Among the Cattails

Apple Cobbler and Beer

   Rose found the kitchen crammed with men and apple cobbler. The smell of baking pastries filled the air, and the old-fashioned kitchen was as clean as the yard. Nobody seemed aware that it was nearly three in the morning, but then again, nobody probably cared. Great lengths were taken to enjoy Margaret Webber's famous apple cobbler. It was "town famous". Mrs. Webber just kept pulling out dishes of cobbler and handed beer to Mr. Webber and Ryan.

   Her mother had a gift for baking. Rose quietly grabbed a bowl and a spoon, and leaned against the counter, watching the conversation with fascination. They were talking about something Dylan had brought up, and by the look on her father's face, it was something unfamiliar. Ryan sipped his beer in the corner, aware that he should return Rose's crushed car to the garage. 

   "....but yeah, I'm part of a band and we play alternative music. Well, my band plays all kinds of things, so you could say that we're an alternative-rock-electric-pop band, but that's too much to say." Dylan was explaining. Mr. Webber listened to Hank Williams, George Strait, Patsy Cline; those kinds of things, so he simply nodded into his bowl of cobbler, despite his confusion.

   Ryan chuckled and took a sip from his beer. "Folks around here don't listen to that kinda stuff." He took a bite from the apple cobbler, glancing for a millisecond at Rose. He seemed to be much more sociable than when he'd picked up 

   "Well, I'm bringing this music to the town." Dylan stated with a firm nod. He had just inhaled his third bowl of cobbler, and was on his way to a fourth.

   Mr. Webber and Ryan rolled their eyes. They seemed to posses a shared understanding of how in-over-his-head Dylan was. "Good luck with that." Ryan said. He looked up and smiled at Rose over the top of his beer bottle. This was not a good idea. Rose  found it interesting how they held this conversation for so long with so many disagreements.

   Setting down her bowl, Rose folded her arms over her chest. "I think it's time to shower and head to bed." She suggested, gesturing to her still-damp locks. 

   Ryan set his bowl down too. "Yeah, I've gotta head home. Thanks for the cobbler, Margaret." He rarely called Rose's mother "Margaret".

   Mrs. Webber nodded and patted Rose on the shoulder. "He doesn't look right to drive home, Rosie. I need you to drive him home." She smiled her motherly smile and poked her head in the direction of the front door.

   Ryan did look a little....unstable, but not enough to keep him from driving. He wasn't talking weird or anything, but he hadn't refused the beer either. This was most definitely the workings of Margaret Webber, and Rose knew it.

   Rose pouted and looked at her mother, full puppy eyes and all. Mrs. Webber simply smiled and shrugged. Like a toddler fighting it's mother, this went on for a full minute, pouty face, whining, head shaking and all. 

   "Ryan Tyler, you are unfit to drive. Rose is driving you home." Mrs. Webber stated, not tearing her gaze from Rose's. Aside to her daughter, she whispered, "End of story. Dylan, how 'bout you tell us more about what it's like in Denver. We've never been. Harvey, will you show the boy the living room?"

  Rose groaned and threw back her head. "How will I get home?"

   Mrs. Webber shrugged, ushering her daughter out of the kitchen. "Catch a taxi. I don't know."

   With no other choice, Rose motioned for Ryan to follow her. "Grab your keys."

***

   Ryan had only had one beer, and felt the need to drive, despite Rose's protests. In his mind, she'd forgotten where the mechanic's garage was, and he wanted to spend as little time as possible with her.