Page 64 of Any Cowboy of Mine
“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me for not being Julia?” Sophie asked. It was the question that had been plaguing her the most since she’d met Marge.
“She will,” Alan said, using the pad of his thumb to wipe at a thin layer of dust on the top of one of the frames. “It’s not that you’re not Julia that’s got her panties in a twist. It’s the fact she gave everything to that family to support Brad and got exactly squat in return. You ask me, she’s afraid of opening herself up again.”
Sophie thought about that for a moment. It made sense, actually. It was the same way she felt about letting her guard down with Brad after breaking up with Drew. Moving on when she’d already left it all on the table made her feel empty, like she’d never find enough to give to anyone else. Somehow, though, she’d done it—she had found not only a reserve tank, but also the ability to fill the one that sustained her, connected her to others around her, made her good at her job.
“I understand that perfectly.”
“So do I,” Alan said. “It’s why I’m being patient with her, letting her figure all this out on her own, with some gentle nudges, of course. God knows telling her she’s wrong will only end my life a few years too soon,” he said, another small chuckle escaping his lips. “My way of thinking is that I can love her, show her she can pass safely through this thing she’s stuck in, but eventually be there to lead her out of it when the time’s right. Maybe that’s soon, I don’t know. I do know patience is the only thing I got going for me when it comes to the love of my life.”
The hairs on Sophie’s arms stood on end, her face flushed with heat. He spoke with the truth and honesty afforded a true intimate partner in life. One who you knew in all their ugliness, their pettiness, their cowardice, and loved them anyway. It was awe-inspiring, knowing those kinds of relationships could last a lifetime, through some of the hardest things life could throw at a person, coming out stronger on the other end of it all.
“I can be patient. But, I need you to know, Alan, I love Brad. I know it seems sudden, too soon even, but it’s been a while that I’ve liked that boy, and I think it just all caught up with me. So, if waiting for Marge to come around, showering her with kindness and love is all I can do, I’m willing to do that. For Brad, and for you,” she said. She playfully nudged his shoulder with her fist, and he surprised her by leaning in and embracing her with a hug.
“He loves you, too. I can tell. Just promise me you don’t find any of his friends too attractive, you hear?” Sophie laughed but fought back tears. God, she was an emotional wreck this week.
“That I can promise you. I never did think too much of Chris,” she said.
“I knew I liked you,” Alan said, putting his arm around Sophie again. “Now what do you say we skip any more of this baking project I started, and we take the rest of that sugar cookie dough—my grandmother’s recipe, you know—and head to the den where you can tell me all the reasons you think my son is the cat’s meow. I’ll probably even agree with you about a few of them.”
Sophie wiped an errant tear from underneath her eye and a bubble of laughter escaped. Maybe this would all be okay in the end. Even if Marge didn’t come around, Sophie liked Alan enough that she could hang out with him, put up with Marge when she must.
“You bet. I’m not much of a baker anyways,” Sophie said.
“Oh, I know it. I heard you telling Brad on the way in, and I don’t want my grandma rolling over in her grave if you let her cookies turn into charcoal. I figure we’re safer with you away from the oven.” Alan was belly-laughing now, his rosy cheeks almost touching his eyes.
Alan had the metal mixing bowl in one hand, two spoons in the other, and Sophie followed him with two water glasses. They made their way into the other room, where Alan started off by sharing embarrassing stories of his son growing up. Sophie was about to dig into the cookie dough, her chest in pain from laughing as hard as she had at Alan’s memories, when the front door opened. It hadn’t been that long since Brad had left to find his mom—a half hour at most—so Sophie worried about how it had gone. She stood up to greet him, but was met with Marge instead. The difference was about as stark as night and day.
There was no smile on Marge’s face, but the seemingly permanent scowl was gone, at least for the moment. Her eyes were swollen like she’d been crying, her usually flawless skin splotchy and damp, adding to that possibility. Unfortunately, seeing her sobered Sophie right up, but before she could greet Brad’s mom, Alan came around the corner, almost running straight into his wife.
“Well, hello, dear,” he said. “Sophie, you want some more water?” Sophie admired how he seemed to be the only one unphased by his wife’s behavior and sudden arrival.
Where was Brad?
“Actually,” Marge said, breaking in before Sophie could respond, “I was hoping to have a moment alone with Sophie.” Her voice was even, lacking any warmth, but was also devoid of the malice she’d previously reserved for Sophie.
Sophie wasn’t sure if that couldn’t be considered a win or not. At least Marge had gotten her name right this time.
Okay, seriously, where was Brad, and why wasn’t he joining them? Maybe he’d already left, and Sophie would have to call a Lyft to get home. She searched Alan’s face for clues since she’d never been able to crack Marge, but came up with nothing. He stood there, smiling, his eyes small squints almost enveloped by his beard that seemed to grow by the minute.
“Well, that’s fine, but I’m only saving you a spoonful of that dough, Sophie,” Alan told her, walking back toward the living room. “You’re on your own,” he added with a wink. Sophie knew he meant more than just for a sweet treat.
“Thank you,” she called, not sure how much she really meant it. She’d been abandoned by both Connors men and could strangle either of them if they’d been right there in front of her. Instead, she met Marge’s penetrating gaze.
“Join me on the deck?” Marge asked. All Sophie could do was nod as she scoured the horizon for Brad. She was met with an expanse of land that belonged to the Connors’s family, the Elks Ridge Valley behind it an ebb and flow of light and dark fields surrounded by rugged peaks. The only property that wasn’t state land or that of the Connors was Paige and Owen’s farm, which was off to her right. There was a well-worn path between them, and Sophie wondered who’d started forging the trail through hip-high grass. She was in awe of what lay before her but still saw no sign of the man she was putting everything on the line for.
The women sat in silence. For a moment, Sophie worried she’d have to be the first to speak, but she had no idea what had already been said between Brad and his mom, or where to begin. She allowed herself to get lost in the quiet of the farm in winter, imagined it was probably bustling more than eight months out of the year. The combine had been moved, and Mike’s truck was gone from the drive. She also noticed a scarecrow for the first time that wore one of the wide-brimmed hats Sophie had seen on Brad in his childhood photos, as well as one of his bright purple Vikings jerseys. It gave the impression of a young Brad standing guard over his fields, and she realized how strongly she felt that he got his wish to buy the farm from his folks. So much of him was invested in it, and so much of it was present in Brad. It was a symbiotic relationship she knew with every cell in her body would benefit them both if he took it over when Alan and Marge retired.
As she was about to launch into a monologue about how much she loved their home, and how sweet the parade of photos of the kids was, something she could speak to with ease, Marge cleared her throat.
“I’m not really sure where to begin with you,” Marge said. Sophie willed the small, straw version of Brad to come to life and save her. Marge fidgeted with her hands, wringing them like she was holding a dish towel. If Sophie didn’t know better, she’d assume Marge was nervous. “I guess there’s nothing I can do except say I’m sorry.”
Nothing that came out of Marge’s mouth would have surprised Sophie as much as her penitence.
“Excuse me?” Sophie asked. She was pretty sure her eyes were bulging, and her jaw was unhinged.
Marge narrowed her eyes, her brow furrowed. Sophie could tell she didn’t like repeating herself, but she wanted to be absolutely certain she’d heard what Marge had meant to say. Penske meandered over, breaking the tension, sliding right next to Sophie, laying his head on her lap, as if to say, “I’m here, now. Pet me, woman.” She obliged and rubbed his ears again, eliciting a soft growl from the canine.
“I’m sorry,” Marge said, her eyes curious as she watched Sophie and Penske interact. “Can we talk about it?”
