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“Two. One of each,” he told me, proving my mother wrong when he pulled the pot off the stove and poured it into the press.
“Did you name them?”
“The girl is Ginger.”
“If you didn’t name the boy Fred, you missed a golden opportunity.”
“I named him Fred,” he told me, lips curved up a little as he reached for the mugs, putting sugar and milk into mine, then finally pressing the coffee. It was funny how used to the process I had gotten when living with him, but how it felt like it was taking ages. Or maybe it was just because waiting for it was prolonging the inevitable conversation.
Finally, what felt like an hour later, he sat down, and his dark gaze held mine.
“As soon as we started having sex, your nightmares came back, got a lot worse,” he launched right into it. “Bad. Bad enough that I took Gadget off the bed some nights, slipped him back in when it was over.”
“You think that us being intimate was triggering something?”
“It was the only connection.”
I wanted to rant, to rage, to tell him what a stupid assumption that was.
Instead, I took a long sip of perfect coffee to make me calm down, stay rational. If I started losing control, he would win the debate even though his argument was weaker.
“When did you graduate?” I asked, keeping my tone calm, even.
“Graduate what?”
“From college. You know, with the psychology degree you must have.”
“Meadow…”
“I mean, it’s the only explanation for your in-depth dream analysis. Is that Freudian? Jungian?”
“Meadow, let me talk.”
“I get bad dreams. Newsflash, Ranger… so do you.”
“Wait… what?” he asked, looking taken aback.
“You didn’t know?” I asked, surprised.
“I used to get nightmares. Not all the time, though.”
“No, not all the time,” I agreed. “But you do sometimes. You grumble and curse and apologize. Sometimes you thrash around a little. So, if we are following your reasoning for making me leave, you should really start packing up all the animals, right? You must need to be in the ‘real world’ and ‘get help’ too.”
“I didn’t realize I was having the nightmares when you were around.”
“They are usually short-lived, just a couple minutes and you go quiet again.”
“You should have told me.”
“It doesn’t matter, Ranger. I know you’ve been through some things. I know that sometimes, your mind is still dealing with it. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You don’t want to talk to someone?”
“I’m not against it,” I told him. “I just… I think I’m okay. Right now, anyway. If things change, get worse, I would go see someone. But that is my choice. I decide when my brain is an ugly place.”
“Your brain could never be an ugly place.”
There was a little fluttering in my chest at that. Because it gave me hope, made me think there was a chance.
“So, do you agree you sent me away for the wrong reason?”
“It wasn’t just that, Meadow.”
“Then what was it?”
“You deserve a life. A real life. With people and connections and a future.”
“So, this life is a fake life?” I asked, head shaking.
“You know what I mean.”
“Okay, look,” I said, exhaling, letting Gadget down onto the floor, putting my arms on the table instead. “I lived in that world. I lived in that world for a long time. So I think I am a little more of an expert on this than you are.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed, shrugging.
“I lived in that world. Every day. For years. And I never once felt more satisfied than I did here. And I never connected with anyone the way I connected with you. Or even Miller or Finn. I was happy here, Ranger. How is that not something to strive for, to want more of?”
“What about your career?”
To that, I snorted a little. “It was a job, not a career. It paid the bills. That’s it. And it was never as rewarding as planting those seeds. And caring for them. And hoping they come up. Did they come up?”
“They came up. The vegetables and the flowers.”
“Can you show me them tomorrow?” I asked, then my gaze fell. “Will I still be here tomorrow?”
Ranger’s hands moved across the table, unexpectedly taking mine.
“So you think you love me?”
“Well… no,” I told him, but only let him sit in that misery for a short second. “I know I love you.”
This time, when his lips curved up, they went big, made little lines form next to his eyes, made a light dance around in his irises.
“That’s pretty convenient,” he told me, squeezing my hands. “Because I love you too.”
Ranger – 4 months
“The chamomile smells good,” I told her, standing at the sink in the kitchen, washing my hands.
“You don’t think it’s a little, I don’t know, earthy?” she asked, running her hands down Fred’s ears. Why the goats were in the house was beyond me, but they made her happy, so I wasn’t complaining.
