Page 44 of Wylder Ranch
Things feel less fraught. I don’t wake up in a panic. I don’t feel like I’ve already failed at the day before 7 a.m.
Because in the week since we’ve lived with Alex, I’ve regained a little of the confidence I lost when I gave birth.
And I don’t want to admit it, but a tiny part of me isn’t looking forward to heading back to Aspen.
Our days begin around six o’clock when I hear the church clock strike, and if we’re lucky, we get to FaceTime with Saylor before she goes to bed, so we can fill her in on everything we’ve done the day before.
And then we go downstairs, and if I’m quiet enough, I catch a glimpse of Alex before his sweater goes on. For a few brief moments, I remember what it’s like to run my hands over the planes of his body, feel the warmth ofhis skin and the power of his muscles flexing under my touch, before I push it far into the recesses of my brain where it belongs.
Then I pretend to arrive as he’s feeding Blackberry and Dolly, who all fuss over Everly once they see she’s joined them.
There’s a calmness to it.
I get to enjoy the coffee Alex makes me in peace.
Everly is endlessly fascinated by her new friends. Every morning brings another game for them, which makes Everly squeal with delight while she lies in her bouncer on the kitchen table. A couple of days ago, Dolly learned to pull her socks off and lick her feet, eliciting the loudest reaction yet.
And Everly laughing always makes me laugh.
The bouncer is one of the many brand-new contraptions Everly has, which I now wonder how I lived without. On our second day here, we went shopping, where Alex proceeded to buy up the entire baby store. Anything they didn’t have, he ordered for delivery, no matter how much I protested.
I quickly learned that, as far as Alex is concerned, it’s easier not to get in the way of his parenting and to let him buy everything he wants for his daughter. Providing for her is his way to feel better about missing out on the first six weeks of her life. Something I’m feeling increasingly guilty about.
Halfway through the week, Alex had to go to his office, so obviously his mom and Clementine showed up unannounced with more baby clothes than Everly will ever be able to wear before she outgrows them.
I, on the other hand, wish I’d had forewarning because I wouldn’t have opened the door wearing a sweater covered in throw-up, especially as I hadn’t seen Victoria since the day of Everly’s paternity test.
However, one discovery I’ve made since being here isthat offering an English person a cup of tea often defuses any possible tension. Alex arrived back home to find the three of us laughing our butts off, ten outfits into a baby fashion show, and Clemmie unpacking more boxes.
That’s the other thing I’m getting in spades.Help.
I’ve had little bits since I gave birth, but no one’s been around twenty-four seven, and Alex insists on doing anything he can with Everly, which is virtually everything. If I’m not paying attention, panic creeps in at how amazing it is. Because what am I going to do without it when I return to Aspen?
I now have a pump, so Alex can use a bottle, and I’m no longer a milking machine. When I stopped having to feed her on demand and didn’t have something else to do—like bust my ass to earn money—it dawned on me that this is the first time since my parents died that I’ve had any time off.
So we bundle up and take a walk.
Every day we visit the cows, all of whom are curious and come to the fences whenever we stop by. I watch on with fascination and soak up every new experience she has, while her eyes light in wonder and her tiny face scrunches together as she flashes them a gummy grin.
We’ve been to the house where Alex grew up—Burlington Hall—a couple of times. It has to be the biggest, fanciest place I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s practically palatial with his manicured grass, sparkling pool, and a vegetable garden to die for.
After I’ve shown her everything that’s growing, we head home via the horses, the donkeys, and the chickens. When we got back yesterday, the goat was waiting for us by the front door.
Everly smiles and coos like they’re the best thing she’sever seen.
Apart from Alex, of course.
Because Alex is her big love. I don’t know his romantic past, but I’d be inclined to say she was his.
Watching them together sometimes feels like I’m intruding on the beginnings of a blossoming relationship. Every time she smiles at him, or he talks to her in that soft lilting voice I only hear him use with her, I know I made the right decision in coming here.
Because the idea of hernothaving this is too painful to think about.
A couple of days ago, I came downstairs after having a bath to find them asleep together on the couch, Everly lying on his chest. When I tried to move her, she protested with a loud, dream-filled cry, so I left them there and made dinner instead.
That’s another thing, I rediscovered my love for cooking.
I used to love cooking. My mom taught me, and we’d always cook dinner together. Then, when she died, and it was just my dad and me, I took on the bulk of it, but it wasn’t the same. After he was gone, and I discovered the debt I’d been left, cooking stopped being a priority because I was too busy working to think about what I could be eating, and I spent most of my time either scarfing down microwave meals between jobs or eating at the Old Saloon.
