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Xavier nods. “Ranchers joke it’s like getting two horses every time.”
I shake my head. I can’t believe I never knew that. It just seems like one of those fun facts people would talk about all the time. Xavier jokingly talks about Samson as Lefty and Righty. As in, oh, I spent the day with Lefty today.
“Guess you need to focus on spending some time with Righty, then,” I smile at him.
Xavier inclines his head before shoveling in a huge bite of shepherd’s pie. I’m really happy with how it came out today. Since I’ve gotten pregnant and don’t have to work so hard out on the ranch, I’ve taken to experimenting in the kitchen.
Well, at least the past couple weeks once the first trimester was over and the smell of meat didn’t send me running for the nearest bathroom. This is one of my favorite recipes because it’s hard to screw up. It’s the third time we’ve had it in the last two and a half weeks.
What? So I’m slowly expanding my menu of things I can cook. I grew up a New York where take-out was a major food group.
It’s also a bit odd to be using a fork and feeding myself. God, it’s the first time in months and it feels a bit… well, unsettling and lonely being so separate from Xavier all the way over there at the head of the table with his father sitting across from me. I can’t believe him feeding me has become such a source of comfort and connection after how much I fought it in the beginning.
The few times I catch Xavier looking at me, his eyes focused on my fork disappearing between my lips, I wonder if he isn’t thinking something similar.
“So, son,” Pritchard says after Xavier’s midway through his second helping, “what will it take to get you to come home?”
Xavier’s fork only pauses briefly on its way to his mouth. Behind him, I notice it start to rain outside.
He continues to take his bite, chews normally, and washes it down with his water. He has beer in the fridge, and I’m surprised he didn’t want to take the slightest edge off for this meal with his father. I take a sip of water as I look back and forth between the two men like I’m at a tennis match. Oh dear. Is this where the yelling starts?
But Xavier only says with an easy smile, “I am home, Dad.”
Pritchard gives a half-roll of his eyes and puts his napkin down on the table after wiping his mouth. “Be serious. Your mother and I indulged you long enough with this horse farm fantasy, but it’s time to grow up. Especially now that you’ll be starting a family—” He gestures in my direction.
“Leave Melanie out of this,” Xavier says. It’s shocking to hear him use my name. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him even say it out loud.
“I won’t change my mind on this, Dad. You need to let it go. I left that path a long time ago.”
Pritchard exhales loudly and sits back in his chair. “Why? That’s what I don’t understand. Sure, what happened over there was unfortunate but it wasn’t your fault—”
“Stop.” Xavier’s voice is cold.
“No, I won’t stop,” his father continues earnestly. “I’ve talked to some doctors and they say you have all the classic symptoms of PTSD and survivor’s guilt. But it wasn’t your fault all those people died. You weren’t even directly involved in the Quran burnings. You just happened to be in command of those men.”
“Stop.” Xavier’s jaw is working and I can tell he’s barely managing his usually easy control.
His father just continues on, though, oblivious or too desperate to press the subject, I can’t tell. “Then with the insanity of the riot— I understand. Really, I do. I know you find it difficult to believe, but in Vietnam I—”
“You were a REMF in ‘Nam, Dad,” Xavier explodes, standing up and pushing his chair back. I startle and grab the table’s edge. I’ve never seen him so worked up apart from the moments right after one of his nightmares.
“Just like you tried to make me in Afghanistan. Station the boy in the center of a green zone at a big air base so he can get some military experience,” Xavier spits out the words mockingly. “Looks great for the future political career but keep him safe from any of the actual shit of war. Well, guess what, Dad? My fancy Ivy League education didn’t help me when the protestors were at the gate throwing acid at anyone wearing a military uniform. And I was one of the fucking lucky ones. I came home with a fucking heartbeat.”
Oh my God!
“Xavier,” I cry, stepping forward.
The rain has been picking up and thunder rumbles so loud, it seems to shake the house. Or maybe that’s just everything that’s been revealed in the last few minutes.
