Page 32 of The Little Things

Rae

“Damn it!” I snatched my hand away from the cast iron skillet but it was too late, a blister was already forming on my palm. It was my fault for being distracted when I was trying to teach myself to cook.

No, that wasn’t right. It was Zach’s fault. He deserved the blame, and on his shoulders was right where I intended to place it.

“It was a mistake.”

“It will never happen again.”

“I regret what happened.”

His words had been playing on a constant loop since he ran out of my cabin like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. The sting they caused still lingered, refusing to go away, even though nearly a week had passed. It was the kind of persistent, burning sting that felt like bees and fire ants swarming beneath my skin.

I pulled my head out of my unpleasant thoughts before the cabin could fill with the smell of burning and grabbed a dishtowel. Wrapping it around the handle of the skillet, I pulled it off the burner and dropped it into the sink with a heavy clang, the contents inside looking nothing like they had on the recipe currently up on my laptop.

I pulled in a steadying breath, determined not to sink into defeat. I’d learned a lot about myself since staying at Safe Haven Ranch, mainly that I was capable of a lot more than I thought. However, I also realized I’d depended on Zach for a lot as well, like teaching me to ride a horse, to drive a stick, to grocery shop for the first time. But I didn’t want to have to rely on him anymore. I wanted to do something for myself, like learn how to cook.

“You will not win.” I jabbed an accusing finger at the congealed mass in the skillet. “I’m going to defeat you, damn it.”

My cellphone rang from my back pocket as I got to work scrubbing out the charred-on food. I reached for it with one hand, smiling at the picture of my mom that popped up on the screen. We’d been texting regularly, but with her and my dad being out of the country, it was difficult to get the timing right for phone calls or FaceTime. “Hi! Where are you calling from this time?” I answered excitedly, tucking the cell between my ear and shoulder to free up my hands.

“Hi, sweetie! I miss you! We’re still in the Netherlands, but we leave for Ireland tonight.”

“How were the shows? Dad kill it like always?”

I could hear the smile in her voice as she replied. “You know your father, he’s one with the music.”

He certainly was. I’d seen my father perform a few times, and there was only one way to describe Roan Blackwell when he was up on the stage... pure magic. Then again, that was the case anytime he played his guitar and sang. Some of my best memories were of him holding me on his lap, strumming discorded notes and humming melodies that would eventually be twisted together into a beautiful song.

Every time the pieces of a new song would come together, he’d look at me and smile, placing a kiss on the top of my head and telling me I was his inspiration. That was what he always said. Mom was his muse and I was his inspiration. He still claimed to this day that his music had gotten a million times better after I was born, and he contributed it all to “the two most important women in his world.”

God, I missed them both like crazy.

“I’m glad it’s going so well. Be sure to take plenty of pictures for me.”

“I will, sweetheart. But enough about all that. I want to hear all about you? What are you doing right now?”

I looked to the unidentifiable substance currently swirling down the drain. “Well, I was trying to cook, but so far it’s not going very well.”

“Wait. You’re—you . . . you’re cooking?”

I rolled my eyes to myself as I shut off the water and lifted the pan from the sink. I dried it off and seasoned it with oil like I’d seen on the internet before putting it aside. I wasn’t ready to give up. I planned to try again, but not while I was on the phone. I couldn’t risk the distraction. The last thing I needed to do was burn the Paulson’s cabin to the ground.

“Yes, Mom. I’m cooking. Well, trying. But I’m getting better.” At least that was what I had been telling myself over the past several days. I was attempting that whole manifesting destiny thing by saying I would learn to cook.

“Wow, honey. I’m—I’m really proud of you.”

I smiled at the pride I heard in her voice, even if it was mixed liberally with humor. She was rooting for me, and that felt really good. “Thanks. Maybe by the time you guys are stateside, I’ll be good enough to cook a meal for you.”

I thought I heard a sniffle carry through the line. “We’d love that, Rae. More than you know. I’m so glad you’re doing well over there. I know things were tense the last time we saw each other, but you have to know, your dad and I love you very much. We didn’t send you there as a punishment.”

“I know, Mom. I get it now. I’ll admit, I didn’t see the real purpose at first, but the longer I’ve been here, the more I understand why you guys did what you did.”

“Oh, sweetie.” There was another sniffle.

“I... I like it here, Mom” I admitted. It was the first time I’d said it out loud, even to myself, and the truth of how much I liked it caught me by surprise. The uncertainty and tension with Zach withstanding, I really did like being here. The work was hard, but meaningful, and I found I enjoyed falling into bed exhausted every night because it meant I’d had a hand in keeping the ranch and the lodge running. I loved the horses and chickens and cows. I even liked Gretel, when she wasn’t being an asshole.

I loved the view of the mountains surrounding the town during the day and the starry sky at night. I was even coming to like my little cabin. There wasn’t much to it, but it was starting to feel like home.

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