Page 83 of Since Day One

A bright squeal pierced the air, and I quickly wiped the tears away, glancing at Gauge.

The chicken lay smooshed beneath his little body, and he giggled again.

“Bawk bawk!” he shouted in triumph, with a smile a mile wide, telling me in his own way that he’d caught the chicken. That grin was Gunnar’s, and no matter how much I pretended that my son looked like me, he did not. He was nearly an exact replica of his dad, except his hair was the darkest shade of brown like mine.

I adjusted my short-sleeved crop top and clapped for him. He giggled again, and I looked back down at the printed article that had come out two days after the online version, which also coincided with the first time the T-Bar Ranch website had been updated in years. It was something I was so proud of, but life had changed, and I was prouder of being a mom than of anything else.

“How mad do you think Kurt would be if I decided to just train? No more competing,” I asked Abi, and she sighed, leaning back in her patio chair.

“I don’t think he’d be mad at all. And if you want to get back to it when Gauge is older, that would be an option too. Why would this have to be permanent?” she replied, rubbing her swollen belly.

“Pregnancy has made you soft and sappy,” I teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“Denny says it’s made me gassy.”

I snorted as she grinned. “Are you guys just going to live in the mother-in-law suite forever?”

“Are you going to live in the basement forever?” she quickly responded, and I glared at her.

“Gauge needs to be close to his family,” I answered, watching Denny hoist Gauge into the air and swing him around, the chicken clucking for dear life. My little boy just giggled and laughed.

“And so does my soon-to-be son.” She rubbed her belly. “Besides, why would we leave when we live where we work with the people we love? Have you forgotten that I made you my maid of honor?”

I chuckled. “No, I have not forgotten.” As I pushed the article across the table, Sally shouted that food was ready, and I stood from my chair, walking to the edge of the patio, and hollered for the boys to come inside.

Denny brought Gauge in on his shoulders and set him down in his highchair to the side of the wooden table. Old, white tile lined the small kitchen, with the sliding glass doors leading straight into the dining area. I often caught Sally at the little window above the sink, her face reflecting a look of ultimate peace as she gazed upon the acres of pasture and arenas that painted her view. Her serene expression was something I aspired to achieve one day.

And despite all of its flaws, maybe because of its flaws, this was home.

Gauge began shoving his sandwich bites in his mouth with his chubby little hands as I munched on my own. “Slow down, buddy,” I said, wiping a little bit of peanut butter from his cheek.

He gave me a grin that was full of chewed sandwich, and Sally laughed, her petite frame leaning against Kurt. He was short and small like she was with the thickest gray mustache I’d ever seen. Both of them had skin that was tanned and weathered from the sun, and Sally’s hair was beginning to thin. But the two of them were bigger than life, and her smile could light up the room.

“PawPaw,” Gauge said beside me, pointing at Kurt, who was grinning from ear to ear.

I shook my head, cherishing the messy memory as he continued to eat and giggle. His hands were covered in peanut butter and jam, but honestly, the moment he started crawling, those little fingers were always covered in something messy. We’d wash them and they’d be sticky again within thirty seconds. Right now, the lack of mud on his jeans was an improvement, but I also never complained, knowing that one day these memories would be all I had.

Sally glanced at her watch and gasped. “Guys, we need to hustle and get ready, or we won’t have time for the little carnival before the rodeo.”

I stood from the chair, snatched up my son and whisked into the bathroom to try and wash him up before we left. He ran a sticky hand against my bell-bottoms, but I quickly wiped it away with some cold water and cleaned him up.

“Mama?” Gauge said as he sat on the counter and I cleaned the jam from his face.

“Yes, baby?”

“Bu-bu,” he said, opening and closing his palms, pointing at the buckle that was sitting around my waist.

“I’ve got yours waiting in the diaper bag by the front door, mister,” I answered and adjusted his cute little orange button up. It brought out the beautiful golden specks around his pupils in his hazel eyes that looked way too much like Gunnar’s. Lifting him down from the counter, I fixed my curls, my hair even longer now than it had been, and I maintained a better routine of styling it. I even wore mascara when we went out.

“Mama,” Gauge said beside me, wrapping his chubby arms around my leg as I tugged at the striped crop top.

“Come here, baby.” I scooped up my boy before walking out of the small bathroom. It looked like everyone else had already headed out the front to load into the trucks.

He squealed in my arms, babbling his incoherent sounds in excitement, and I kissed his forehead. We passed a hallway to the right and a comfortable sitting room to the left, carpet squishing underneath my socks. Sitting Gauge down on the little wooden bench by the entrance, I helped him put on his cowboy boots and then threaded the belt through his pant loops.

Once I buckled it, I plopped his cowboy hat on his head and slid my gaze to my own that hung on the hooks above the bench. The same one that had Gunnar’s initials sewn in. The only hat I ever wore anymore. Grief swam in my heart once more, and I quickly shut down the flood of memories threatening to enter my mind

Grabbing the black bag from the floor, I slung it over my shoulders, plopped the hat on my head, helped my son off of the bench, and opened the white door. “Out we go mister,” I said, and Gauge stepped clumsily out onto the front porch. Following behind, I shut the door, holding steady to his outstretched hand. We walked past the porch swing, and I helped my newly-walking one-year-old step carefully down the four cement stairs.

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