My Cowboy

Oh

Neither my father nor I know how to cook. Like at all. I tried to make chicken soup, but I burned it.

"Dad! I burned the soup!" I called to him from the kitchen.

He marched down the stairs and said, "Well we can't just hail a taxi to Casa Enrique and buy a taco like we could in New York." We live half an hour from Dallas.

"We both need to learn how to cook," I stated.

I turned off the stove and angrily stomped out the back door and down the porch steps. Oh, would you look at that? It's Ryder and his girlfriend. Ugh! Giving in to my jealousy, I walked back inside and looked up a recipe to make some freaking dinner since my dad is more clueless than I am.

Just then, there was a knock on our back door. Our back door? Who in the world would be at the back door? My dad stood up to see who it was. I followed behind him.

"Ryder?" I asked as my dad stood unaware of who this was.

"My folks were wonderin' if y'all would wanna come over for dinner." He asked politely removing his hat. "That is if you haven't eaten already."

"We'd love to." My dad responded before I could open my mouth.

"Great! Dinner bell rings at 7." Ryder smiled as he began walking towards his house.

Seven. Okay, that means I have - half an hour to look decent. I rushed up the steps and began fixing my hair and makeup. Of course, I burned my ear on the curling iron. Ouch! Could I be any clumsier? Shit! That burns.

"Jada! Let's go we're gonna be late."

"Coming!" I responded.

We walked over to their house. Once again, I was greeted at the door before I could knock. I guess he can hear us when that first porch step creaks.

"I hope we aren't too late." I checked my watch. It was 7:04. I shyly pulled my sweater sleeves over my hands and stepped inside. This place is so much bigger than mine.

Ryder led us into the dining room where several animal heads hung from the wall. They must have been hunters. Life here was so different. I tried to forget about the poor animals and started towards a chair. Ryder pulled my seat out for me like a gentleman. My father gave Ryder the death stare after we smiled widely at each other.

They served us an amazing country fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy. The steak was melt-in-your-mouth delicious. The mashed potatoes were homemade and creamy as could be.

Enough about the food, I discovered that Ryder's girlfriend, Emily, was actually his sister. She returned home from New York University. It truly is a small world; I met her on the subway once. She is nothing like her family. Aside from loving horses, cowboy boots and flannels, she is a performing arts student. She sang part of an original song she was working on. Her voice is incredible.

After dessert, my father walked home and Ryder wouldn't let me leave until I accepted the tour around town. There wasn't much to know. 2 or 3 miles down the road was a house owned by a Mr. Buchanan. He lived alone with his dog Stetson. 6 miles from our house was the "town." It literally consisted of a worn out gas station and a small convenience store. And there was a small restaurant called Texas Roadhouse. I'd never heard of it, but apparently, it's a chain restaurant.

Once we returned, Ryder opened my door and instead of letting me jump out, he grabbed my waist and lowered me to the ground. I thanked him for the tour. I walked inside, took a shower, and plopped on my bed. After all, I start senior year tomorrow, four weeks late.