Hearts and Other Breakable Things

chapter twenty-six ✔️

katie porter
- february 7, 2020 -

STANDING IN THE AIRPORT ARRIVAL area, I held up a poorly made sign in my hands with the words; Southern Mama scribbled across the front in my handwriting. But, what could I say really? I was an athlete not an artist.

            I peered over everyone's heads as they exited the tiny, four plane terminal. It was a thirty-minute uber drive and a more expensive plane ticket to get her here, but it was the best we had. The next closest airport was more than five hours away.

            Just above the crowd, I spotted the top of a tan cowboy hat bobbing up and down. I waved above my head when she finally came into view, "Annie!"

            A grin pulled across the girl's perfectly smooth features. Blonde hair cascaded passed her shoulders and down most of her back. Her jeans were littered with holes that she most likely put in herself, a long sleeve multi-colored cardigan fell past her knees, and to top it all off her deep brown boots smacked against the tile when she took off running towards me.

            She dashed through everyone and dropped her duffle bag just before launching herself into my arms. We laughed and I stumbled trying to keep us from both falling to the ground. I held her at arm's length and took her in.

            Ann-Marie had always been beautiful, but there was something about someone after you haven't seen them for a while that makes all their features more prominent. She had these eyes. There was a word for it, she'd told me more times than I could count, but I never bothered to remember. One of them was this bright, sky blue and the other a light, emerald green.

            "Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes! I could just cry!" She laughed, her Texas accent thick enough to turn more than a few heads, "I'm thinkin' coffee and then I reckon a car? Sound like a plan, Darlin'?"

            "Sounds good to me."

            "Girl, where'd that accent come from? You lost that south in the mouth, ya had."

            I laughed, dragging her over to the coffee vendor, "I guess, I've just been here a little too long. How's your Mamma?"

            "Oh, that woman is three gallons of crazy in a two-gallon bucket, let me tell ya. She keeps tryin' to set me up with these rich ranchers, but ain't she barkin' up the wrong tree—"

            "Are you dating, Bobby Tate?"

            "'Course, I am." She sent me a sly smile, "But what she don't know can't kill her. She thinks we broke up months ago, bless her heart. Some small-town horse rider ain't good enough for my mamma. I need a nice, rich man to take care of me."

            "I don't know if there's a man alive capable of that."

            She laughed, "Bobby can barely handle this mouth for cryin' out loud and she thinks some rich man's gonna take it?"

            We grabbed our coffees from the barista. The young girl smiled when Ann-Marie called her 'ma'am'. I learned a long time ago that people over here in good old Oregon thought the phrase 'ma'am' was only for the aging.

            Ann-Marie decided to rent a small truck. Apparently, the big ones were taken. She ended up with this 2009 Ford Ranger which made us both laugh. We stuffed her duffle back in the back seats. She jumped on the freeway before I got to the topic that needed to be discussed.

            "So, listen," I started, "Elisha and I have to work this auction tomorrow for the bakery. It's super formal and everything. If you don't want to come with me, I completely understand, but it doesn't end until around 3pm."

            "An auction that ends at 3pm?"

            "Well, it starts at noon."

            She laughed, "What kinda auction starts that early?"

            "It's this lunch that this poetry club puts on, like a fundraiser. They're allowing the bakery to sell desserts and talk about our own fundraiser and take donations. It's an amazing opportunity for the bakery."

            Her grip on the wheel tightened, "It's pretty serious then ain't it?"

            "The bakery? Yeah..."

            "I don't know Elisha very well, but this just sucks. Havin' to deal with all this. That girl is pretty as a peach and sweet as candy. Good thing, I got a fancy dress with me and everythin'."

            "Thanks," I sighed, "we could really use some of that good old, southern charm."

            "Well, just consider me the damn sun, Darlin'. I reckon I can charm the pants right off any of those fellas, but only to help y'all out."

            I busted up laughing, "Right, of course. Can't go making Bobby jealous, now, can we?"

            "I'll tell ya what," she glanced my way, "that boys got the patience of a damn saint, he does. Havin' to constantly be dealin' with my hillbilly ass."

            We fell back against our seats in laughter. Our mothers loved to remind us of that as we grew up. That we were no hillbilly and we shouldn't act as such. With every single stupid decision, we made we were reminded about how we were raised better than that. That we needed to use the brains we were given.

            That's what happened when you were raised within the richer side of Texas. You were expected to act and carry yourself a certain way compared to everyone else. That meant not being an adulterer or dating a simple ranch hand.

            We both pointed at each other and yelled at the same time, "Mamma didn't raise no fuckin' hillbilly!"