Well, he’s…different.
2
XANDER DAWSON
There’s no Starbucks around here. No coffee stands. There isn’t even a Dunkin’. When I asked Aunt Colette where to go to get an iced coffee this morning, she laughed at me and pointed to her coffee pot.
Coffee. Pot.
I don’t think I’ve even seen a drip coffee pot since I was a child. It’s not even a Keurig. I burned the first pot I tried to make. Didn’t even know that was possible. Pot number two, I finally got it right, but then realized that Aunt Colette doesn’t have any creamer in the house, and when I thought about going to get some at the store, I remembered my car is as good as stationary right now, so I can’t. She left about twenty minutes ago for some pre-surgery appointment. Her doctor is all the way in Cheyenne since she had to see a specialist, and there aren’t any of those here.
Copper Lake, Wyoming.
I knew this town was small and figured it would be a lot different from where I’m from in Washington, but I haven’t even been here a full twenty-four hours yet, and the differences are painstakingly obvious already. What kind of place doesn’t havea Starbucks? Isn’t that a universal place, like a post office or a McDonald’s?
Hell, there’s probably no McDonald’s here either.
Non-burnt cup of coffee, sans creamer, in hand, I pad out onto the back porch. It’s a partial wraparound, with a couple of rocking chairs and a little circular table in between them. Her house is nice, but this property? Insane. Beautiful. There’s so much of it, and it’s like right out of a damn Hallmark movie. I remember in high school when my aunt told my mom she was moving here, my mom was beside herself. She didn’t understand why anybody would want to move to somewhere as small as Copper Lake. And honestly, I kind of agreed at the time.
Desert Creek, the town I live in, isn’t large by any means, but it’s still centralized and has everything you need, and if it doesn’t, then it’s a short drive to the city to get it. This is…something way different. I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw people getting around via horseback here.
“Hey, honey, can you run to the store and get me some flour?”
“Sure thing. Let me grab a saddle and hop on the back of Ryder. Be right back!”
Yup. Could totally see it.
Setting the coffee cup on the table, I reach into my pocket, wrapping my hand around the contents, and pull them out. Opening up the small, rectangular tin can, I pluck out one of the pre-rolls before placing it between my lips, and bring the blue BIC up to it. The lighter sparks to life, a flame burning the end of the paper until a sour, earthy scent wafts around me and fills my lungs.
The first hit in the morning is always the best. A slow, steady calm settles over me, a wave of relaxation feeding my mind. An iced coffee with a joint is my favorite way to start the day—it’s how I’ve started every day for as long as I can remember.Bringing another glaring difference between home and here; Washington is a very weed legal state, while Wyoming isnot. So legal, in fact, that I own and run a dispensary back home. Something I’m grateful for in situations like this, when I needed to up and leave for who knows how long. I didn’t have to worry about getting fired or not having the money to make ends meet while I was gone. The shop doesn’t make a huge profit, but it does make enough that I can easily support myself, which is a plus.
After I’m done with my coffee, I need to get started on this list of chores my aunt left for me. I’m happy to be here, and to help her out during her surgery and the recovery, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling very in over my head. The closest I’ve ever come to farm animals is going to the petting zoo or the occasional pony ride at the fair as a kid. I have Larry, but he’s about as low maintenance as they come and lives strictly indoors. All I have to worry about is the litter box and making sure he’s fed every day.
Aunt Colette has a whole damn herd of animals, so this should be interesting.
Taking one more hit off the joint, I put it out before placing it back in the tin can. I grab my phone, checking it to see if there’re any missed calls or texts, but of course, there isn’t. Although, I am an hour ahead of Washington time, so it’s still extra early there. However, I didn’t hear from him last night either, but I refuse to go there. Not first thing in the morning, and not when I already have so much on my plate. I don’t have time to worry about why I haven’t heard from my boyfriend or what he could be doing that keeps him from texting me.
I told myself I wouldn’t obsess over this while I was here. And I mean it.
My eyes catch on my most recent text message, and memories of my shitshow of a day yesterday come barrelingthrough my mind. My car has been on its last leg for quite a while now, and I knew it was risky driving it here from Washington. I considered flying, but I didn’t want to either be without a car the whole time or have to rent one or borrow my aunt’s, so I chanced my luck and drove. In its defense, it did just fine up until I crossed the Wyoming state line. When I stopped for gas, it didn’t want to start back up, and at stoplights, it was idling weird. I don’t know shit about cars, but even I knew none of those were good signs. Then, when I turned onto the road that was supposed to lead to my aunt’s house, the hood started smoking bad enough for me to panic and think the damn thing was on fire.
Car trouble is so stressful, especially if you know nothing about them. The mechanic is coming to look at it today, and I’m praying it doesn’t cost an arm and a leg to fix. Is it even worth it for me to fix at this point, or should I just get rid of it and buy a new one? Hopefully, the mechanic isn’t a price gouger. Some of them can be so sleazy, after nothing but your money. If he’s anything like Cope, though, then I’ll bet he’s nice and polite. That’s one major plus about back home. My best friend’s fiancé is a mechanic, so I always get the best deals, and I know my car is in good hands with him.
I’m still beside myself at how nice and helpful Cope was yesterday. And for no reason. He doesn’t know me from Adam, yet he stopped when he saw me broken down, and immediately offered to lend a hand. Who does that? Back home, you see someone pulled off the side of the road, you drive on by and mind your business. It’s not even to be rude either. You just never know who you’ll run into in situations like that, and you can’t be too careful. I was raised to always have my guard up and to never be too trusting.
Apparently, the residents of Copper Lake were not taught that same mindset. Or at least, Cope wasn’t. I wonder if I’ll seehim again. Hedoeslive next door, and hedidtell me to reach out if I needed anything, so I’m sure the chances are likely.
Deciding I should quit wasting time, I heave a sigh before standing up and stretching my arms over my head, and grab my mug, bringing it back inside. After rinsing it in the sink, I collect the list Aunt Colette left for me, stop and pet Larry, who looks positively grumpy this morning, where he’s sitting in the windowsill, and head out back. Her cursive handwriting is nice, and it reminds of an elementary school teacher. Before she left this morning, she told me there was a pair of rubber boots out in the barn I could wear while I worked if I wanted, but glancing down at my Vans, I don’t really see why I’d need them. It’s not like it rained yesterday, so the lawn wouldn’t be wet.
I should be fine.
I’m not fine.Not fine at all.
Very quickly, I realized why my aunt suggested wearing the boots. It’s not for fear of getting my shoes wet from the damp grass. Well, it kind of is, but it’s more than that. These damn shoes don’t have good traction, and even though the grass is mostly dry, there’s still mud near the troughs, and there’s poopeverywhere. I’ve been out here twenty minutes, and I can’t even count how many times I’ve almost slipped and fell on my ass.
My white shoes are covered in mud, my socks are wet, and everything stinks out here. The food, the grass, the shit, theanimals. Why does she have so many fucking animals in the first place? What one person needs this many? Horses, chickens, ducks, goats, donkeys, cows. There’s even a fuckingmule. Who the hell needs a mule?
I’ve let all the chickens out of their coop, gotten everyone food and fresh water, swept the barn, and now I need to turn the horses out… Whatever the hell that means. Aunt Colette has three horses, Meadow, Blanc, and Bertha—don’t ask me who’s who, because I don’t have a single clue. She gives written instructions on how to put on the halters and walk them out to the pasture, but I’m feeling very out of my element looking at these giant beasts.
