I decided nothing was better than babies. Except for maybe Cletus holding a baby.
I grinned at this thought, of seeing Cletus with a baby, kissing its belly and making it giggle, but then quickly suppressed the smile. Cletus was now frowning and had brought us to a stop.
Two lines of concentration appeared between his eyebrows and he released my fingers, his throat working to swallow. “Are you sure about babies?” His voice was pitched oddly, gruff and soft at the same time. “What if you had a chance to go to college instead? Become a—oh I don’t know—a chemist?”
I smirked at this idea, of me going to college, at twenty-two, and working in a lab, and placed my hands on my hips. “No. I don’t think I’d like that. Working in a lab is the same thing as working in a sterile kitchen, and I do that already. I don’t want to be a chemist.”
“What do you want to be?”
“A mother,” I said simply, because it was true. That’s what I wanted first and foremost. “And a really excellent wife and partner. And homemaker. I want to have a family to take care of, to love and fuss over and think about. That’s what I want. I know it’s not progressive, or flashy, and I know people don’t place much importance on that stuff anymore, just like people don’t put much importance on humility and kindness, forgiveness and compassion. But those things are important to me. I know people will look down their noses at me for being just a mom, but I’m used to being marginalized for what I do and what I look like. And I think being a great mother is the most difficult and most important job in the world. So people can just take their judgmental crap and—” I swallowed, stopping myself. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and my voice had lifted considerably. I was surprised by both my soapbox speech and the vehemence of feeling behind it.
After I stopped yelling I was surprised by how quiet the forest sounded in comparison to my tirade. The sparrows had ceased conversing, likely put out by my hollering.
“They can just what?” Cletus prompted, amused curiosity making his eyes bright, though he was trying to hide the amusement.
“They can help themselves to a piece of castor oil cake,” I grumbled, squinting at uneven path.
He laughed at that. So I laughed, shaking my head. I liked laughing with Cletus.
“I guess you feel pretty passionate about this, huh?”
“I do.” I lifted my chin.
Cletus stared thoughtfully at my upturned face for a moment before saying, “Do you realize how talented you are? Do you have any idea?”
“Thank you for saying so.” I pressed my lips together, administering the response I always recited when someone complimented me.
“I don’t think you do know.” He shook his head, his gaze scrutinizing. “It’s not just your baking. The way you handled that kitchen when I stopped by, all those people asking questions at the same time. You were the calm center of the storm. You were impressive. You are impressive.”
I gave him a half smile, swallowing a knot in my throat and endeavoring to suppress my absurd blush. I didn’t know what to say. Compliments in general made me uncomfortable, but compliments about something other than my baking prowess left me feeling like a long-tailed cat on a porch full of rocking chairs.
My father frequently reminded me that pride was a sin. Meanwhile, my mother told me people were jealous of me, what I looked like, of my social media celebrity. I didn’t believe my mother. I didn’t think anyone was jealous of me. That was just nonsense.
Cletus’s eyes narrowed on me, his scrutiny becoming a piercing thing. “You don’t believe me.”
“It’s not that. It’s . . .” I struggled, “I don’t wish to be boastful or prideful.”
Cletus sneered. “You are the opposite of boastful, and your humbleness verges on infuriating.”
“Gee, thanks.” I rolled my eyes.
“Look, all I’m saying is that if a person is great at something, she shouldn’t have to pretend she's not, and she shouldn’t have to downplay her hard work. There's nothing wrong with humility or modesty, Jenn. But—for heaven's sake—take credit for being a badass.”
I pressed my lips together, but this time it was an attempt to hide my smile. “Okay, thank you.”
“Do you accept that you are a badass?”
“Fine. Yes.”
“Then say it.”
“Cletus—”
“Say, ‘Cletus, you are ceaselessly correct in all things, especially about the fact that I’m a badass.’”
“I will not,” I laughed, shaking my head.
“Hmm . . .” He wasn’t smiling. In fact he appeared to be irritated. Abruptly, he asked, “If your daddy likes Billy so much, why doesn’t he date him?”