Page 65 of A Bittersweet Summer

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mom,” I say, my tone hollow. “I’ll ask Gus if he needs any help.”

Without another word, I hang up.

When she calls again, I don’t answer.

Instead, I use a rubber spatula and dump the brownie batter into a glass pan, checking that the oven is preheated before setting the dessert in to bake.

I set a timer for twenty-five minutes and migrate to the couch in the living room.

My eyes burn with tears when I reach for yarn in the basket next to the couch. My therapist said the crocheting can be good. It’s repetitive and calming. She mentioned it being used for anxiety, among other things.

I make a slip knot and start a chain.

In the way of family, it sometimes feels like Gus is the only one I have, and I suppose that should be okay. I should be able to live with it.

After digging my heels in for weeks, I finally start on the blanket he asked for.

By the time the brownies are done and cooling on top of the stove, I hop in the shower, letting the water wash away the rest of my worries.

Ellis invited Lennon and me to go dress shopping with her at the end of July, saying she had to wait for her Aunt B to be available at the same time.

I send her a text about how excited I am, and ask about how the venue hunt is going.

Since I’m not working on the farm today, I opt for a flowy maxi skirt and a cropped tank top. The weather has slowly turned scorchingly hot, and since it’s June, I’m not sure when we will see the mid-sixties again.

I tap my finger on the stove, staring at the brownies I made.

It would be a great excuse—a perfect one, really. I could just deliver the brownies to the office for everyone to eat while I’m off work today.

Maybe I’d run into Wes.

I snap the lid on the glass pan and slip my boots on, carrying the brownies all the way up the drive, around the side of the barn, through the doors, and to the office.

When I don’t see anyone, I pick the pan back up and start peeking into stalls. At the last one, I see Roe bent over with a hoof pick, cleaning Cameo’s feet.

“Hey!” I say, clutching the tray close.

Roe looks up, her hair fighting to escape the bun on top of her head. “Hey, Cass!” she says. “I thought today was your day off.”

I wiggle the tray. “I thought I’d bring some dessert for everyone.”

“Huh,” she says, letting Cameo’s hoof drop to the straw. Roe dusts her hands off on her jeans, leaning against the entrance to the stall as she looks at me, those hazel eyes working to parse apart the real reason I’m here on my day off.

“Wes is at the house,” she offers. “He’s on lunch, and he sure loves brownies. You can check for him there.”

“Oh,” I say, “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Roe scoffs. “You’d hardly be intruding.” She smiles wide. “I’m sure Wes would love to see you, and I’ll be busy leading a trail ride for the next few hours. Should be done by…” She glances at her watch. “I should be done by two, but there’s always so much to do here. I might not be up at the house for a while.”

My cheeks flush, and Roe chuckles, passing me as she heads to the office.

“Well, go on!” she says. “I’m sure Wes would love a sweet treat.”

When I’m finally standing in the center of the aisle, my brownies clutched against my stomach, I stare at the empty barn—the spot where Roe retreated into the office.

It looks like there are no secrets here. Our activities are out in the open, and a part of me likes it. I like that I’m not a secret hidden away, but I’m not being flaunted around the farm either. We get to simply exist as we are.

Shrugging, I walk my way up to the house, unsure if I should knock or if I should—