Chapter Three
- Cynthia Ann
- Mar 18
- 7 min read
Backwoods Buffoon
Exhausted from an early morning and a ridiculously long day of travel, I grab my bags from the carousel and trudge to the street exit. Seriously, how did a two hour flight turn into seven hours of travel? The stupid layover wasn’t long enough to leave the airport and explore, but long enough to be a giant pain in the neck, that’s how.
I hate traveling.
As I exit through the automatic doors and look across the expanse of blue sky and open fields, I admit the traveling part isn’t the issue. It’s being back home I’m not excited about.
I haven’t even found my parents in the airport pick up lane and I’m already tense from the potential exchange.
They’ll ask if I was robbed or propositioned inappropriately. My dad will hope I got the travel bug out of my system and insist I start working on my future plans. My mom will hint subtly that a little make up goes a long way and to give Ross a call so we can finally work things out.
And the entire ride home I’ll be grinding my teeth.
I sit on a bench pulling my bags close and attempt to appreciate the view and the last few moments of sanity I’ll get. In my solitude, I can admit to myself that I do love this area. I love the rolling green hills visible in the distance and watching the herd of horses grazing lazily in the field across the road. The airport is almost an hour away from home so the full effect of small town life hasn’t hit me yet. That’s coming soon enough.
Maybe if I moved here, where there’s simply more available–stores, restaurants, humanity–I wouldn’t feel so trapped. That’s a big “maybe” considering my only source of income is working with my father on the ranch. Pretty much an “outside the realm of possibility” under the circumstances.
A girl can dream.
Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath of clean air, something I can admit was lacking in Hollywood, and try to let go of the anticipation. It occurs to me that my parents should have already been at the airport, waiting. But I didn’t see any sign of them when I walked out here. My flight was delayed by twenty minutes, so what’s the holdup?
Seconds later, as I open my eyes, I have the answer.
An obnoxiously bright red sports car with its convertible top down pulls up to the curb near me.
The sight of its driver is nearly enough to give me heartburn.
For crying out loud, I finally had a positive thought about being back home and Ross makes an appearance.
Is this a sign?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, not actually wanting an answer but what choice do I have when he pulls to a stop and stares me down.
“Here with your carriage, my lady.” Ross smirks, his stupid polo shirt collar sticking up like a 1980’s romcom antagonist. I take note of his slicked back hair, darker blonde than mine and loaded with more product than Brianna uses on stage. Yuck. He’s trying so hard to be relevant I wonder why I never saw it before. His blue eyes twinkle at me as he pulls off his aviators to wink but I don’t trust that pasty jerk for a hot second. He’s not here out of the goodness of his heart, that’s for sure.
“My parents should be here any second, but thanks for the offer.”
“No, doll. Your parents were slammed, so I told them I’d come to welcome you home.”
“Great,” I mumble. What choice do I have but to let him drive me back home? No Uber would take me that far, not for a reasonable amount of money which I don’t even have. I shrug to show I’ve given up but he doesn’t even bother to exit his asshole mobile and grab my bags.
“Pop the trunk.” I point to the rear of the car.
“Nah, doll. Just toss it in the back seat. Trunk’s full.”
I roll my eyes while I do as he says, not interested in arguing with him. Besides, I’ll be able to grab my things faster once he gets to the ranch. Otherwise, he might hold said things hostage in the trunk and attempt to talk me into letting him stick around.
Without him lifting a finger or even opening the door for me, I climb in and buckle up. This is some carriage ride. He’s the opposite of a gentleman or a knight in shining armor. He’s the troll under the bridge that my own parents sent to fetch me.
“Where to?” he asks like a complete dumb ass.
“Home.” I say it with zero humor. I refuse to banter with him.
“Are you hungry?”
“Nope.”
“They don’t feed you on flights anymore so you must need something.”
“Ate during my layover. I’m good.”
Ross finally gets the hint and shuts up as he hits the highway. My back is pressed into the seat when he hits the gas. I realize he’s showing off for me but I also refuse to give him any type of attention for it. Smirking, I realize that Brianna’s Tesla has more power than Ross’s ten-year-old sports car. I want to say just that but manage to hold my tongue.
“What’s that look for?” he asks.
Guess I wasn’t as stealth with my disdain as I thought.
“What look?” Maybe if I play dumb he’ll let it go.
“The one that looks like you ate a lemon.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. What a perfect metaphor.
“Oh, that look.” I nod but say no more. Being around Ross is exactly like sucking on a lemon. And how funny that I was just drinking fancy pink lemonade with a literal pop star yesterday.
“And?” Ross rolls his hand in an effort to get me to elaborate.
“And I know which look you mean.”
Yes, I am being intentionally vague. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had with him, to be honest.
I recline the seat and angle away from him instead of saying more.
“I’m beat from all that traveling. Thanks for the ride home. I’m going to take a nap.”
I intend to feign sleep to keep him off my back, but I actually fall asleep a few minutes later.
The next thing I know, he’s stopped the car at my parent’s house.
“Home sweet home.”
Still bleary eyed, I twist my head to look over at Ross only to find him leering at me.
“Oh, thanks,” I say while simultaneously wiping the drool from the side of my face. “I’m kind of wrecked.”
“That’s one way to put it.” He mumbles the words but I heard them loud and clear. I couldn’t care less how I look in front of him. I’m sure I have major bedhead especially due to the top being down. Wind whipped and seatbelt marks on my cheek aside, a real man would never make me feel less than because I took a little nap.
A flash of Clinton fills my head, the realest man I’ve ever met—including Zack who’s a total sweetheart but doesn’t hold a candle to the guy. If only I’d taken a shot with him…
Shaking that impossible thought from my mind I exit the vehicle as soon as possible, grabbing my bags with precision.
“Welp, thanks for the ride.” I give a half assed salute and take a hop towards the house.
“I’ll see you later.” Ross calls from behind me as he revs his engine. “Your parents invited me to dinner.”
If a voice could smirk…shit he sounds so damn smug my lip curls in disgust.
“Sweet,” I say with zero sincerity. I’m about to pick a fight with my parents. I don’t have time for this backwoods buffoon.
Although we don't live in the woods. And that's quite an insult to buffoons. Whatever.
His wink and smirk unhinge me but he drives away before I can unleash my vinegar. I watch as his car gets smaller, filling the air with a dust cloud any rancher would be proud of. Ross’s horsepower may be impressive but he’s the biggest disappointment I’ve ever had. In more ways than one.
I can’t believe no one but me sees him for who he really is.
I take a step back and spin around, looking up at the place I’ve called home my entire life. My parent’s tiny clapboard house is a more welcomed sight than expected after my forced proximity with my ex. My nose is assaulted by the overwhelming scent of horses and wet grass, something I didn’t notice until I’d lived away at college for four years. I’d gotten used to it again since being home but is once again the first thing I notice. Hollywood has its own odd smells, occasionally sour from uncollected garbage even while staying in the exclusive hills to the stars.
Although the scent of exhaust from Ross’s car is similar.
The house hasn’t changed in all the years we’ve lived here. Peeling white wood siding greets me, even with the touch ups my dad does on occasion. Ranching doesn’t leave much time for home maintenance, however. The living room and kitchen windows face the front. Grimacing, I realize my mother may have witnessed the spectacle of my arrival, although no one’s come out to greet me so maybe not.
I pass the vegetable garden my mother has kept for as long as I can remember, green beans and tomatoes ripe for the picking. The onions and carrots may be as well but I don’t look closely enough to check.
The tiny porch with grandma’s wicker rocker and the vibrantly green fern named Fern after the girl in Charlotte’s Web and the fact it’s a fern. Vivid memories of jumping rope right on this porch come rushing in, my mother yelling from the open kitchen window not to knock Fern over. Of course I did, almost every time. And every time I’d pick it up and scoop the dirt back into the pot.
I now wish I’d been awake on the drive through town. I wonder if the memories I have of Main Street in Silver Valley would be as bitter sweet as these.
Bittersweet though they may be, it doesn’t make being home any easier. Especially due to the fact that my parents have been completely snowed over by Ross and his big buffoon energy.
“Colleen? Is that you?” My mom calls from inside the house.
“Yes, it’s me.” Who else were they expecting? Although out in these parts, people do tend to drop by unannounced. It’s a town trapped in a time warp, not all of it nostalgic.
Pulling myself up with a deep breath of determination, I walk myself through the front door, ready to school my parents regarding their Ross obsession.
And hoping like hell I have the guts to follow through.
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