"I was going to ask if I could — "
"No."
"I wasn't even — "
"Maya."
He says my name in a specific register when he's being firm about something. Lower than usual. Steady in a way that has texture to it. He’s warning me and I desperately want to test my boundaries but realize I’m not that stupid. There is a bear. A living, breathing bear, in front of me. Not the place to test boundaries with a Daddy that’s not mine yet.
I stop moving toward the bear cub.
"He's not socialized," Anthony says, moving to stand beside me. Not between me and the enclosure but beside me, which somehow makes it more effective. "He's going back to the wild in the spring. The kindest thing I can do for him is make sure he still thinks humans are a threat."
"Right." I look at the cub, who is doing something heartbreaking with a pinecone. "That's…yes. That makes sense."
"It's hard, I know. Believe me. There has been a time or two when I’ve wanted to cuddle him to me. Especially right when we got him and he was crying for his mom. She was shot by a hunter who had no business being where he was. Those first nights when he cried and cried…”
"It's very hard."
"It is. But, you'll live." His voice has warmth in it, and when I look up he's watching the cub too, with an expression that tells me he finds it exactly as hard as I do and does it anyway, every single time because it is what’s in the best interest of the animal he’s rescued.
How does a person hold that much tenderness that steadily?
The bottle feeding is what breaks me completely.
There are two orphaned elk calves that came in ten days ago. They are siblings, probably, found together after what Anthony describes in careful terms as a vehicle incident on a highway north of here. They're in a warm enclosure off the main barn, and when we come in they are alert and interested and absolutely tiny, all legs and velvet ears, and I make a sound I'm not proud of.
"Here." Anthony hands me a bottle without preamble. "Since I didn’t let you touch the bear cub, you can help me feed them. Support under the jaw. Let him come to you, don't push the nipple."
The calf latches on and the sound he makes is this small, concentrated, absolutely focused sound of a creature doing the most important thing, it’s the best thing I have experienced in my recent memory.
"Oh my god," I whisper.
"Don't move too fast."
"I'm not moving."
"You were about to."
He's right again. I was leaning forward without noticing. I was about to move too fast because I was so enchanted I forgot where I was. I just wanted to get closer to the sweet baby.
I feel Anthony’s hand on my back, just a light press between my shoulder blades, steadying, grounding me in place and then it's gone.
It lasted maybe two seconds, but it felt like we had an entire conversation.
Stay,it said.I've got you. You're doing fine, just slow down.
I slow down.
He’s incredibly calming to be around. He’s grounding… just like I said I needed. Just like I’ve always wanted.
The calf finishes the bottle with the satisfied completeness of someone who has accomplished their one and only goal for the day and is now considering a nap. I hand the empty bottle back to Anthony and look up to find him watching me with an expression I haven't seen on him before. It’s something softer, something that doesn't have any of the careful measurement in it.
"Good girl," he says.
Two words.
It lands in the center of my chest like he placed it there deliberately.
