by Abby Brooks
Sheesh, thanks man. Appreciate the help here—good to know I can count on you to kick a man when he’s down.
My stomach drops in recognition that neither man wants anything to do with me. I’m tempted to remind my idiot little brother that, as a grown man, I have other responsibilities, and while I appreciate him stepping in to pick up my slack, what the hell else does he have taking his time?
I feel compelled to defend myself and explain what happened, but if I even whisper her name I know I’ll lose it in a big way. I’m trapped, damned if I do and damned if I don’t. On the one hand, I can keep my mouth shut and let them vent, which I deserve, but they’ll probably stay pissed for the next day or two, leaving me isolated and alone and I don’t think I can handle alone right now. Or, I can defend myself and remind them that I haven’t taken a proper vacation in, oh wait, how many years has it been now?
So, I do the only thing I can that doesn’t require me to say anything, I dig into my pocket, retrieve the ring, and show it to my brothers.
Chet doesn’t speak, but his shoulders drop when he realizes what’s happened. Hank stares at the ring and bites at the corner of his mouth, while he searches for something to say. Finally, in the way only Hank can manage, he mutters, “Wow, I did not see that coming.”
“You need to talk? Or do you need time?” Chet asks.
My head falls. “I don’t know…I don’t really even understand what happened,” I confess. “I had this big idea I wanted to surprise her with, so I picked her up this morning and drove us down to Colorado Springs to show her around and tell her about it. I thought, if she saw how much thought I put into it, she would…I don’t know. Things just went sideways.”
“Colorado Springs? What idea involved Colorado Springs?” Chet asks, rubbing his chin.
Before I can explain, Hank interjects, “Is it me, or is this the kind of conversation that should happen over beers?”
“I could use a drink,” I admit. “Uh, Chet. I’m sure you want to get home to your family, but this does, indirectly, involve you. You may want to stick around for a bit.”
Hank puts his arm over my shoulder. “Come on, your place is closer than mine.”
As we walk to my house, I proceed to outline my thought process, how I was trying to give the woman I love everything she’s ever wanted, or at least, everything she’s ever wanted that I could afford. Chet and Hank take a seat at the kitchen counter as I retrieve three beers from the refrigerator. Chet quietly listens, never interrupting to ask a question or make a joke at my expense. Hank, much to my surprise, listens attentively and asks a couple, intelligent and relevant questions as I fill in the details of my day.
“So, you were just going to leave?” Hank asks in disbelief.
“No—I mean—I don’t know. I suppose if she was onboard with the idea, then…yeah. Why?”
Hank stares at me blankly. “What about the ranch? Shit, what about this house?” Hank looks around the kitchen. “All the work you’ve put into it. It’s not like you can put it on the market, ya know?”
“Yeah, I know. But look, Chet’s got a family now, and I’m going to have a family. Soon.” I look to Chet. “You said it yourself, I’ve got to start putting them first.”
To this point, Chet hasn’t so much as coughed. He’s been a fly on the wall, quietly taking everything in, and occasionally staring off in that way he does when he gets caught up in thought. But after hearing me explain my reasons for wanting to leave, his brow furrows as he opens his mouth to speak. “Gabe, you know this place belongs to you every bit as much as it does to me. We’re partners.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“What do you mean?” Chet asks, confused.
“Partners? Since when?” My eyes flit back and forth between my brothers, looking for someone to acknowledge my point of view, but Chet and Hank stare back at me with blank faces.
“What?” I demand.
“Do you really not see yourself as a partner?” Hank asks. “Hell, I spent most of my time here screwing around drinking beer or riding four-wheelers. But you? We would have lost this ranch years ago, if it wasn’t for the two of you.”
Now I’m the one staring blankly. “Do you really think he’s ever said anything to offer, even a hint, that he sees us as partners?” I ask Hank as I aim the neck of my bottle at Chet.
Hank leans in to me, putting himself within whisper distance. “I thought you were supposed to be smart?” He sits back and laughs before taking a drink from his beer. “Chet doesn’t express everything with words, man. But I think he’s made his position plenty clear along the way.”
“That’s…” I look back and forth at my brothers, caught between feelings of pride and disbelief. “I can’t process this right now.” I sigh and stare at the counter. “Not until I’ve figured out what went wrong, and what it’s going to take to get her back. I can’t stomach losing her again, much less ending up a weekend warrior dad to my child.”
“Gabe, I’m sure you meant well, but did you stop to ask her what she wants?” Chet asks.
Goddamn, I hate it when he does that. It’s not so much that he might be right, it’s like, because of the way he talks, all succinct and to the point, it makes whatever he says sound so damned obvious.
“Of course, I did.” I grit my teeth. “Let’s suppose you’re right though. Given where we are now, how about some advice on how I can correct the problem?”
And why the hell weren’t you around before I went wading into the deep end, in the first place?
Chet picks up his Stetson and squares it on his head. “Someone I trust gave me a nickel’s worth of advice once, maybe it could help you too.”
Chet trusts someone? The thought catches me by surprise. “Okay, hit me with it.”
“He told me to talk to her. Good or bad, don’t let another good one slip away.” Chet stands to leave. “Talk to her brother.”
I shake my head, undecided if that was wasted breath, or brilliant and insightful. “Chet, before you go—who gave you the advice?”
Chet cracks a smile. “You,” he says, before closing the door behind him.
Hank looks at me with wide eyes. “Maybe you are smart,” he jokes. “But probably not, or you wouldn’t have put yourself in this situation to begin with.”
“Thanks for the support, jerk.” I smile.
Hank stands to throw his empty in the trash and stops behind me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “You gonna be okay?”
I bob my head. “I’ll be alright. Thanks man.”
“Hey, we’re family. I’m here for you. As long as there’s beer in your fridge, anyway.”
“Speaking of—grab me another while you’re up?” I ask.
“Sure thing.” Hank opens the refrigerator and retrieves two more bottles.
“So, what’s going on with the, mechanic-for-hire thing?” I ask, hopeful for a distraction.
Hank hands me my beer as he plops down on his stool. “Not much to tell. Our name is enough for folks to take a chance on me, you know, the first time. After that, what can I say, my work speaks for itself.”
The topic change is welcome, and hearing Hank talk about something he’s so passionate about is a side of him I’ve never seen. And, at least the way he describes it, he might actually turn his hobby into something real—if he doesn’t pull one of his stunts and screw it up first.
After his second beer, Hank notices the time and takes off for home, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Even worse, around six pack thirty, I get the wise idea to text Meredith. Because, you know, drunk plus emotional—that always helps.
Me: Mer, about today. I forgive you for overreacting.
Me: And I’m sorry too.
Me: Please call me.
What can I say, it seemed like a good idea at the time?
My eyes grow heavy and I sleep like a baby. If I had to guess, the alcohol may have had something to do with it. But after waking with fresh eyes and a clear head? I can’t
stop staring at those words.
I’m seriously never drinking again.
What do I do? Send an apology text? Explain that I was drunk? Should I call? She never replied to my messages, does that mean she’s still as pissed as she was yesterday? Would it be better to just show up? The magnitude of the conversation does merit a face to face, but…what if she won’t see me?
Chapter Thirty-One
Meredith
Mom stops me as I streak through the living room. Her smile falls at the sight of the hurt in my eyes and tears streaming down my cheeks. “Oh dear, what’s wrong?”
You can do this. Be strong. Keep it together until you’re safely locked in your room.
But I am not strong—I am the opposite of strong. I was upset before, but now that my mother knows it…I come undone. She guides me to the kitchen table, blubbery and pitiful as I am, so I can tell her about my terrible afternoon. Before I even begin to walk her through my day, the woman places a piping hot cup of chamomile tea in my hands. My mind races a hundred miles an hour. Where do mothers learn these life secrets? How could she possibly know one sip of that nectar would have me spilling the beans?
And, oh how I spill. I am an open book, sharing details about the drive and the surprise and my frustrations. I confide some of my deepest, most private thoughts and emotions, until no stone is left unturned. Alright that isn’t entirely true. I may have left out one small detail. I mean, I don’t actually tell her that I broke things off with Gabe. I’m not ready to process it, much less hear what she and Daddy think of the subject.
I wipe at my eyes and blow at the steam wafting from my cup whenever I need a minute to compose myself. For her part, my mother waits patiently, handing me fresh tissues as I rehash the day. I tell her about Gabe’s plan to leave the ranch, and therefore his family. To illustrate how serious he is, I highlight the fact that he took me to look at a condo he had already picked out. I explain, in detail, how he was ready to put down a deposit, how his plan entails moving us hundreds of miles away, and how that means me leaving my family. In my desperation to be heard I even spell out how he did all of it without so much as consulting me.
Her response? “Sweetheart, if I’m being honest…”
Oh my God. Are you kidding me? This isn’t going to be good.
“…it sounds to me like Gabe is only trying to give you what he thinks you want.”
I pull a fresh tissue from the box. “Thanks for the support Mom. Are the two of you in cahoots or something?”
Mom smiles apologetically and places her hand on mine. “Now, you know better than that.”
I scan the kitchen, trying to orient myself to this strange, bizzaro world I’ve fallen into. Same clock above the sink. Same walnut cabinets. By all outward appearances, the place looks the way I left it this morning. But this woman—saying these words? Something has definitely changed. My parents are never shy about weighing in on, like, every single decision ever. Hell, I think they consider it part of their parental duties. But if I’d had a thousand tries, never would I ever have come up with a scenario where they take Gabe’s side.
Am I not explaining this as clearly as I think I am? Because for the life of me, I don’t see how she doesn’t see my point. I mean, hello. You don’t want us to live together before we’re married, but for some reason, if we move hundreds of miles away, you’re okay with the idea? So, I do what any perfectly sane, pregnant woman in my situation would do, I cry harder. Between sobs, I tell her how Gabe put the blame back on me, as if the argument was all my fault. I tell her how he went on and on about the job opportunities and the great schools. She listens and nods, but every chance she gets, she pipes up with one excuse or another about how lucky I am to have a man like Gabe and how wonderful it is that he’s willing to uproot his life and blah blah blah.
Can we not go there, Mom? Read the mood already.
Okay granted, I’m being irrational, but I just broke off an engagement with the father of my unborn child. And okay, granted, I neglected to share that tidbit with her, but that fact sits big and heavy and raw on my shoulders, and I thought I could depend on my family to be supportive and let me vent.
I’m at my wits end, about to give up all hope for sympathy when Dad comes in the door. One look at the mound of tissues in front of me and he slides out a chair and takes a seat next to Mom. Finally. I breathe a sigh of relief as I replay the abridged version of the day’s events, because I know without a doubt, with one hundred percent certainty, the second my daddy hears his teary-eyed little girl mention the name Gabe Wilde, he’ll be reaching for his shotgun.
Wrong.
He sits patiently beside Mom and listens to my diatribe, allowing me to get everything out without interruption. When I’m finished, he nods thoughtfully and takes a deep breath through his nose and holds it for what seems like a full minute. “Sweetheart,” he says as he slowly exhales through his mouth. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit emotional about the situation?”
Seriously? Is this a fucking conspiracy? Is the entire world out to get me?
I slide my chair back and swipe the box of tissues as I stand. “Why is everyone in this house against me? My whole life. First, you didn’t want me to be with the man I loved. A man who made me happier than I had ever been, by the way. Then—” I level a finger at my mother “—you convinced me to settle for a man who you knew didn’t make me happy. And, at least until today, I have your blessing to be happy with the man you didn’t like, as long as I don’t live with him until we’re married. Because…why was that again? And now? Now you do an about face and take his side?” I rub my neck. “I’ve got whiplash from all the wishing and washing in this house. So please tell me, what gives? Is it because I’m pregnant? The pathetic pregnant girl bringing shame to the family? Do the two of you see me as a burden too? Is that what this is?” I sob uncontrollably as I run to my room.
I slam my bedroom door for effect and crawl into bed to sulk in peace. A calmer, more rational version of me might be willing to concede that my parents only want what they believe is best for me. Even if what they believe is twisted and, quite frankly, at my age none of their damned business. But then again, a more rational version of me might have taken a beat and tried to understand Gabe’s point of view instead of pushing him the way I did and repeatedly calling his idea stupid. Deep down, I know I shouldn't have given back the ring. That was reactive, and emotional, and immature...
The thing is, I’m not ready to think about this maturely, because I don't know how to undo what I've done. I’m upset and I’m looking for a little understanding. Why is that so hard? I came home to find myself and now, in the span of three months, I’m pregnant and engaged. And I’m supposed to be excited about being taken away from the only remaining anchor in my life?
The pink walls push in on me and sitting here alone is too much to take. I need to get out. I need a change of scenery. Life keeps throwing me curve balls and I’m tired of striking out. I feel lost, now more than ever. But I don’t have anywhere to go or anyone to talk to. I’ve dug myself a hole and now I don’t know what to do, so I close my eyes and cry myself to sleep.
After a long night and most of the morning spent tossing and turning, the best idea I’ve come up with is a surprise visit to my brother and sister-in-law. I know I can’t run from my problems forever, but what’s one more day in the grand scheme of things? I reach for my phone to text Jenn and invite myself over, only to discover that the battery died sometime in the night. After plugging it in and powering it up, it buzzes in my hand, notifying me I have three new voice messages, several missed texts from Gabe, and one from a number I don’t recognize.
I’m relieved by the thought that he’s been thinking of me—until I read the texts however—then I’m pissed at him all over again.
He forgives me for overreacting?
In my fury, I almost miss the last message, the one from a strange number, but when I open it, the words catch me off guard and push every other t
hought out of my head.
(Unknown Number): Hi. This is Hank. I tried to call a few times, but it keeps going to voicemail. Um. Gabe’s in the hospital. I just thought you’d want to know.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Meredith
Forget about what happened yesterday. What was yesterday? Arguing about where we want to live? It may as well never have happened. It should have never happened—no more than a silly detail—unworthy of the time and energy already wasted. It’s been sucked into the all-consuming blackhole of worry growing in my stomach. I run back and forth trying to decide what to do. I try calling his phone again and again, but each time it goes to voicemail. I tuck my hair up in the ballcap Gabe loaned me that I never returned, swipe my toothbrush, and rush out the door. My Honda races across the backroads of Logan county, passing trucks and tractors in a flash of toothpaste and tears. With each passing mile, any remnants of anger and resentment fade, replaced by fear and worry about the man I love.
What happened to him? I cannot stomach the thought of him lying in a hospital bed, much less that in his darkest moment, whatever he faced, he faced it alone. I am beside myself with worry and guilt. I should have been there. He’s asked me to move in a hundred different times, but I kept brushing it off. I let my parents’ opinion become a barrier between us. And for what? To make them happy? No. Deep down I know that’s not the reason.
I was afraid.
If you cut through all the bullshit, that’s the reason. It’s a thought I haven’t been willing to acknowledge before. But now, it stares me in the face, clear as day. I allowed fear to rule me. Fear that Gabe wasn’t who he said he was. Fear that I was rushing in without thinking. Fear that I was going to fail at another thing and still end up alone. It’s so ridiculous, I can hardly believe it myself. But it’s true. And then there's the baby growing in my belly. Regardless of my address, regardless of my income, regardless of my fear, this child is coming.