Aspen
My heart is a steady thrum in my chest as I drive up to my parents’ house. Rhett’s truck pulls up next to mine, an act of solidarity. He agreed not to come in until I gave him the okay.
I wish more than anything he was doing this with me. That we were actually together and I wouldn’t have to do it by myself. If I wanted him to, I know he would. He has shown up for me time and time again since I’ve told him. But with everything he has going on, I truly think waiting is the best thing. Figure out what is going on with him and potentially our baby, and then move forward.
I can do this by myself. All of it. It’s nice I don’t have to, but I can handle it. And I can handle telling my parents. Being the baby of the family, I don’t think I’ve ever really felt the pressure the way Weston did. He wanted to take over the ranch, and while I love it, it was never going to be the rest of my life.
We figured that out when I gagged shucking stalls for the first time at six. I cried every time our cattle was sold. I even spent a whole year as a vegetarian once I realized what a steak actually was. I’m pretty sure that act alone produced my father’s first gray hair.
I was always outgoing, but I’ve made myself even bigger in an attempt to keep up with the swarm of boys in the house. I never wanted to be forgotten or left behind, and now that everyone has moved on and found their life partners, it seems that I have.
While I don’t have the picture-perfect families they all seem to be building, I was the first to forge a different path. I was the first to graduate college, the first to choose something different, and the first to live off the ranch. For that, I am proud of myself. I’m putting my brave boots back on again, now. Choosing me. Choosing what I want my life to look like, even if it isn’t perfect to the outside eye.
I take a big deep breath, closing my eyes and steeling my nerves.
Walking into the house, I see my mom sitting on the couch; dinner must already be in the oven.
“Hey Mom, is Dad around?” I ask.
This is far from my usual ask when I walk into the house. Anytime I ask for my dad, it’s because something is broken, and usually it’s my fault. When it’s not my fault, I can go to Weston. But Weston, as any big brother would do, likes to remind me of how much of a dumbass I am. Which is rich, coming from him.
“Uh oh, did you break your screen door off again?” She winces, recollecting the last time I forgot to close my screen door, and the Wyoming wind got the best of it.
I smile, but it feels forced and wavers a bit.
One thing about my mom is she is so incredibly perceptive. She can tell if something is wrong by a single crinkle of a brow.“Is everything okay?” She goes to get off the couch, but I walk over.
“Everything is fine; I just need to talk to both of you.”
Like his ears were ringing, he walks out from the hallway. “Look, it’s my two favorite girls.”
I plaster an overenthusiastic smile on my face. “Hey Dad, I was just talking about you.”
“Do I need to put my boots on to fix something?”
My eyes roll and I school my features into annoyance. “No, nothing is broken. Just because I want to talk to you guys doesn’t mean something is broken.”
I say this knowing good and well I am about to share news that will blow their socks off. I love kids, but they haven’t been on my ‘things to do sooner than later’ radar. Hell, I don’t even remember the last time I had a steady boyfriend.
Before Rhett.
My dad looks between my mom and me. “Well, it looks like your mom is a few seconds away from having a heart attack, so if you’d like her to be a part of the conversation, you might want to get on with this sooner than later.”
I fidget with my hands. “Okay, Uhm, I’m not really sure how to tell you this other than just say it.” This is it; in a few seconds, everyone will know. “I am pregnant. Weston knows, and Maverick knows because Ava knows and I really didn’t want you guys to hear it from anyone other than me.” The words come out in a nervous rush.
They stare at me for a few seconds with blank faces and slow blinks; they look to each other, to have one of those silent conversations that used to annoy the crap out of me in high school, and then turn back.
“Well, first of all, congratulations. Growing your family is always a blessing. We’re more than ready for plenty ofgrandbabies,” my mom says with trepidation, “but I do have a few questions.”
Questions were to be expected.
My dad cuts right to the chase. “Who is the father? I didn’t know you were dating anyone.” Curiosity, with a bit of protectiveness, laces his tone. It’s what my dad does best.
This part I am dreading. “He’s a great guy, but for right now, I’m not sharing it. Not because I’m embarrassed or ashamed of him. We’ve just got some stuff to work out privately before the whole Taylor clan jumps him in an alley,” I joke quietly.
Both of their faces scrunch with what I can only assume to be discomfort. Which, again, is totally understandable on my end.
“Well, we’re ready to meet him when you guys are ready. You’ll be a wonderful mother.” My mom’s smile is gentle and soft. While I wasn’t expecting a fight, I was expecting some turbulence.
