How It's Supposed to Be

by T. S. Joyce

  Feeling self-destructive, she reached into the shoe box and pulled out the one on top.

  Dear Gweneth,

  Waking up next to you is like waking up to the most beautiful sunrise. I will never stop appreciating you or the care you show me every day. I feel like the luckiest—

  Gwen crumpled it up and shoved it back into the box, her heart aching.

  Boys lied so easily.

  She inhaled deeply and looked at her blow dryer on the bed. “Billie, we deserve better than boys who write the same kinds of letters to other girls.”

  She glanced at herself in the mirror again and scrunched up her face at all the bruising and bandages. That little move hurt like hell, and she gasped and counted to fourteen before the pain went away. Well, she had all these plans to take a billion selfies at the dude ranch and post them all over social media to show how much she was enjoying her life without a man, but there was no way in heck she would be posting a selfie any time soon.

  Gwen swallowed hard.

  She was actually okay with that.

  She’d been exhausted by her life of pretending everything had been okay with him, social media included.

  She’d wanted to get away from the phone. Sure, the dude ranch would’ve been way better, and she would still have her car and her face intact, but she wanted to be her old bright-side self again. Gwen wanted to find that positive attitude she’d been missing during the years of fighting and confusion with him.

  So here it went: it might not be the dude ranch, but she was on a farm with no cell reception. She would start her dude ranch adventure as soon as the snow lifted and she figured out her car situation. And bonus, she’d been doctored up for free, so no co-pay bills coming in from her medical insurance for stitches and resetting a broken nose. Look at her being a mother-effing survivor and saving money all at once! She should buy Franklin some Cheez-Its as a ‘thank you.’

  Gwen pushed open the door of the bedroom carefully. She had expected to find a hallway, but the door led straight into a big living room instead. The ceiling was so tall, it made the place feel huge. That, and the sparse furniture and few decorations. Everything was precisely in its place, from the salt and pepper shakers set directly in the middle of the dining table, to the book that sat perfectly centered on the coffee table in front of the couch. There wasn’t a television. When she padded over to look at the book, she lifted it up and read the cover. The Art of Surviving Loneliness.

  Huh. That made her heart a little sad for the man who lived here.

  The room was painted the same dark gray as the bedroom, with matching white trim. When she looked up, she saw the ceiling was all exposed stained wood and rafters that gave this place a feeling of modern meets cabin-in-the-woods. The kitchen was all wood block countertops and matching cabinets. Brown and gray. Those were Franklin’s colors.

  She sat on the couch and read the first few pages of his book but got bored quickly. She made three circles around the room and kitchen, looking at every sparse decoration before she started studying the wood grain in his kitchen table. God, this was a boring life.

  There was probably way more fun stuff to do outside. Maybe he had pet goats.

  In the kitchen, he’d set out a brand-new bottle of over-the-counter pain killers and an unopened bottle of water. Okay, he wasn’t trying to drug her, just alleviate her dang headache. That was nice. She broke the seal on the medicine and took three to try and get the pounding behind her eyes under control.

  The pantry was stocked, and so was the fridge, so she made herself right at home and put together a few grilled cheese sandwiches and a thermos of hot tomato soup. Then she dressed in as many warm layers as she’d packed and pulled on one of the oversize jackets from the coat hook at the front door. It swallowed her whole but smelled good. She sniffed the collar. He had good taste in deodorant scents and soap.

  Okay, mister I’m-only-a-one. Smelling good is at least two points.

  She zipped up his jacket and grabbed the little cooler of food she’d packed, then made her way outside into the freezing cold blizzard. The wind took the door the second she opened it and nearly knocked her on her butt.

  Jeez, the weather was a little intense in this part of Montana.

  She slipped and slid across the icy porch and stumbled down the snow-caked steps into the yard. She made her way around the house to find his boot prints leading from the bedroom window. She found them, but they were already being filled in with snow.

  Go fast!

  She couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of her. She hugged the cooler to her chest, pulled up her hood, tucked her chin against the stinging snow hitting her cheeks, and stepped in every boot print he made. Up ahead, there was a big barn.

  Relieved that she wasn’t going to be traipsing around the woods lost in a snow storm, she jogged the rest of the way to the open sliding doors.

  A voice reached her ears. Franklin’s voice. It echoed through the cavernous barn and she froze in the open doorway, listening.

  “I won’t do that…because that’s not what you do to people!” Was he on the phone? “Yeah well, you don’t have a soul, so this argument is pointless…I’m trying. I’m trying!”

  Maybe he was talking to his girlfriend or something. Lucky sumabitch had cell phone reception in here?

  Curious, she tiptoed as quietly as she could down the straw littered aisle between two rows of stalls toward the sound of his deep, snarly voice.

  The last stall surprised her. It was a chicken coop, complete with a gate that stretched all the way to the ceiling, instead of just a third of the way like the others.

  There were six chickens staring right at her. Franklin was in the middle of the little flock with a pitchfork in his hand, scooping hay off the floor and into a wheelbarrow.

  “You have chickens in a barn,” she said.

  With a fearsome snarl, Franklin twisted around and she saw his face for the first time.

  He’d lied to her.

  He wasn’t a one at all.

  He had a full beard and perfect high cheek bones. His nose was straight and his eyes were blazing silver under his light brown eyebrows. His hair was short on the sides and messy on top, and his teeth were all straight and white. She could tell, because he was baring them right at her.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Uuuuuh, the door was wide open?”

  “I mean without me hearing you?”

  She’d never before met a man who could growl every word like this.

  “You said you’re a one, but honestly you are closer to a nine. I would say ten, but I deduct points for rudeness.” She lowered her voice. “It makes ya less attractive if you’re a douche.”

  “Pretty sure a douche wouldn’t have saved your life. Go back inside.”

  “I’m bored.”

  “Go be bored inside.”

  “I am inside.” She grinned brightly and held up the cooler. “Besides, I come bearing gifts. I made food.”

  The man frowned and looked around the chicken coop frantically. When he spied his face mask, he rushed to put it back on.

  “I’m not feeding you if you wear that dumb thing.”

  “I have rules that I have to—”

  “What rules?”

  “Rules you wouldn’t understand. You shouldn’t be in here!”

  “Can I clean that out?” she asked.

  “Clean what out?” he asked, exasperated.

  “The chicken coop. I’ve never seen one in a barn. I always wanted a chicken.”

  “You always wanted a chicken. Just a single chicken?”

  “Yes. Do you know they have tutus for chickens? And little harnesses and leashes where you can take them for walks?”

  He was handsome even when he glared at her. “I’m going to go back to work now.”

  “Why do you have them locked in the barn? Don’t they need sunlight?”

  He growled again. Growled! Like an animal. “They can get sunlight during the
day,” he said, jamming a finger at a small opening in the wall.

  She pulled open the gate and let herself in.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded as she scooted past him.

  “Hi little chickie,” she crooned to a brown one that followed her. What a cutie. “This one loves me!” she called over her shoulder as she went to examine the little trap door that was latched into place above the cut-out in the wall. She knelt down and stared out the little opening. There was an entire enclosed coop outside, complete with what looked like a chicken jungle gym and swings that hung from the roof of the coop. He liked his chickens, but the trap door that kept them in here was made of iron bars.

  This man was complicated.

  “You built a chicken prison,” she said, pointing at the iron bars ready to close on the escape hole like a little guillotine.

  “It’s not a prison. It keeps them safe at night from…predators.”

  She laid on her belly again and stared out the little hole into the snowy abyss outside of the chicken wire. “What kind of predators?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know,” he murmured.

  The brown chicken pecked her cheek and she yelped at the pain.

  “See?” he said. “She doesn’t love you. She pecked you.”

  “She kissed me,” Gwen corrected, rubbing the sting on her cheek. “Her love is just violent.”

  “Your positivity is annoying,” he grumbled.

  “Maybe I’m trying to grow a personality.”

  He leaned on the pitchfork he was holding and sighed up at the rafters of the barn. “I’m sorry I said that. Can you please stop bringing it up?”

  “Only if you eat lunch with me and teach me about chickens. And maybe give me one of your chickens so I can pretend it’s mine until I leave here. It would be nice to talk to something other than my blow dryer.”

  “Jesus. Anything else, lady? You want the moon, too?”

  “Sure. And you have to tell me your real name so I can stop calling you Franklin, and you have to stop wearing that dumb mask. I don’t know why you’re trying to hide behind it. You’re effing hot.”

  At the last sentence, his eyes went from annoyed to shocked. They went wide and he stood there frozen, staring at her. “What?”

  “You. Are. Hot. Take the damn mask off. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. You aren’t hideous or scarred, blah blah. Who am I going to tell? My new pet chicken? I choose that one.” She pointed to the brown chicken that had pecked her. “I’ve named her Willamena.”

  The man knelt down, cocked his head to the side, and studied her. Gwen was still kneeling in the hay with the cooler hugged to her chest. “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you.”

  “Why not?”

  The man pursed his lips. “I have rules on how I’m allowed to interact with people.”

  Gwen scrunched up her face. Maybe he was a murderer just let out of prison. “Rules set by the court?”

  “No. Out here, the rules are just different than you’re used to. I have a job. You put it at risk.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “A little of this, and a little of that,” he said, avoiding the question. After a few moments of silence, the man lowered his mask and said, “My name is Aux. You can stop calling me Franklin now. And your chicken’s name is Cookie, but you can call her whatever you want until you leave. Which will be very soon. As soon as the snow stops accumulating, I’m going to get to work on that tree blocking the road. You shouldn’t be here.”

  She didn’t know why that last part stung like it did. He was right. She had injuries and a totaled car out on the road collecting inches of snow. She had a missed appointment at a dude ranch she’d spent her savings on, and had probably missed calls from Tabby. She had a life, and this was very different from anything that felt familiar.

  “I like your name,” she said softly. “I’m Gwen.”

  “I know. You told me before you passed out. Not much scares me. When you told me how to track down your people…” Aux nodded. “That scared me. It’s been a while since I felt…anything. You sounded like you were saying goodbye. I panicked when I saw the road was blocked and brought you here.”

  “Thank you for…well…you know.” She gestured to the bandage on her forehead. “You’re seeing me at my worst.”

  Aux shrugged one broad shoulder up. “Meeting someone at their worst is the best way to meet someone.”

  Huh.

  “You really want to learn about chickens?” he asked.

  “Yes. I want to learn about everything. My ex…” She swallowed hard. This is the part she didn’t want to talk about, because everyone in her life had judged her. This man was a stranger though, and there was no harm in making admissions to strangers. They didn’t have any eggs in the basket, so to speak. He didn’t care about where she came from, so maybe he wouldn’t judge. “My ex said I’m useless. It sticks with me. I’ve had the same boring job at a travel agency for the last ten years. I can’t cook. I’ve tried, but I just don’t have that talent. I’ve killed every pet plant I’ve ever owned. I do the same thing every day, and celebrate every holiday exactly the same each year. I was with him for so long that I just kind of started believing him when he would say those things. I’m useless.” She lifted her chin higher. “Last week I found out he was with another girl and I left him. Do you want to know the saddest part?”

  “Not really.”

  Gwen narrowed her eyes. “We need to work on your manners.”

  “If you tell me the ways he made you sad, Gwen, I’ll want to kill him.”

  That drew her back. He said that with such conviction, with a steady tone to his voice while he looked her dead in the eyes.

  “Tell me,” he said gruffly.

  “The saddest part was, she wasn’t the first girl I found out about, but I had stayed. Against the wishes of all of my friends and family, I had stayed. I was convinced I didn’t deserve any better, and that it was somehow my fault because I wasn’t good enough. So I focused on being exactly what he needed, and I lost myself along the way. I got sad, I got quiet…and I got useless, just like he said.” Gwen forced a smile. “I’m getting back to my happy, positive self because I choose to. I choose me.”

  Aux nodded, and the barest hint of the very first smile she’d seen on his lips appeared. It transformed his entire face into something that stole her breath away. It was sharp canines and dancing silver eyes and raw sex appeal that scared her a little, but awed her more.

  Aux was becoming more and more interesting.

  He gestured to the cooler. “What did you make?”

  “Just about the only thing I know how to. Grilled cheeses. And I heated up some soup like a boss.”

  He chuckled and the deep, gritty timbre of his voice filled her head. Hell, it filled the whole chicken coop. The whole barn. Maybe the woods outside, too. He had the best laugh she’d ever heard.

  Aux gestured to a hay bale. “I just brought that in. There isn’t chicken shit on it yet, so you can eat there.”

  “Where will you eat?” she asked.

  He twitched his head toward the opposite wall. “As far away from you as possible.”

  “Right. Cooties, and all.” She rolled her eyes, but he could keep his weirdness. Gwen opened the cooler and handed him two wrapped grilled cheeses and the thermos of tomato soup.

  He took the soup and poured part of it into the lid, which had a little handle and was shaped sort of like a squared-off teacup. He handed that part back to her. It was still steaming.

  He took his food and retreated to the opposite wall where he knelt in the hay and ate his first sandwich hunched over like an animal, eyes never leaving her. It wasn’t until after he was done with the last bite of that first sandwich that he said, “You don’t suck at cooking. This was the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had in my life.” His voice sounded grumpy, like he wanted to choke on the compliment, but he’d offered it anyway, so it counted. He tipped his thermos
back and took a swallow of warm soup. “And you can heat up soup. So…not useless.”

  “I was going to go to a dude ranch and learn all this cool shit, and take a bunch of pictures of me having the time of my life and post them for my ex to see.”

  “Mmm. To prove to him that you’re all right without him?” he asked.

  She nodded and took another bite of grilled cheese. “He posted a picture of him kissing his new lady the day after we broke up. I guess I wanted to show he hadn’t hurt me like he thought he did.”

  “You know what would be cooler?”

  “Hmm?” she asked around a bite.

  “If you live your life for yourself and only post pictures for you. The ones that make you happy, without a thought for anyone else’s opinions. If you live a full life quietly and just enjoy the moments, unposed, no thought behind it, no scrambling to find your camera…just…live. That’s a better revenge. He can post empty pictures and sit there hoping you see it.” Aux jammed a finger at Gwen. “You post pictures only for you, and see who lives a fuller life.”

  Her cheeks heated with pleasure, and she dropped her gaze to the steaming cup of soup sitting next to her on the hay bale. “I like that,” she murmured. It was getting too mushy in here, so she offered him her most charming grin and finished with, “You’re smarter than you look.”

  He belted out a single laugh and shook his head, then dug into his next sandwich.

  He finished way before her and began explaining everything about chicken care. He was very knowledgeable. He told her, “You’re going to work hard today and learn a lot, and you aren’t going to give me a single complaint, understood?”

  She packed the empty thermos, lid, and trash back into the cooler and stood. “Yes sir!”

  Then they went to work. She pitched the rest of the hay from the coop into a wheelbarrow and hauled it outside to what Aux called ‘the burn pile.’ It was already very high with dried limbs and old pallets. Her muscles were burning and she cursed herself for skipping the gym too much lately, but it felt good to not just sit in his house and focus on the throbbing in her face or pondering the direction her life had taken. This was feel-good work.