Page 78 of When We Were Us
“What would I even say? ‘People say you don’t date, and I heard it was because I shattered your heart into a million little pieces when I left?’” I ask and then pause with a sigh. “And there’s something else.”
“Oh, God, there’s more?” She groans.
“I think I still love him.”
“Girl, you say that like you ever stopped.”
“I— Wait, what?” I ask, bolting up on the bed.
“Wrenley,” she admonishes like she’s speaking to one of her boys, her voice soft. “I know you. Or did you forget that we’ve been through seventeen years together? He was your first love. And even though his name doesn’t come up in conversation as much as it used to, I know you never got over him. And so do you.”
I swallow hard. Tears well up in my eyes and I frantically brush them away, but they just keep coming.
“What’s wrong?” she asks softly.
I roll my eyes to the ceiling and hold them there, trying to clear my vision and will my voice to come out clear. It doesn’t work. “He said he wants to befriends.” I half laugh, half choke out and swipe at my eyes again.
“Do you really believe that?”
“No. Yes. God, Ginger, I don’t know,” I say, tears coming hot and fast now. I hate this sense of limbo, the back and forth, not knowing how he really feels, and feeling so unsure of myself.
“Ok, forget about what Hank wants for a second,” she says, and her tone turns practical. “What do you want?” she asks. “You want to be with him, right?”
My heart is pounding when I nod, and my answer comes out just above a whisper: “Yes.” It’s the first time I’ve admitted it aloud and it’s a relief.
“Then you have to talk to him, Wrenley,” she says it slowly, like I might not hear her if she doesn’t.
My voice comes out clear this time when I say, “And what if he doesn’t feel the same?”
She lets out a long sigh. “Then you hightail your ass back here, and we figure out how you move on. Together.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
hank
I’m just pullinga shirt over my head when I hear the low hum of an engine. Saturday mornings are usually pretty quiet for me, but it’s not unheard of for Mom and Pop to take the UTV out and come to my place every couple of weeks just to ‘check on me.’ Like they don’t see me every day at the ranch.
Opening the door to the cabin and stepping out on the porch in bare feet, I expect to see them. Instead, it’s Hudson and his daughter, Paige, on an ATV, coming down the dirt path that breaks through the trees just beyond the ridge to the east.
The trail starts at the outskirts of the main ranch house and breaks off in a spider web of other trails, one of them leading here. From there, it's about a ten-minute ride back through thick pines and several small freshwater streams.
Paige is seated in front of her dad, with a pink helmet on her head, fastened with a chin strap. One of his arms snakes around her waist, holding her secure, and the other navigates the ATV out of the trees. Her tiny hands are gloved, and she’s reclined back against her dad’s chest, each of her hands resting on his knees.
I can’t help but smile because anyone who didn’t know her would expect her to be scared of a machine this big and loud, but she’s not. Even having grown up in the city, she’s as content on an ATV or a horse as she is in a cab in New York City.
She spots me from where I’m standing on the porch and sits forward. She tilts her head up at her dad, then points to me and wildly waves one hand above her head, bouncing on the seat. I raise an arm in greeting and Tuck comes racing outside and down the steps, his tail wagging a mile a minute.
He looks back at me and whines. “It’s ok,” I tell him, and he takes off like a shot, kicking up dirt behind him as he runs across the meadow toward the ATV. When he gets within a couple feet of them, he turns around and trots next to the ATV and all the way back to the cabin.
Hudson rolls to a stop next to the steps and kills the engine. “Morning.” He stands up on the footrest and swings a leg backward over the machine to stand next to Paige. She seems to struggle, so he lifts his hands to help her, but a muffled voice scolds him from behind the face shield.
“I can do it, Daddy.” Hudson shrugs and climbs the stairs to sit in the only other chair on the small porch.
“Morning.” Taking a seat, I pull on a fresh pair of socks and reach for my boots, watching as Paige tears off her gloves and finally unfastens the chin strap. She pulls the helmet off in a series of grunts and laughs, and her halo of dark hair is staticky and standing on end when she grins up at me from her place still seated on the ATV.
“Morning, Uncle Hank!” Her skinny legs dangle just above the footrests, but she manages to get her leg up and over the seat. Jumping off the side, she sets her gloves on the seat and covers them with her helmet.
“Morning, Pipsqueak.”
