Page 6 of Made for You

“Yeah. And I have four other cabins to flip and reset before then, plus four rooms in the inn, plus stocking the main inn’s firewood pile. And now I need to find a new damn coffee maker.” I scowl before bringing the wheelbarrow back to the main wood pile.

Hunter and Wyatt follow behind me.

“What can we actually do to help you?”

I look behind me, running through the list mentally. “I need stuff from the store for the inn. Especially if no one can go anywhere. And a coffee maker. I also could use help stocking the wood on the front porch. I need gas cans filled for the generators. I need the shovels placed by each cabin, and by the inn for the walkways along with buckets of salt.”

Hunter holds out his hand to stop me, as if he can’t handle another thing.Welcome to how I feel, buddy.

“How about I run out to get the essentials from the store, and get the gas cans filled on my way back. Where are they?”

I narrow my eyes at him, “The same spot they’ve been in since we were kids.”

Wyatt laughs when Hunter opens his mouth again, knowing that he’s about to piss me off. “Yeah, and that spot is?”

I roll my eyes, “In the barn, On the right, behind the stables.”

Hunter takes off running toward his truck to go back to the barn.

“You know he took that job to get away from your crotchety ass.” Wyatt enlightens me. As if I don’t already know my attitude chases people away.

“I’m not fucking crotchety. I’m busy. I don’t have time for small talk bullshit.”

“You’re definitely crotchety but I still love you, brother.” Wyatt comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, holding me tight so I can’t escape. I hate when he hugs me, which is probably why he does it.

He finally lets go and joins me in loading the wheelbarrow for the inn’s wood pile. We make a few runs in silence, our breath taken away simply from the frigid wind blowing off the ocean.

Once we finish, we head inside to feed the fire with the extra logs and take an extra minute to warm up.

“I talked to Margaret today about providing breakfast pastries for the inn everyday. Could you help me with pickups the days you get off overnights?” I don’t look at him, I just grabthe logs from his hands and throw them into the wood stove in the dining room.

“I can do that for you. I can send you a list of the days I’m available every Sunday.” He pauses before speaking again, “I can always make time to help you, Lee. You just need to tell me what you need.”

That makes me snap. They know I’m here everyday on my own, especially since Dad has basically retired. He helps with some day to day office stuff, but not anything that is on my to-do list, only Emma’s.

My grip on the log tightens, my knuckles turning white. The red hot anger I feel whenever this topic comes up creeps up my neck.

“You guys know I’m here. Every fucking day. I have a to-do list that looks like this, every…single…day. Snow storm or not, this is my usual shit. I wake up at four in the morning, I get home at eight, eat some ramen noodles or take-out and pass the fuck out by nine. Only to wake up each day and do it all over again. Every. Fucking. Day.”

I throw the last log into the basket by the wood stove and walk off. I’m fucking done. Let them figure out what else needs to be done. They lived here and did all the same chores I did to maintain it until they left.

I stomp across the yard to my four wheeler, pulling my scarf up around my face. It’s so cold the snot is freezing in my nose with every inhale. But I’m so pissed the cold doesn’t even bother me. I park the four wheeler in the heated garage before walking back out in the cold to my house. Stomping up the front steps I take in the quiet solace of my own house.Flipping the lock signifies that the world is locked out, and more importantly, my brothers.

Snow is coming down sideways outside my bedroom window. Winter in the city sucks. It’s freezing, and I’m tired of my face getting pelted with snow whenever I need to leave my apartment. Even if it’s not actively snowing, it’s blowing off the roofs.

I put on my puffy coat that goes down to my knees, and wrap my scarf around my neck and face. Preparing to head out to one of my classes.

Not only am I tired of the city, but I’m so done with this culinary school. Everyone there is so stuck up, and more my mom’s society circle than mine. I prefer the mom and pop hole-in-the-walls than the Michelin star restaurants my motherand step-father frequent. But no one wants to listen to what I want. It’s all about an image I’m expected to maintain, but never signed up for.

I want to move to Balsam Cliffs, Maine and run the bakery with my grandmother. Maybe even open a diner, one where people come to gather and gossip. I’d know everyone by first name, and I’d be friends with all of them. The complete antithesis of New York City, where everyone looks familiar but no one knows each other.

I used to visit my Grandmother every summer, until I told my mother I wanted to move there and live with Gran. She didn’t like that too much, and immediately stopped all my visits. Suddenly Gran was coming to New York for a week in the summer instead of me going to her for two months.

“Violet! Come have a blizzard party with us!” One of my roommates calls from the kitchen.

One more thing to add to the list of things I’m sick of, my roommates.

“I have class. Sorry.”

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