I remember the way Mom’s blue eyes glistened in the sunset. She gave me a sad smile and said, “Because your mommy is a fighter.”
I’d believed her. In fact, I almost took it upon myself to forewarn Penn (only ten at the time) of what these “walk and talks” were all about. I wanted to reassure him that Mom was going to be okay.
She’d said so, after all.
But I’d kept my mouth shut, and when Penn returned the next evening, he was wrapped around our mother like a koala, sobbing his eyes out.
He was the youngest of us all, but he’d known first.
She wasn’t going to get better.
Jessie
Earlier That Morning
Breakfast on my parents’ back porch is one of the best things about coming home from college. The summer sun is rising above jagged peaks covered in firs, pines, and birch trees, bringing the world back to life and light.
Colorado is really just one giant Bob Ross painting, no matter which way you look. I love it. The land, the trees, the mountains – I feel alive when I come home in a way that I can’t quite conjure up on my college campus.
If my father would kindly just stop talking, we could all enjoy this beautiful sunrise together.
“And you know, if that grade point average drops – I know you don’t think it makes a difference, but it does, Jessie. You want to be able to start your practice with your honors and accolades plastered across the walls. Your patients, your employees, other doctors – they will respect you more if they can easily see that you’re far above the average vet. They’ll trust you more.” Dad takes a bite of his omelet and mechanically chews, no doubt thinking of what he will say next.
It’s always the same with him. I’m nearly twenty-five years old and only have two years of vet school left. I’m an adult. A responsible, educated, goal-oriented adult.
My parents both speak to me as though I am still a sophomore in high school who really needs to start thinking about her future.
I’ve been thinking about my future – and actively pursuing those thoughts – since I was eighteen. A good seven years have gone by while little Jessie was making her way in the world. Alone.
And I’m fine.
Everything is figured out.
Everything except for that kiss Payden Hardick slammed on me in June.
I think I’d been surprised – but in a good way. Between the two of us, Payden is definitely not the aggressive one. And of course, I had noticed his eyes lingering a bit longer than usual this summer. I knew there had been a softness in his voice recently that made my heart stop.
But I still never would have imagined that Pay had it in him to just... go for it. Although I had wished for a very long time that he would.
But Pierce had inadvertently ruined the entire moment, and we had laughed it off the way friends tend to laugh awkward things off.
We haven’t even spoken of that kiss. Not once.
I see Payden every single day at Hardick Ranch, but not one word.
Nada. Zilch.
“Jessie? Jessica Timms. Are you even listening to me? I don’t appreciate being ignored, young lady,” my father’s voice breaks through my thoughts.
I look at him, wondering how old I actually have to be before he stops treating me like a child. “Woman. I think you mean woman.”
“Excuse me?” My father shoots back, indignant as hell.
“Jessie!” My mother scorns.
They are both instantly shocked to the point of hysteria.
“I’m just saying, Dad. If I happen to space off a little in the early morning hours, I don’t think I need to be threatened with a time out.” I meet his gaze squarely, which he doesn’t seem to appreciate at all.
“Time out? I said nothing of the sort! Ridiculous! Of course, you’re a woman. Women are ladies. And you are young. You are a young lady! Why must you be so difficult, Jessica?” Dad takes a last sip of his orange juice and charges back into the house.
I try not to laugh or even smile. It’s not worth the admonishment my mother will serve out if I so much as emit a giggle.
But as it turns out, she already has a speech prepared for me regardless.
“Jessie. Why do you rile your father up like that?” She gulps her own juice, which is actually more of a mimosa, and even calling it that is being generous.
“I didn’t know reminding him that I’m a grown adult was such a horrible offense, Mom,” I mutter, stabbing my fork randomly at my eggs.
Here it comes. The big lecture from my mother about respecting my elders.
Shoot me.
“I want to talk to you about something, Jessie.” Mom’s voice is abnormally low, as if she is attempting to whisper, but not quite getting there.
“Shocker...” I mumble under my breath.
“Why must you do that? Not every word out of my mouth is meant to be a torture treatment, you know. I love you.” She pats at her eyes with a napkin.
It is possibly the eight millionth time I’ve made my mother tear up since being pushed out of her body and into this world, naked and screaming twenty-four years ago. Sometimes I feel bad about that… today not so much.
We are so different. Butting heads just comes with the territory.
I am strong-willed like my father and have invested a lot of time and energy into treading on the pretty collection of eggshells my mother surrounds herself with. But the wear of so many years of this constant tip-toed tightrope walking is beginning to become a very real problem inside of me.
“I love you too, Mom. You know I do. What did you want to talk about?” At the rate this day is going, I should just join my mother and start downing the champagne, but that really won’t bode well for the short drive to Hardick Ranch. Although it might make seeing Pay a little less awkward.
I don’t understand how he’s been able to say nothing about the Denver rooftop kiss for nearly two full months. He certainly didn’t seemed to mind it at the time...
Granted, I haven’t mentioned it either, but why should I have to? I’ve been doing all of the talking for both Payden and I practically since the day I’d learned how to talk. I am normally perfectly happy to be tasked with the job of coaxing words out of his quiet face, but this is different.
No one wants to feel like they are forcing someone to talk about feelings that the other person might very well not have. I don’t doubt Pay enjoyed the kiss, or even that it might have led elsewhere if Pierce hadn’t made his jack-in-the-box entrance that night.
But that doesn’t mean that he likes me enough, in the romantic sense, to pursue something. Obviously.
Because he hasn’t. The proof is in the pudding.
And while I occasionally get distracted by his perfect bottom lip or ripped upper body bulging out of his torn-up t-shirts... I would never humiliate myself by letting him know just how much that kiss affected me.
It hadn’t affected him.
And that’s fine.
Just fine.
“...Jessie, what I’m trying to say is that you don’t realize what you’d be giving up for him...” My mom is mid-lecture already, and I have no idea what she is talking about.
I’ve been spacing off entirely too much this summer.
“Giving up what? For who? What him?” I babble out the questions.