Page 72 of Cowboy

“I’ve always liked that woman.” He grins. “And you don’t have to work outside the home, Scarlett. You could stay here and be a mom. It’s a different kind of work, I know, but it’s still work.”

I’ve often heard motherhood referred to as a thankless job, and I’m well aware that it’s completely unpaid monetarily. The rewards are in the little things. Hugs and handholding. Homemade presents and contagious laughter.

“But . . .” I hadn’t considered it, which is what I remember thinking when Rita mentioned it. I had friends who worked outside their home because they knew they’d be a better mother if they worked rather than stayed home with their children. I also knew women who had to work because the second income or only family income rested on them. Plenty of families made a choice to allow for one parent, typically the mother, to remain home. Was that the future for me? “I don’t want to be an imposition.”

“Scarlett, not this again. You’re not a fucking imposition. You’re my—” Bull cuts himself short. His hands release mine and brace on the edge of the couch, curling into the cushions on either side of my legs. He turns his face away from me.

“I’m your what?” I ask. The first word that comes to mind is wife, but Bull would never call me that. We aren’t married and, according to him, never will be.

“What am I to you?” We haven’t put labels on ourselves like boyfriend or girlfriend, and I’ve felt a little silly suggesting such a thing. We aren’t teens. But what do two people living together, raising a child, who aren’t defined as a couple, call themselves?

“You’re everything to me,” Bull says, twisting to face me again.

“But what does that mean?” My voice strains. If we never marry, will we just continue to play house? I’ve also known people who live together, never marrying for whatever reason, but I don’t understand it. I know it’s only a legal document. It doesn’t mean a couple is any less committed to one another, but maybe I am old—old-fashioned. I want to be married to him. Not just—

“We’re partners.”

Ugh. I want to scream, but instead, I struggle to sit forward, forcing him to move back. He nimbly stands, and I curse him even more at the ease of his large body while I have to scoot forward and press at the cushions to lift myself upright. Bull holds out a hand to help me, but I swat it away, irritated with everything.

“Where are you going?” Bull asks once I eventually stand and walk away from him.

“I need to call Audrey or Zara.” Or just anyone who will listen.

“I think you made the right decision,” Rita says once I call her after I’ve given my two weeks’ notice to Zara over the phone. “This is the next great thing in your life, Scarlett. Embrace it as a gift.”

As Rita doesn’t have children, and it does not look as if that will be a possibility on her horizon, I should be more grateful for my position. Bull is telling me I don’t need to work for financial means, and I still have savings if I feel a need to contribute. He’d never accept it, but I feel better knowing I have it.

Zara was sympathetic to my pregnancy issues. She reminded me how she needed to work out scheduling and eventually daycare as a new and single mother plus being a business partner to the birth of the Bean.

“We never have it easy as women. We want to work but feel guilty about leaving our children. When we’re with our children, we worry about things at work.”

“Does it go away? All that mom pressure?” I asked of her, finding sympathy from another mother with young children.

“Never,” Zara teased. “It’s just a part of the territory, and I never appreciated my mother more than when I became a single mother myself.”

It’s strange to think I’m technically a single mother as Bull and I are committed as parents but not a couple. We’re unofficially official, I guess, but I don’t like the sound of that label.

“I don’t think I can stop working forever,” I tell Rita.

“No one says you have to, but also no one is saying you need to return to a job outside your home.”

“I don’t know that I’ll be good at being just a mom,” I whisper. I consider my own mother and her lack of involvement in my life while placing overwhelming pressure on me. I haven’t spoken to my parents since their betraying phone call. If my own mother could not be happy for me and support me, I didn’t feel the need to include them in my future child’s life. I’d heard stories of poor parents being excellent grandparents, but I wasn’t taking the risk with mine. I had faith Harland would be all the grandparent Sprout would need. Plus, Sprout wouldn’t lack love from uncles and a cousin who has already offered babysitting services.

“Honey, you’ll be the wonderful person I know you to be. It’s just a change. Change is difficult, but sometimes it’s also for the best.” Rita knows. She’s having her own midlife crisis as she calls it. “Your life is never going to be the same again, though. So, I’d get used to constant change, my friend.”

She’s right in many ways. Every day will no longer be my own but the development of my child. The thought brings new tears, but this time they are a mix of fear and elation.

I’m going to be a mom soon.

It’s a job I never knew I wanted until suddenly it was mine.

24

Birthday Wishes

Bull

As fall blooms into a kaleidoscope of colors, I point out the Engagement Tree to Scarlett one afternoon in October. We are two months out from her due date. The brilliant red color isn’t lost among the autumn spectacular. The heart of this land beats bright as does my heart for Scarlett.