Page 44 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

“Yeah. Probably.”

“We don’t often do the best things for ourselves when we’re feeling desperate.” She closed her eyes. “That isn’t fair. He was good to me. As far as I knew. I wasn’t openly accepting poor treatment.”

“I was trying to remember today, when my brother and I were talking at the bar, exactly why I used to like Daniel. It occurred to me that he was one of the most carefree guys I’ve ever met. And as somebody who was burdened with a host of care by the time I was sixteen, I liked being around him.”

“That’s what I liked about him too. I was always afraid. Always afraid of losing what little I had. Always afraid of when the other shoe was going to drop. I was always scared. And he never was. Not of tomorrow, not of his success vanishing, not of our relationship imploding, he just lived. And now, I feel a little bit betrayed. Because so much of that is just arrogance, isn’t it? Thinking you’re the center of everything, the most important person, and that nothing you do can compromise it. And here I thought I was maybe learning some kind of life lesson from him.”

“There’s still a life lesson there, maybe. He doesn’t have to have had everything worked out for some of it to be true.”

“I guess.”

“Did he ever make you happy?”

“Yes,” she said. “And I guess it was real enough. I guess.”

“I can understand why it’s difficult. To accept that any of it was real when it seems like he was lying all that time.”

“Yeah.” She poured the hot water into a mug and put a tea bag in it. “But I guess that’s the thing. That was part of his arrogance. He didn’t think I needed his fidelity as long as he kept it from me. And I think he didn’t much see the conflict there. It’s insane. It doesn’t make any sense. But I think that’s what he thought. And so in his way, I think he loved me. I just think he never really loved anybody as much as he loved himself.”

“And that may be why he was so happy,” Boone said.

That made her laugh. “That’s fair. How happy can you be when you’re worried constantly about the happiness of somebody else? When you love yourself most, your joy isn’t completely tied to the feelings of others. Like it is when you care about others as much as you care about your own. For Daniel, ultimately your own happiness is what matters...”

“I expect that’s the easiest way.”

“I wouldn’t want to live that way, though. Because I wouldn’t have my girls. Makes everything hard. Because as difficult as it is to go through this separation, it’s so much harder when you’re worried about other people’s happiness as much as you are your own. Or more. But then I think at least I know what it’s like. To feel an intense amount of caring for somebody else. I think that’s the depth of it.”

“Yeah. I think that’s the depth of it. When I was a kid, my sister died. You might know that.”

“I didn’t,” she said.

“Well. Sorry to bum you out with my family history. But it was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. Me too. But you know, that was my first introduction to understanding just how badly love could hurt. But what can you do? You love your siblings. No matter what. And I couldn’t turn off my love for my family just because we lost our little sister. So I learned how to kind of move on with it. I learned that you could love even though it hurt. The hurt is part of it. And yeah, I think the way Daniel loves, that’s kind of something else.”

“Narcissism?”

“Possibly.”

“I’m very sorry to hear about your sister. And your brother. Do you see him at all?”

“No. And in some ways that feels harder to deal with than Sophia’s death. Because he is still alive. He just doesn’t speak to us. He is still alive, he just... He won’t come to us for help. After everything we went through. As a family. He put my parents through losing another child, effectively. He lived, but he won’t live. And I just can’t wrap my head around that.”

“This one isn’t about me,” she said slowly. “It’s my mother’s story. But she isn’t here to tell it, so I’d like to. My father abused her. She loved him, she trusted him, and he abused her. Physically. Emotionally. And I know that the woman she was after him was different. No matter how much she wanted to go back. She just couldn’t. And sometimes I wondered why she didn’t go home. Why did she go out on her own and struggle? When she could have gone back, because she talked about her family like they were all right. But the issue wasn’t them, it was her. She survived something she didn’t want to explain to anybody. And she didn’t feel like she could go back. And I think there was something sad about that. I never got to know my parents. But I also understand there were things that happened that were so traumatizing she just couldn’t face people seeing how they had changed her. And I can’t judge her for that. Maybe your brother feels the same. Maybe he doesn’t want you all to see who he is. Because maybe in some way he does feel like he died. I don’t know. And I’m sorry if I’m overstepping. It’s just that I love someone very much who did a similar thing.”

He was quiet for a long time.

“This is maybe a little bit of a deep conversation to have when I’m partway into my cups,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. But I—”

“You didn’t overstep. Hell. We had sex a few hours ago, I think you can give me some advice.”

“It’s not really advice. It’s just you said you didn’t understand, and I hope maybe you might feel less mystified. And even if it isn’t true, even if that’s not why he left, if he didn’t tell you, well, then what can you do? But if having an answer, any answer—one that’s about him and his pain and not you—helps, then you might as well choose to believe that one.”

“Good point. I can’t argue with that.”

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