. I don’t have any heels with me, but Mom let me wear a pair of hers. With the ankle strap tightened, they fit fine. It’s a simple outfit, but I can’t remember the last time I felt pretty. The little hurt part of my heart is healing.

Mom and Hugh chat back and forth. For some reason, being a third wheel with them is a lot less lonely than with Sabrina and Coen. At least, until we’re in the car, and Hugh starts asking how Sabrina’s doing, what Coen’s working on. They ask questions the entire drive to the restaurant, and it gives me a little pit in my stomach.

Am I jealous?

Or am I just really fucking lonely?

I shake the thought off as we get out and head inside. The restaurant is a beautiful Italian place with a warm atmosphere. Right away, Hugh runs into someone he knows from work. He introduces us before they get to talking. Mom rolls her eyes, and we go on ahead with the hostess to take our seats. I’m still loose from the drink I had earlier, but I’d love another, so I put in an order for a glass of white wine. Mom gets a red, then sits back and crosses her arms.

“Alright, while it’s just us girls, give me the rundown,” she says.

The waiter appears with our drinks. I take a deep sip.

“Okay, but you can’t be mad at me,” I say.

She leans her chin on the heel of her palm. “When have I not been supportive or sex positive? Never.”

“I know, but…just don’t tell anyone.”

She shakes her head. “Not a soul.”

I take a deep breath. “Alright… When Coen and Sabrina took that road trip last summer, before they came back, he sent his agent, Jamie, to the ranch. And he’s really hot.”

Her brows rise. “You mean Jamie Iron? I remember him from when he was younger. Not a lot, though.”

“We hooked up,” I force out.

She sits up straight. “What? Really?”

I nod, cringing. It takes her a to process this, then she has some wine and shrugs.

“As long as you liked him and he wasn’t a dick.”

“He is a dick.”

“Why? What did he do?” A vengeful frown creases her forehead.

“Nothing, it was really nice, and he was super gentle about everything,” I say, face hot. “But he is a massive dick.”

“Well, that’s all confusing information.”

I drink some more wine. My glass is half empty. This part is harder to say out loud than admitting I slept with him.

“I can’t shake it,” I say finally. “It’s been a year, and I can’t get over him.”

She thinks, face sober. “Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Was he your first?”

God, how is she so perceptive?

“Yeah, for like…going all the way,” I admit.

Over her head, I can see Hugh is heading to the table.

“We can talk more about it,” I say hurriedly. I’m not sure why I’m not ready to talk about things with my stepdad. He was supportive about Sabrina’s relationship with Coen, but this is different. She was falling in love. I had a few days of sex with a man I don’t really know, and then I didn’t speak to him for a year.

“We’ll talk,” Mom says.

Hugh plops down. “About what?”

“Nothing,” we both say.

He doesn’t push it. I do like how Hugh gets it; he’s always been one of the girls, but also knows when to stay out of the conversation. He also seems to sense that I’m a bit down and changes the subject, asking how long I’m staying, what our plans are, and what restaurants and shops we should try out.

The rest of the meal does a lot for making me feel better. I eat my weight in pasta and bread, then curl up in the backseat of the car and listen to seventies rock all the way home. Upstairs in my room, I shower and curl into bed, but not before sending Sabrina a text to let her know Mom and Hugh are doing just as well as ever.

She says everyone is fine at home. That I should enjoy myself and stay as long as I want.

I roll onto my back before turning off the lamp.

Maybe I will.