Write. Eat. Repeat.

Chapter 2: Ranch

I hold the frozen high heel over the sink, sawing at the stain with a knife, my cell phone wedged between my shoulder and ear. "It's not working, Mom," I say, dropping the knife in a huff.

"You put it in the freezer right away?"

"Yes!" I growl, shoving the shoe back in next to the ice. In my defense, all I can think about is Frank's chronicle punctuality and that the office opened an hour ago.

He should've read my article by now.

And since I haven't heard from him it means it's time for plan B—consign the designer pumps.

"Bring it to Berkovitz's Dry-cleaners," Mom says. "They're old friends. I'll give them a call and tell them you're coming."

"Thanks, this has been a crazy few days."

She lets out a loud exhale.

"Mom?"

"Your father sent you a postcard."

Oh? That's not good.

"I guess he doesn't know your new address so he just mailed it here."

I grab the left over bag of Lay's Wavy potato chips from the cupboard and wander over to the couch, sitting cross-legged and picking at a knot on my pink fur booties. "Did you read it?" I ask.

She lets out a breathy laugh. "Of course I read it." I can tell by her tone that she's rolling her eyes. "He's in Brazil with Mandy."

"Mandy? Haven't heard of that one." The words escape before I realize their weight. Mom doesn't need to be reminded that he cashed in his pension, left her with a pile of debt, and is travelling the world with an assortment of women. "Sorry, I—"

"It's fine. I'm fine," she says.

"Okay." I twirl my fingers, trying to think of something to change the subject. "Hey, how's the shop?" It's been so long since I've been home, or at the family cleaners. I wonder if Mom got the motor on the clothing rack fixed or if she's still spinning it by hand.

"It's a lot of work for one person," she says, "especially someone trained in astronomy. But I'm managing."

Managing—that's such a reclusive thing to say. "Are you getting out with friends, Mom? Taking advantage of being young and single with an empty nest?" And now I sound like Chelsea.

"Ha! I passed young when my daughter got engaged." She coughs realizing she's breached the forbidden subject. "Besides I got another cat, a kitten this time, Orion's his name. Those little monsters need a lot of attention."

"Another one! How many is it now, three?" I open the chip bag and pop one in my mouth—I missed breakfast and it's almost lunch, still I could get used to eating these everyday for a brunch snack.

"Five." She clears her throat. "But who's counting."

I smile, and my eyes fill with tears, thinking about my beautiful mother and how alone she must feel. "I miss you, Mom."

"I miss you too, sweetheart."

The phone beeps letting me know I have another call. "Someone's on the other line. Talk later?"

"Sounds good sweetie, bye."

I hang up to see Chelsea's face on my screen. My heart sinks a little. I was hoping it was Frank.

"Hey Chels."

"So. About last night."

Right, last night. I'd almost forgotten about her scheming to get Brooks and me back together. I've been too busy stressing about the article.