This life, it ain’t for us all. It ain’t for the weak, bruised and broken. We do what we can when times get tough.
I’m a diamond in the rough, but I do it all for you. My little bird, my world, my girl.
I take the scenic route home, via my favourite Asiantakeaway restaurant and the bottle shop. I desperately need a glass of wine and a healthy serving of Lee’s Pad Thai. As I pull into my driveway, I notice the front porch light is already on – my roommate, Ella, must be home. She owns the local bar and has turned it into the town's hot spot. Ella usually worked late, so her being home before me is kind of unusual. I occasionally pick up a shift to help her out on busier nights, or when there is an event in town. No use wasting my professional cocktail making skills– and by that, I mean overfilling shot glasses and pouring beers that had more head than a brothel.
The bar is a short walk from our house, which makes the late nights easier on both of us. We often stumble home together after the few cheeky drinks we down on the closing shift. When I first applied for the teaching position here at Hawks Hollow Area School, I found her ad in the paper looking for a roommate, and we met up for coffee. We were both young and single, hitting it off immediately. Ella had moved here with her cousin years ago, but she’d taken a job in the city and Ella was desperate for some company. I hadn’t realised then that she would soon become my best friend, confidant, and personal stylist – her words.
I strategically balance my food, the wine, my guitar, and my work bag in my arms as I kick my car door closed and shuffle towards the house. I feel like a fucking octopus. Edging closer to the front door, I do the ‘bum knock’. You know the one where you position yourself in the doorway and wiggle your butt against the fly-screen as if that’s a suitable substitution for an actual knock. To my sincerest surprise, my roommate appears within moments with a huge smile across her face.
“Annabeth Harrington, don’t ya know you shouldn’t be carryingthis crap inside all by y’self. Your daddy would be rollin’ in his grave.”
I scoff a laugh as I twist my way past her and through the hallway towards the kitchen. “A little help would’ve been nice,” I say with a pretend cranky face, poking my tongue in her direction.
“I was gonna head out, but you seem like you could use some company,” she offers.
“And what makes you say that?”
“Baby girl, you’ve got Lee’s and merlot.” Her brow furrows as she steps closer to me. “What’s the matter, Annabeth?”
“I just had a bit of a weird day, that’s all,” I reply, popping the cork from the bottle and reaching into the cupboard to retrieve our Riedels. Winemustbe consumed in a fancy glass, and you can’t change my mind.
“That’s it, we’re watchingWickedand I’m making waffles,” she announces, proudly.Wickedand waffles has been a staple event in our house since I moved here in June, although, it’s usually a breakfast tradition.
“Waffles? Ella, it’s like 6:00 pm on a Tuesday,” I protest.
“And?” she questions, cocking her perfectly arched brow playfully.
“Okay, fine. But I call dibs on being Elphie.”
“Honey, you’realways, Elphie,” she says with a smirk.
Ella plants a kiss on my cheek before twirling herself into the pantry and collecting the ingredients for our waffles. I carry our glasses into the living room, setting them on the white oak coffee table, and plonk myself lazily onto the couch. The soft, maroon velvet caresses my curves as I melt into the upholstery with a loud sigh.
I nestle into the couch, prop my feet up on the coffee table, and raise my glass to my lips. The smooth, velvety liquid coats my throatas I swallow.Ahhh, heaven.
Twenty minutes later, Ella waltzes into the living room with a huge plate of waffles, and a grin bigger than her hair – it should be mentioned now that Ella closely resembles a pin-up icon and frequently has her hair teased so high it could genuinely touch the sky.
“So, why the weird day?” she asks.
“Well, not to be dramatic, but I think I’m in love.”
“Ooh, spill,” she exclaims with an excited giggle.
I take another sip of my wine, gather my thoughts, and describe the cowboy of my literal dreams to my roommate. Right down to the way his eyes bore into me and the delicious way his Wranglers hugged his ass.
“Oh, you are absolutelyscrewed,”Ella laughs.
“Bitch, Iknow.”
Four
Dallas
“Billie-Mae, you’ve gotta’ keep your toes in the stirrups,” I shout across the corral. She edges her heels backwards, letting her toes find their grip against the cold steel that hangs from the dark leather of her saddle. That’s my girl, nicely done.
Planted firmly in her seat, she eases herself into the movement and nudges her spurs against the pony’s flank ever-so-slightly, encouraging him to change gait as they move into a trot. They complete another few laps of the corral, moving together as one cohesive unit.
“Alright, sweetheart, cool him down and we’ll get him unsaddled.” My boots hit the dirt with a loud thud as I slide myself off the wooden fence and make my way across the pen to my daughter.
