I’m the heart of the Tanner Ranch… but outside of it, I’m not sure where I belong.
Chapter three
Ruth
True to her word,Katy picks me up from the airport when I land back in London. There’s little in the way of food in my kitchen, and even though I’ve just flown across an ocean, I’m wide awake and desperate for some girl time, so when Katy invites me to hers for an impromptu wine-and-takeout evening, I practically bite her hand off to say yes. I place the order for an obnoxious amount of Chinese food from the car, and drag my suitcase from the back seat when Katy parks up outside her house. We both plan on drinking plenty of wine tonight, so I’ll either crash here, or get a cab home.
I kick off my shoes as Katy closes the door behind me. The hallway is dark, but not in an oppressive way. The remnants of daylight emanate from the kitchen window at one end, and the warm glow of string lights beckon from the living room. I hang my trench coat on an empty hook on the wall and follow my best friend to her kitchen. We prepare two cups of coffee and two glasses of wine, before settling in the living room.
I slip my oversized tote off my arm and drop it on the floor beside the sofa, before plopping dramatically into my seat. Katy laughs, wrapping her slender arms around my neck.
“I’ve missed you, Roo. Tell me about New York.”
“So there was a guy,” I begin. Katy slams her coffee cup down on the arm of the sofa, careful not to let the dark liquid slosh over the sides, and pins me with her dark brown gaze. I wait for a beat.
“Please, continue,” she urges with a slight tilt of her head and a wiggle of her eyebrows. I giggle.
“He bought me a drink in the airport lounge. We talked a little. And… then we got on different planes to different places.”
“And?”
“And…”
Katy takes a mouthful of wine and lifts her eyebrows.
“I can’t stop thinking about him. Shit, K, he was fucking hot as hell.”
“I knew it!” Katy cries, setting her wine glass beside her coffee and kicking her feet. “I knew there was something! You’ve been different the whole drive home.”
“Jesus, nothing even happened,” I grumble. “But he’s tall, dark, and handsome with that southern drawl and tight jeans and—”
“And he looked like he wanted to take you all the way to fun town?”
“Jesus, Katy.” I throw back half a glass of wine in two large gulps. “He looked like he’d eat me for breakfast, lunch,anddinner, and then come back for seconds.”
Katy shrieks, clapping a hand over her mouth.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t even know,” I moan, dropping my head into my hands. “The first physical reaction my body has had to another human being in about six years, and all I know about him is that his name is Everett and he can fill out a pair of Levi's.”
“It’s a start,” Katy hums with a salacious waggle of her eyebrows. You’ll just have to go to New York more often and sit in the lounge before your flight home. Maybe he’s a frequent flyer.”
I roll my eyes and drain my wine, before wrapping my hands around the hot coffee cup and breathing in the rich, earthy aroma. Katy always has the best coffee—and the silliest ideas. But, the longer I ponder it, the less silly it seems.
I’m still thinking about Katy’s idea the following night, after putting Maisy to bed with no fewer than three stories, two cups of water and one tantrum narrowly avoided. Telling an over-tired three-year-old that Daddy can’t read her a bedtime story because he’s late getting home from work might be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
It’s especially hard to have her cling to me and cry for her Mama, because I know it’s something I’ll never have for myself. I found out about my infertility when I was fifteen. My periods were always irregular, but painful—and I mean the kind of pain that left me dizzy and vomiting—so Mum took me to see the doctor. A few scans later, and it was determined that my ovaries were riddled with so many cysts the ultrasound technician could barely see them, and my uterus simply hadn’t formed properly.A congenital anomaly, they called it.
A gigantic pain in the belly is my preferred nomenclature.
I’ve been using various forms of contraception since then, and they control my periods pretty well and keep the worst of the pain at bay. It was an option far more preferable than having everything removed, as a teenage girl, and spending the rest of my life on artificial hormones.
And I’m okay with it. At least, I was.
Now, though?
Now, I’m not entirely sure.
