It’s a new month, and I feel a little like a new person. I’m still the same old me, obviously. I’m a lawyer. I’m a mother. I’m a lousy sister-in-law and a mediocre aunt. But everything feels new.
We have internet. I can work from my tiny bedroom, with my pillows stacked behind me, and my feet kicked out on my twin bed.
The chores and tasks in front of me feel more manageable. Ethan’s got the water handled, the guys are showing us how to properly cut and bale hay. We have the first round of alfalfa from one meadow baled and stored under tarps. It’s not really much compared to the 700 plus tons that Kevin and Jeff say we’ll need for the 180 days the cows need hay, but it’s a start.
Most things, once you face them, aren’t nearly as scary as you feared.
I need that to be true right now.
Because it’s been days since I agreed to let Steve show me around at the 4th of July barbecue and dance, and I still haven’t told my kids. Part of the issue is that Amanda and Emery and Maren are always here, so it’s hard to get any time alone with my four kids. They can’t all fit in my bedroom, nor can we all squeeze into Ethan’s and Gabe’s, or Izzy’s and Whitney’s.
But today, Amanda, who seemed really upset last night for some reason, decided to take her girls shopping in Green River. I think they needed a day that more closely resembled normalcy. That, and Amanda says she can’t sit around all day, wondering if she’ll hear back from Lololime. I always thought what she did was kind of fluffy, that she didn’t work very hard to earn her money. Now that we’re living in the same place, I can see the amount of time she spends figuring out what products would fit her brand, and coming up with new ideas of fun things to photograph and tips to offer her followers. The churn and burn of coming up with engaging content is probably more stressful in its own way than simply doing legal work that I’ve grown into over years and years.
I would hate doing it myself, but it’s not as frivolous a job as I previously thought. It’s sort of like inventing the design for and implementing your own organic form of marketing that’s tied to your personal image. She always makes it look effortless, somehow.
“Hey guys, we’re having dinner together. Isn’t that fun?”
“We always have dinner together,” Gabe says. “Unless you’re working.”
“I know,” I say, “but it’s the first time it’s been only us for a while.”
“You mean, Emery and Maren aren’t here,” Izzy says. “But I like having them around.”
“I do too,” I say, and surprisingly, I mean it. “Even so, I like having just my kids sometimes too.” I wonder if I overdid it. Am I trying too hard? I can’t think the last time I made lasagna, a green salad, a fruit salad, garlic knot rolls, and dessert. Will the kids realize how nervous I am? Will they think I’m buttering them up?
If I’m this nervous about telling my kids, maybe I shouldn’t be going on this pseudo date at all.
Not that it’ll be much of a date, except in word. Steve’s actually judging for the rodeo, so for most of the day I’ll just be watching, and then at the barbecue, it’s not like I’m going to banish my kids, so they’ll be with us. Although Gabe, Whitney, and Izzy won’t stay for the dance.
Thinking about dancing with Steve makes my stomach a little unsettled. It sends a shiver through my body.
“I’m starving,” Ethan says.
And apparently, it makes me forget that the kids are waiting on me to ask one of them to say grace. “Whitney—”
“I’ll pray.” I can always count on her to volunteer. She loves talking, so it makes sense that she’d love talking to God as well. “Dear God, please bless all this food that Mom made, and also bless our family. Help Dad to know, up in heaven, that we love and miss him. Help us to stay here at the ranch, and don’t let the alien people get all the money from it. Amen.”
Ethan snickers, but everyone else acts like it was a normal prayer. I suppose it was. And I do hope, if it works this way, that Nate knows we miss him. But part of me hopes he’s not watching me all the time. That thought only makes me feel more guilty, of course.
The kids have eaten the lasagna, the rolls, the fruit, and a token bite or two of salad by the time I finally get up the nerve to say anything.
“Your dad has been gone for a year now,” I say.
“Actually, a year and two months,” Ethan says.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “And I know that’s a long time in Gabe’s life, for instance, but not as long for Ethan and Izzy and me.”
“It’s the same amount of time for all of us,” Whitney says. “Isn’t it?”
This is going well.
“Do you want us all to share a memory we have of Dad?” Gabe beams. “Because I thought of one.”
How can I say no to that? “Uh, yes. That would be great.”
“Once, I was drawing in my room,” Gabe says. “I accidentally drew outside of the lines and it made a mark on my nightstand. You know, the wooden one you got made to match the bed?”
I nod.
“I liked making lines on the nightstand. It felt different than paper, and it looked really cool.”
“I don’t remember—”
He bites his lip. “I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I couldn’t seem to stop.” He looks down at his plate, empty but for the salad. “Dad found me. He was upset, but when I started to cry, he said we could fix it. You were with Izzy at horseback, so we took it to the garage and we sanded the top. We put varnish on it, and he told me I had to be very careful not to touch it until the next night, or you’d find out.”
I think about Nate, about the things he did for me, for the kids, without praise or recognition. He did them just because he loved us and wanted us to be happy. It’s only been a year. How could I even consider—
“My memory is when I came home in fifth grade, really proud of how good I’d gotten at basketball. Dad was working a lot, and he was getting older, and I told him I knew I could beat him.” Ethan laughs. “He destroyed me. Then he told me that if I kept practicing, it wouldn’t be too long until I was right. He told me he looked forward to the day I smoked him.”
“My turn?” Whitney bounces up and down on her chair. “Mine’s a good one. I remember when we were kids and Dad would race around with us on his back.”
“Horsey,” Izzy says. “That’s what he called it. That’s why I wanted to learn how to ride.”
“I’d never even been on a real horse before he died,” Whitney says. “At least he saw you ride for real.”
“He can see you now, I think,” Ethan says.
It’s the first time I’ve heard him say something hopeful, something that shows he has some kind of faith. I’m happy to hear it.
“But I don’t think Mom was going to ask us that,” Ethan says. “She made a big, nice dinner, and she looked nervous.”
He’s too old and far too perceptive. “No, it’s fine.”
“What did you want to say?” Izzy asks.
I should just tell them something about Nate, a story. But then I’ll have to call off my date with Steve and that’ll be exhausting and tiring. For all I know, Amanda has already told Maren about it. Suddenly, this exciting, light and fun secret feels heavy and depressing.
“Mom?” Izzy asks. “You can say anything. You know you can.”
As a mother and as an adult, I know that’s not true. But if I can’t bring myself to tell them, I really should cancel. “Mr. Archer asked me to go with him to the Fourth of July barbecue and dance.” My hands tighten into balls in my lap. “I told him no at first.”
“But now you’re going?” Whitney’s eyebrows rise and her mouth opens.
“That’s so cool,” Izzy says, “because I love Mr. Archer.”
Gabe’s frowning. “What’s a date?”
“It’s where two people hold hands and kiss,” Whitney says.
I choke.
Ethan pats my back immediately. “That’s not what a date is, goofball. It’s where two people say, ‘I kind of like you. Maybe we should spend some time together and see if we’re a good match.’”
I finally stop coughing. “Yes, that’s right.” I clear my throat. “Good explanation, Ethan.”
“And I think it’s great, too,” Ethan says. “I’m sure Dad would agree. He would want you to be happy, and you look happier when Mr. Archer’s around.”
Suddenly, I’m fighting back tears.
“Why are you sad?” Gabe asks. “Are you okay?”
I hold out my arms and he walks toward me. I wrap my hands around his back and squeeze. “I’m fine, baby. I have you guys, and that’s why I’m fine.”
“I hope he gets you ice cream,” Whitney says. “Or would that be like cheating? I mean, everyone will want to spend more time with someone who gets them ice cream.”
“You should suggest that to him,” Ethan says, “the next time you see him.”
I kick Ethan under the table.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Ethan says. “I think this is a terrible idea.”
“Don’t make me kick you again.”
Izzy gets up and walks into the kitchen to grab the cake I made. She sets it on the table in front of me. “Was this a bribe? You made the cake so we’d say it’s fine for you to go on a date?”
My stomach ties in knots. I wish I’d eaten less, because I’m pretty sure I’m about to puke.
“Don’t be stupid,” Ethan says. “Mom made us cake last Sunday. She made brownies last week. And a few nights ago, she made an apple pie.”
“Alright.” Izzy’s still frowning.
“You don’t like Mr. Archer?” Whitney asks.
“I like him to teach me about horses,” Izzy asks, “but what happens if he and Mom don’t like spending time together? What if he doesn’t buy her ice cream and she never wants to see him again? I doubt there are a lot of great people here who teach horseback lessons.”
All the kids’ faces turn toward me, because it’s not a bad question. “I promise that even if Mr. Archer and I don’t have a great date, he will still come teach you lessons.”
“How can you promise us something that he would have to do?” Whitney raises one eyebrow. “I think you should ask him.”
This is awkward. I pull out my phone and type up a text. TOLD THE KIDS ABOUT OUR DATE. THEY’RE WORRIED THAT IF IT GOES BADLY, YOU’LL STOP TEACHING THEM HORSEBACK LESSONS.
“What did he say?” Gabe asks.
“It takes time for people to text back,” Ethan says.
“And he’s at work,” I say. “He may be really busy.”
“Helping fix people’s ears,” Gabe says.
“Or their arms,” Whitney says.
“It would be cool to have a doctor around more,” Ethan says. “Especially since our family is apparently accident prone.”
TELL THEM IF IT GOES BADLY, AS MY MONEY BACK GUARANTEE, I’LL TEACH THE SAME LESSONS AS I ALWAYS WOULD HAVE. . .FOR FREE.
That makes Izzy laugh. “He must really like you.”
“Or maybe he likes you guys,” I say. “Maybe he was worried about the same thing.”
“We are pretty great,” Ethan says.
He’s not wrong.
When my phone rings, I assume it’s Steve. “Hey, Steve,” I say.
“How’s life in the boondocks?” Robert asks.
My mind goes blank. What do I say, now? Calm down, Abby. You said Steve, which is a nickname for Robert. He probably didn’t even notice. “We’re all surviving.”
“How was it cutting hay?”
“The cutting was boring,” I say. “But the baling was sort of interesting. They have machines for all that stuff, and you know how good Ethan is with mechanical stuff.”
“I didn’t, actually. I knew he liked dirt bikes.”
“He fixed their baler, and he’s working on a design for a kind of flow valve that will make watering the meadows much easier and less time consuming.”
“Sounds like he’s learning, at least, even if it’s not really in the cards. Have you heard anything from Gus, yet?”
“No.” I turn away from the table and drop my voice. “I’m a little worried. Shouldn’t people be dropping off the waitlist by now?”
“Eh, they may still be stringing other schools along.”
In July? It feels like wishful thinking.
“And if Ethan doesn’t get in, he’ll survive. So he goes to community college? That’s not a big deal.”
“But I’m not sure I can justify refusing him the chance at the ranch so that he can do a year of community college.” The kids are so quiet that I know they’re listening. “But speaking of the case, I wanted to mention that the brief we talked about is done. I emailed the draft to you.”
“Kids are listening, huh?” Robert laughs. “Nice work on that nonexistent brief. Really some exceptional analysis.”
“Hush,” I whisper.
“Any chance you can fly back for the weekend? It’s the Fourth of July.”
“It would be fun to go home for a few days, but there’s a big barbecue here,” I say. “And fireworks.”
“There’s no way their fireworks will compare to ours. Did I mention I bought a bigger boat? The kids might like to go out on the lake—we could watch the fireworks from there.”
“You have a bigger boat, now? It would be fun to go out on the lake. What did you buy?”
“We can’t fly back,” Whitney yells. “Mom has a date on the Fourth of July.”
The other end of the line goes dead.
“Robert?”
“Who was that?”
So he did hear her.
“It was Whitney. Sorry, we’re around the dinner table, just about to have dessert.”
“Did she say you have a date?”
I sigh. “It’s just the kids’ horse trainer. He asked me to be his date for the barbecue and dance after the rodeo. It’s really no big deal, truly.”
“I bet the weather there is perfect,” Robert says. “Probably the perfect time on the ranch.”
“It is pretty gorgeous, especially compared to the sweltering heat of Houston.”
He spends the rest of the call asking about the ranch and how things are going, and what our days look like, thankfully. I was worried he would freak out for a minute.
The rest of the evening, and even the next day, are completely normal. None of the kids seem worried or stressed about the upcoming date, not even Gabe. Friday morning rains, which means we’re set back again on cutting the second alfalfa field. But the weather says it’ll stay dry for a week. That should give it time to dry enough to be cut, and then dry on the ground and be baled. I hope. Although, worst case, the alien fund will have a little less money because the estate will need to buy some hay.
As Amanda pointed out before, not my problem.
Sometimes I forget all of that, probably because Ethan is still holding out hope. I manage to finish all the urgent things on my to do list for work by lunch, and the kids have done their chores, too, all except Ethan. He’s out working on something that went wrong with a tractor.
“Who wants to play a game?” I ask.
Everyone’s arguing about which game we should play, Emery and Whitney pushing for Monopoly, while Izzy and Maren push for Dominion, when there’s a knock at the door. Steve’s working, Amanda wouldn’t knock, and neither would Ethan.
It’s a little pathetic that we don’t really know anyone else.
I open the door.
Robert beams at me, a bouquet of lilies and a saran-wrapped pie in his hands. “Surprise!”
“Who is it?” Whitney asks.
Gabe appears at my side, shoving his way around my legs to see. “It’s Uncle Robert!”
Robert cringes at the name, but true or not, they’ve called him that all their lives. “Right. It’s me, Uncle Robert.” He leans toward the doorway. “Is it okay if I come inside?”
I think about closing the door in his face. He didn’t ask if he could come—he simply flew out. But then I think about all the things he’s done for me. The way he’s supported me at work, and come around the house for the past year plus, fixing things that broke, power washing the driveway, replacing light bulbs and changing air filters. All the things Nate did that I never remembered to do.
“Come in.” I step backward, opening the door.
“Hey, do you want to play Monopoly?” Whitney asks.
“Or would you rather play Dominion?” Izzy throws him a double thumbs up.
“Uh, maybe I better talk to your mom for a minute first,” he says.
“Here, kids.” I take the pie. “Why don’t you have some cherry pie, and you can play rock paper scissors to pick the game while we chat outside.”
I set the flowers on the table and head for the front door, Robert trailing behind me. He looks a little like a puppy that just peed on the floor. Once we get outside, I’m not sure where to go. My porch swing came, but I haven’t assembled it yet, so there’s just a big box sitting on the front porch. In the end, I perch on the railing. At least it’s solid, since Ethan replaced the rotting boards and painted it navy, like I said I wanted.
“Robert.”
“Abigail.” He smiles.
“What on Earth are you doing here?”
“You don’t have to furrow your brow and scowl like that.”
“I’m not scowling.” I make sure my face is smooth.
“With all the things you said about the ranch, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to see it. Are you upset?”
“I have a date tomorrow, Robert. Are you sure that’s not why you’re here?”
He rolls his eyes. “You said it was nothing, just you being nice to the horse trainer.”
I mean, I did say that. “But you didn’t even ask if you could come visit.”
“We’re like family—the kids call me Uncle. Do I have to ask?” His eyes are hurt.
He’s probably my oldest friend. I may not trust his motivations, but he’s right that I can’t really ever be mad at him for coming to visit us somewhere. I exhale. “Do not make this stressful for me. Do not make me regret welcoming you inside.”
He beams.
“And one more thing.” This time I am frowning.
“Yeah?”
“You’re sleeping on the couch.”
“Wouldn’t dream of sleeping anywhere else.”