Page 21 of Lassoed Love

On Friday afternoon, I had bared my worries about my father’s enigmatic ailment to Claire, and her genuine concern had offered a comforting balm.

“Wait, what?” Claire exclaims, eyes wide with disbelief. “You think your dad has dementia? Like… early onset?” I just nod, a knot of worry tightening in my stomach.

“Yeah, it makes sense. Nan and Pop had it, too,” I respond, my voice tinged with a touch of immaturity.

I had also confided in Claire about Imogen’s strange silence regarding Dad’s health, and Claire, looking as puzzled as I felt, swore up and down that she knew nothing. She hadn’t chatted with Imogen about Dad in ages, and the last time she did, his apparent condition hadn’t even flickered on the radar.

The strangeness of it lingers, though, casting a shadow over my thoughts. I needed to confront Imogen. Surely she’d know something. I mean, she does live here, after all.

Claire reassures me, “Don’t let it stress you out too much. If Imogen knew something, she'd have told you by now. Let’s just have some fun tomorrow night while we’re together again and see how things go.” Who am I kidding? I’m worried and unsure—how can I not stress?

I’d just nodded in agreement, clinging to the hope that a carefree night might just dispel my doubts. Yet, beneath the surface,uncertainty still loomed. I needed to talk to Imogen.

The girls carry on, oblivious to the undercurrent of unease that ripples through my thoughts. Imogen continues to expertly weave her hairstyling magic, while Claire expertly curls her own short bob. The air is filled with a mix of hair products, laughter, and anticipatory excitement.

Imogen breaks the lively chatter with a sly grin. “So, any news with ourcowboy.Or should I say farmer?” she asks casually, and I feel a slight prickling of nerves. My attempt at nonchalance fails, and I freeze mid-hair straightening.

Claire, ever the perceptive one, picks up on my hesitation. “She does! You better spill now, bitch!” she exclaims, her eyes wide with excitement.

Imogen feigns innocence, “What??”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, didn’t you see her freeze? Like a stunned mullet.”

I shrug, trying to downplay the situation. “It’s nothing, relax.” The girls exchange knowing glances, and Claire, unable to contain her curiosity, pounces.

“Come on, Isla, spill the beans. We’ve got time to kill, and I need some juicy details to spice up tonight.”

Imogen joins in, wielding the curling iron like a weapon. “Yeah, c’mon, chop chop! Don’t leave us hanging.”

I resist for a moment, but their insistence breaks me down. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and sigh.

“Fine, fine.” I sigh.

“Yesterday I went for a run and somehow ended up right near his property,”—unbeknownst to me at the time —“and my curiosity got the better of me. I didn’t want him to see me, so I literally fuckinghidbehind a tree in hopes that he wouldn’t notice anything.” And now that I think back on it, what an idiot… Wishful thinking,I guess.

“But then, a bloody spider crawled up on my shoulder, and, well, let’s just say you could probably hear my screams from kilometres away.” I roll my eyes, stifling a laugh.

The room bursts into laughter, led by the infectious mirth of Claire. “You know, for someone who doesn’t get out much, you sure find a way to get yourself into the most hilarious situations.” I squint my eyes at her and fake a laugh.

Imogen interjects, feigning disbelief, “A spider, Isla? After growing up here, literally running through the bush all day long as kids, with huntsmans, snakes, lizards, and the whole lot—now, you're scared of a small spider?”

I counter, with a hint of defensiveness, “Small!!When did I say it was small? That fucker was not small, it was gigantic… on myfuckingshoulder. And, yes, we used torunthrough the bush, not bloody linger long enough for one to hop on our shoulders and say G’day!!”

“You’ve been gone for too long. It’s about damn time you came back. Time to get back into your roots. I call it fate that that hospital was on the brink of closure,” she admits, placing her hands on her hips.

I dismiss their amusement with a wave of my hand, declaring, “Yeah, sure… anyway, enough about that.” All the whilesecretly vowing not to admit out loud that maybe Xavierisn’tthe person he used to be.

Pride, after all, is a formidable foe, and I refuse to concede to Imogen being right.I refuse. She’ll just grow a head and never let me live it down.

Stuffed to the brim from dinner at Madison’s diner, I groan, “I am so bloody full, fuck. I need to go for a walk to digest all that food.”

Imogen, sharing my sentiment, enthusiastically agrees, “Fucking same, girl!”

Claire, seemingly impervious to the food coma, just laughs. “Fine, let’s go walk down there.” She points towards a lit-up street adorned with fairy lights, courtesy of some well-meaning locals probably attempting to elevate the town’s charm. Claire continues, “And then we’ll decide what we wanna do next. It’s still early,” lifting up her phone to reveal the time, a mere 8:30 pm.

“And if we’re gonna truly celebrate, we’ll need drinks.”

Imogen quips, “OMG, yes! Where to but?”

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