Page 49 of Not Our First Rodeo
“Months later, after you were born,” Dad says, his voice husky, “I asked her if she still loved me after everything.” He smiles then, even though it’s wobbly. “She said she never stopped. I—” he cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “I needed to hear that, even if I didn’t deserve to. You make sure Elsie knows that too, okay?”
“I will,” I promise and mean it, because I know Elsie feels guilty over making me leave. I know she doesn’t regret it, that she still thinks it was for the best, but that she feels remorse over the way it hurt me. And I never want her to doubt that during all of that, I never stopped loving her.
Dad nods and clears his throat again. He wipes his eyes one last time with the back of a hand, his skin wrinkled from long days in the sun. “Good. Good,” he repeats. “Our Elsie needs to know she’s loved no matter what.”
My heart returns to my throat once more at his statement. I love how much he loves her, how much my entire family does, and I wish she knew that too. I wish she didn’t think their love,mylove, was conditional.
I don’t think that’s what her parents intended for her to learn while she was growing up, and I don’t even really think it’s true, but I know it’s what she’s internalized.
And I know what I need to show her moving forward. She asked me to leave once, and I did it because I thought it was what she needed, but I’m not leaving again. This isn’t our first rodeo, and one way or another, we’re going to find our way back to each other.
Icanfeelmyheart beating in my throat, a steady thump that accompanies Beau and me the whole way to the doctor’s office. Today, we’re having our anatomy scan. I felt the baby move for the first time last night, which has helped relieve some of my anxiety, but I’m still nervous about what today could bring as they go over every inch of the baby’s body and look for abnormalities.
A warm breeze ruffles my hair as Beau pulls into the OB-GYN office parking lot and picks a spot far away from where I had my meltdown at our first appointment, just as he did at the last two. I can’t help but look at it now, remembering the girl I was huddled on the ground, heaving and unable to breathe in the frigid air. The way Beau’s hands and voice were the only things to settle me down. It seems so long ago. It seems like yesterday.
Time has felt funny these last few months, like it’s somehow both stuck in Jell-O and moving forward at the speed of light. I’m grateful for it, for the way this time we have—just the two of us, while we figure things out—has been trapped in amber. I’m grateful for the time to fix our broken pieces and put ourselvesback together so we can be the best versions of ourselves when we bring someone new into our lives.
Beau turns his gaze on me, finding my hand smoothing absentmindedly over my stomach the way it has more and more often of late, his eyes going soft at the gesture. I used to wonder why pregnant people did it so much, if they were trying to emphasize their bump, but now I know it’s because you canfeelit. The baby growing inside you, your organs stretching and moving to make space, the flutter of tiny kicks. It’s a certain kind of magic that can’t be explained, something I feel so lucky to experience. Something I never could have imagined when I was drinking tequila straight in a bar a few months ago.
“How’re you feeling?” Beau asks, his hand landing on the headrest behind me, causing his shirtsleeve to snag on his biceps. I never quit noticing him. It would be impossible to, but lately he’s seemed so much more physical, more real. I’m gripped by the need to touch him, but I hold myself back, the way I have time after time, grasping firmly to keep my word, to not push either of us further when I’m not sure I won’t pull away.
Instead of answering him immediately, I let myself really think about the question. I feelgoodfor the first time in months. For the past few weeks, after Beau leaves for the ranch in the early mornings, I’ve been slipping outside to walk. It feels good to move my body in a way that isn’t productive. I’m walking because I like feeling the sunrise on my skin and the wind in my hair. I like moving my body and working up a sweat. But I’m not working toward anything. At first, I was trying to walk a certain distance each day, but as I’ve continued doing it each morning, I’ve stopped paying attention. I’m walking to clear my head, and I like it.
Locking my eyes on Beau’s brown ones, I say, “I feel good.”
He inclines his head, looking like he’s not sure if he believes me, and I don’t blame him. I can’t count how many times I’vetold that lie, how much I’d even begun to believe it. But right now I’m telling the truth.
“Really,” I say. “I promise.”
A smile curls one edge of his lips, pulling my attention from his eyes to his mouth. I’ve found my attention drifting there more and more of late.
“Any nerves about today?” he asks.
I drag my gaze from his distracting smile and focus on the brown of his eyes. The sun is reflecting on them today, bringing out the flecks of gold that can only be seen in natural light. I shake my head. “Not really.” And to both of our surprise, it’s the truth. I smooth my hand over my ever-growing bump. I officially look pregnant now, not like I just ate too much at lunch. “I felt the baby moving last night, so I think everything is going to be okay.”
Beau’s eyes widen. “You did? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I can’t help but laugh at the betrayal in his tone. “You were asleep. It was the middle of the night.”
“You should have woken me up.” He sounds incredulous.
“You wouldn’t have been able to feel it anyway,” I say, still laughing.
He shakes his head, brow furrowed, looking like a hurt puppy. “I don’t care. I want to know everything.”
My lips curl in a smile. “I guess you’d probably like to know that I can feel them now, then.”
His eyes widen comically, and he unbuckles and scoots closer to me on the bench seat, his large hand enveloping my midsection.
“You can’t feel it on the outside,” I say, laughter bubbling like expensive champagne in my chest. “Only on the inside.”
A frown tugs at his mouth, pulling the corners down. “Where can you feel it?”
My hand covers his, so much smaller, shifting it to the spot where I can feel the fluttering in my midsection, the sensation almost like a bubble popping. Last night, I woke up and thought it was indigestion, but when it didn’t go away, I pulled out my phone to look it up. When I realized what was happening, Ididthink about running across the hall to wake Beau up, and now I’m regretting staying in bed because I wish he’d gotten to experience this with me the first time.
“Right here,” I say when our hands find the spot I can feel the fluttering deep inside.
His gaze fixes on mine, wide and full of awe. “What does it feel like?”
