2
SEBASTIAN
“… A
nd it’s just annoying, because I know how to write an essay. Like, I’ve been in AP English classes since the fourth grade.” Lizzie grasped hold of the granite countertop behind her and hoisted herself onto its top. “Literally. I won awards for writing. You remember that, don’t you? That short story I submitted in fifth grade?”
If memory served,Ihad submitted that short story. Lizzie kept saying that it wasn’t good enough yet. She was nine years old. It wasn’t going to win a Pulitzer. But it had won that contest because itwasgood enough.
Wiping my damp hands on my apron, I surveyed the island top for the cherry tomatoes hidden somewhere among the lettuce and onion and cucumbers and peppers. I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut in first.
“Oh my God, are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, I’m listening, and yes, I remember the short story.The Busy Bear.Literary excellence. Have you seen the tomatoes? I swear they were—” I spun around and spotted the tomatoes. In Lizzie’s lap.
She gave a crooked half smile. “Sorry.”
I snatched them and returned to my nearly finished salad in the wooden bowl. “Go on. You’re pissed at your English teacher because she gave you a bad grade on your essay?”
“It wasn’t a bad grade,” she insisted. “It was a C. But it’s not about the grade. It’s about her feedback. She told me that I need to learn to ‘kill my darlings’ because I talked too much about my personal views on the subject. Which was the point, right? It was an opinion essay onOf Mice and Men.And I know why. Our class is the only class that still reads this book, and it’s because she loves it so much. Well, I hated it. And that’s what the essay was about, our feelings on the book after having completed it, and I’m sorry—but, wait, you know what? No. I’m not sorry. Maybe in its time, it was an excellent read. But in the modern era, it…”
For nearly a decade, this had been my favorite part of every day. Listening to Lizzie rant and rave about school, or drama with her friends, or current events, or pop culture.
At work, the lives of living creatures were in my hands and I had to think fast. I had to make hard calls.
And I guess here, making dinner with my niece, there was still a life in my hands. Lizzie was my responsibility. My responsibility, but also my peace. Following her chaotic train of thought forced my own to a halt.
But I wasn’t sure that this was my favorite part of the day anymore. Not because I loved Lizzie and her rants any less. Purely because I had something—someone—outside of her now.
With all the time I’d spent at the ranch, I had lots of people.Community, Rhiannon always reminded me.It takes a village, and we’ll always be yours.When I’d taken Lizzie in, those had been the first words out of Rhiannon’s mouth.
And they were my village. The staff, the women who came and went. They watched Lizzie when I had to work late. and they brought me their animals when they were sick. I cared for somany people because of that place, and so many of them cared for me.
Gwen was different, though. From the moment I met her, I’d known something was different. She was as quick-witted and smart-assed as I was. We talked, and the rest of the world vanished.
Now, lunch at Maple & Thyme, where Gwen worked, was my favorite part of each day. That, or when our paths would cross at the ranch.
Seeing her, talking to her, breathing in the smell of her perfume, and saying something off-kilter enough to watch her face squish up with confusion, only for her lips to stretch across her cheeks and her eyes to twinkle with amusement, were my favorite parts of every day.
“But I guess one C isn’t going to kill me, right?” Propping her elbows on her knees, Lizzie sighed deeply. “I deserve a better grade. I know I do. But it isn’t worth the battle.”
“Considering you already got fired from one teacher this week?” I dug around in the spice drawer in search of dried dill. “I concur. Not worth the battle.”
“Oh yeah. Speaking of which.” Lizzie hopped off the counter and came to the island. She dropped a—hopefully clean—hand into the plastic pack of cherry tomatoes and plopped the scoop onto her plate. “Did you talk to Gwen yet? Can she tutor me?”
Dill in hand, I frowned at her. “You know, I really don’t like how casual you are about this.”
“About Gwen?” She tossed one of the tomatoes into the air and caught it in her mouth. Not bothering to finish chewing before she spoke. “I thought we liked Gwen.”
“No, not Gwen. I’m talking about how casual you are over cussing out your piano teacher and getting expelled from the top musical academy in the state.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Top musical academy in th—this is Montana. There are probably twenty musical academies in the whole thing. It’s not that serious, Seabass.”
“Expulsion from any school is that serious, Liz.”
“No, that woman was a bitch.” Lizzie raised a finger, motioning me to silence before I could scold her. “She called Callie a fat ass because she ripped the leotard that this bullshit company has reused every summer recital for as long as I’ve been alive. And that’s another thing. How much did you pay for those lessons? Because I’m pretty sure they could afford a new leotard that fits a teenage girl of anormal size. And I don’t even think the teachers were that good. All of mine were snooty, snot-nosed bitches. And that’s all I said. The truth. That they are a bunch of snooty, snot-nosed bitches.”
A deep breath fell from my nostrils.
