Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
I’m in no mood to appreciate how hot he looks hauling the heavy feed or be swayed by his beautiful smile. “What do you think you're doing? You can't just tell my kids that they can call you dad.”
He sets the feed back in the truck and turns to me, pulling off his thick work gloves, “What's wrong with that?”
“They were two when he left and you know what? They don’t remember him. But you? They’ll remember you, Flint! Have you even thought about what it will do to them if you’re not here in two years, if you lose interest because being a parent is the hardest fucking job in the world and not everyone is cut out to be one?” My voice has grown louder and more hysterical with every word. How can he not see the problem with this?
He takes me by the shoulders, his touch instantly grounding me and soothing me. “Have you ever considered what their lives will look like when I am still here in two years? I know he was the leaving kind, but I'm not him. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave them.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “You should have talked it over with me first.”
“Whether you like it or not, our lives are bound together now. We're having a baby. And what am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to love the baby and refuse to be a father figure to their half-siblings? I don't work that way. I won't work that way. I'm all in right here.”
“This is a lot,” I admit in a tiny whisper, feeling fragile in a way I haven’t for years. The problem with being a single mom who is larger than life is sometimes, you start to believe your own hype. You start thinking you really can’t depend on anyone else but what if…what if I’m wrong about that?
He doesn’t argue with me or try to convince me that he’s right. He nods, the knowing look in his eyes telling me that he’s seen beneath my surface today.
I take a deep breath, feeling raw and exposed. “We’ll talk about it later.”
I turn to go, but he calls my name softly. “You look beautiful today.”
“I threw up three times.”
“Still beautiful,” he says in a tone that makes me think he believes it.
“I’m trying really hard to be mad at you.”
He shrugs. “Be as mad as you need to be. I can take it.”
“I’m going back to the office now. I’ll see you for dinner.”
He tips his hat. “Looking forward to it, boss.”
I can barely focus during dinner. I just keep replaying my argument with Flint in my head and thinking about his question. Have you ever considered what their lives will look like when I am still here in two years?
The truth is, I haven’t once considered that something good could come from this, that we could build a pretty life together. I’ve been so focused on all of the pain that I never want to feel again. That I never want my children to feel.
After dinner, Flint plays with the boys in front of the fireplace. He must be exhausted from working on the farm all day, but it never shows. He helps them use their blocks to build a racetrack and launch cars across the room, laughing with them the entire time.
He reads their story at bedtime and tucks them in with tender care, staying with them until they’re fast asleep and dreaming of one day riding “the big horses”.
I grab the laundry from the dryer and move to the bedroom. It’s not even my bedroom. It’s his bedroom that he gave up for me without complaint. I shake my head. I can’t keep twisting myself up in knots.
Dumping the laundry on the bed, I quickly sort through it, looking for my comfy underwear that are faded and frayed. I find a couple of his T-shirts, the ones he normally sleeps in and grab them. Maybe I take a big inhale, trying desperately to memorize his scent.
Irritated with myself, I stalk to the dresser and shove the shirts in there. Of course, they catch on something, and I have to take the whole thing out. I get all the fabric back into the overflowing drawer that he never organizes, pausing when I feel something hard beneath a shirt.
My breath catches when I realize it’s a ring box. For a moment, I wonder about ex-girlfriends then worry that he’s seeing other people. But his words come back to me. First love.
I probably shouldn’t, but I open it. I gasp the moment I see the vintage diamond ring. It’s a beautiful engagement ring, the kind a cowboy could easily spend thousands on.
I feel Flint’s presence behind me and close my eyes. Once again, I didn’t even hear him come in. “I’m scared.”