Page 4 of Townshipped
“That’s what I’m saying. Don’t be so you. Release your inner Thelma on this trip. Let yourself go a little. You deserve to break out of the expected routine. Take a breather from living up to everything you think everyone wants from you for once.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. I’m not about to flirt with strangers, but the idea of letting go of expectations feels unusually freeing. I may not fit the mold of the social class I was born into, but I definitely live with the burden of making everyone around me happy. I pursued the career my parents wanted for me, and I almost married a suitable man from a reputable family, just to check off boxes and satisfy expectations.
Gabriela and I talk a little longer, and then I yawn. The hours of driving, and maybe the emotions of this day, seem to be catching up with me.
“I’d better let you go,” I say.
“Off the grid,” she says. “We’ll talk when you’re back here. And remember, Buck’s not your person.”
“You’re my person,” I tell her.
It’s something we’ve said to one another for years.
“I am. And you’re mine. One day I expect I’ll have to share you with a man. It just wasn’t meant to be Buck.”
2
AIDEN
“Uncle Aiden, Sawyer had a turn with the pitchfork already! It’s my turn.”
“He said no fighting,” Sawyer reminds his sister. “Or we won’t get cocoa.”
I nod toward Sawyer. “That’s right. But, also, you did have a turn. Give the pitchfork to your sister.”
I’m babysitting my six-year-old niece and seven-year-old nephew while my sister, Karina, runs errands. They’re “helping” me feed and muck my goats while the weather holds.
Help is a relative term when we’re talking about elementary-aged children and farm chores. These two come out to the farm regularly and know the routine, but they still manage to need me to come behind them—and to break up bickering.
We finish up the feeding and mucking stalls and head back to my farmhouse. Sawyer runs ahead, circles around us, and runs ahead, and runs back. Ashley strolls along and I slow my stride to match hers.
“Uncle Aiden?” Ashley looks up at me through her long dark lashes as she clasps my hand.
I’d pretty much give her anything when she gives me that particular look, and she probably knows it.
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you have a mom in your house?”
“It’s a wife, potato head,” Sawyer says, running backwards a few feet ahead of us.
“No name-calling,” I remind him, stifling my grin. “Getting married is serious. You need to meet the right woman. I haven’t met my match yet.”
“Mom said you don’t get away from the farm enough to meet anyone besides your goats and your crazy llama,” Ashley says with a concerned look on her face.
I chuckle. “She did. Did she?”
My sister is so going to hear about that comment from me. She’s not wrong, though.
“Dad said not to worry. The older you get, the more dipstinguished you are,” Sawyer says with a firm nod like he’s fully on Team Uncle Aiden.
“I’m the most dipstinguished guy out this side of Bordeaux,” I assure Sawyer. “Now, let’s go light the fireplace and make cocoa.”
“Boots off on the stoop,” I tell my niece and nephew as we near my back porch.
I bought this farm five years ago after my breakup with my high school sweetheart. She and I grew up and away from one another and I threw myself into my IT consulting business enough to have the down payment when this place went up for auction. Little by little I’ve restored the main house.
Did I imagine a future with Milly? I had. It’s the way we do things around here. Most couples date in high school and end up married, or a local will meet someone in college and come back here to settle down. I figured Milly and I would be no different.
