Chapter 11
A Vat of Lube
Twenty-three Days Until I Can Go Back to Work
I have some serious pep in my step after the…events of last night, so I decide to wear something extra cute for helping Jamie in the barn.
I know I’ve chosen correctly the moment I open the front door of my cabin and see Jamie waiting for me. He hands me my usual snowman mug, and while I take a sip, I watch him ogle my form-fitting, deep maroon snow jumpsuit.
I love how no matter what I’m wearing, he looks at me with that quiet awe that makes me forget the insides of my nostrils are freezing.
“Peppermint marshmallows. That’s new.”
“Don’t tell me you hate marshmallows.” He cocks an eyebrow at me.
“No, it’s nice.” I hesitate. “After last night, I wasn’t sure if we’d do the whole…normal morning thing. Or if it would be strange.”
“Why would it be weird?” His voice drips with sarcasm. “We made out on my couch. I came in my jeans like a teenager. Now we’re about to muck stalls. Seems pretty normal to me.”
I choke on air. “Jesus, Jamie—”
“Don’t make it awkward, Doc.”
“I just don’t know the protocol here. Do we talk about it? Ignore it? Rate it out of ten?”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Solid eleven.”
Heat floods my face. “I was joking.”
“I wasn’t. Look, I had a really good time last night. All of it. Lunch with the girls. Watching you nap. And after.”
“After was good,” I admit.
“Just good?”
“Okay, fine. After was really good.” I take another peppermint sip before shutting the front door and starting our walk to the barn.
Sometime in the last week, he fixed the porch railing, and he’s been salting the porch steps for me each night.
“Though, for the record, I did not fall asleep. I was resting my eyes.”
“You were drooling.”
“I was not—” I spin around, and he’s right there, close enough that I can smell coffee and hay and him.
“You absolutely were.” His hands find the hem of my coat. “It was cute.”
“I don’t drool.”
“You snored a little too.”
“Okay, now you’re just lying.” But I’m smiling, and he’s smiling, and suddenly his mouth is on mine. His lips are cold but soft, peppermint and espresso tangling between us. One of his hands moves up to grip my jaw.
“Good morning.” He kisses my nose.
“Yeah. It really is.”
He clasps my free hand, and we amble through the snow, stars still twinkling above.
“How was it growing up somewhere so remote?” I ask.
“Loved it. Quiet. Safe. Always loved the snow and ice and the fact that I got to play hockey on the frozen pond behind my parents’ house six months of the year.”
“But isn’t it weird that everyone knows everyone? I didn’t even know all my neighbors in my building.”
“I like the community. Plus, when I had my first kiss, my parents found out before I even got home. Sucked at twelve but good now that I’m a dad.” He laughs.
“What was your first kiss like?”
“Eighth grade. After science class with Tessa. Our braces clanked, and we tasted like cafeteria pizza. What about you?”
I laugh despite myself. “Mine was with Benny—he was a neighbor. Summer before college. I just wanted to get it over with.”
“Get it over with?”
“I was leaving for Harvard in two weeks, and I’d never kissed anyone. It felt like something I needed to tick off before I left.” I pause. “I’m realizing that’s kind of a pattern for me.”
“Checking boxes?” His voice is gentle as he pushes open the barn door.
“Yeah.” I meet his eyes. “But this—you—doesn’t feel like a box.”
“Good.” He tips my chin up with one gloved hand and kisses me again before we push into the barn.
It’s easy to tell him things. Parker never asked me about anything. He would have groaned if I tried to share a story about my day. Jamie seems genuinely curious.
“It feels chillier in here today,” I say, sniffling.
“Yeah, I must’ve left something cracked. I’ll go look around.” Jamie strides through the barn.
“I’ll check in on Arrietty and the others, then I can start cleaning their stalls.
” I grab the wheelbarrow, already equipped with a pitchfork, and head toward her stall.
But when I arrive at the door, I freeze.
The back of the stall is wide open, leading straight into the cold, white night outside.
“Jamie!” I yell, panic rising in my chest. “She’s gone. ”
He rushes over, mouth agape. “What do you mean?” His gaze darts around the stall. “Fuck, the door is open.”
“I didn’t even know the back opened up.”
“Yeah, for spring and summer. Damn it, where could she have gone?” He rushes over and inspects the broken door. “Looks like she leaned on it, and the bindings snapped. I knew I should’ve replaced them.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket, shine the flashlight outside, and catch sight of hoofprints. “I can see her tracks,” I say. “I know some animals try to find a safe place when they’re about to give birth. Does she have a spot she likes?”
“Um…” His eyes are wide with panic.
But I was trained to remain calm under pressure. “It’s okay. We’ll find her. I’ll get everything ready for the birth, and you go get the snowmobile. Make sure you bring extra blankets and some boiling water.”
“Got it. I need to call my mom to take the girls to school.” He bolts out of the stall while I gather all my supplies. There is still an hour, maybe two, until daylight.
Jamie circles around with the snowmobile and a packed sled.
I hop on behind him, and with the headlights, we follow the deep hoofprints in the snow.
We drive for what feels like forever. The sky is a gray dusk by the time we spot Arrietty near a giant tree.
Over the roar of the engine, I can hear her belting, and a puddle of blood is forming around her.
My heart clenches when I see a tiny hoof sticking out—the calf is breech.
Before the vehicle stops, I’m off and snatching my medical bag. “Bring me the water, the blanket, and that bucket.”
Jamie doesn’t say anything, just hops into action.
“Hey, baby,” I say when I approach Arrietty. Her head turns, antlers rubbing against the bark of the tree behind her. “I’m here to take care of you.”
Her beady eyes plead for help, and my nerves leave me. Animals can sense when someone is nervous, and I know this may be a difficult birth. I’ve spent hours researching for this very moment, but I’m still not ready. But I wasn’t ready for my first surgery, either.
I rub my hand along the side of her belly, reaching for her tail. “Harness her and make sure she doesn’t move,” I tell Jamie.
“Is she going to be okay with the baby being breeched like that?” Jamie asks, looping a harness around her muzzle and stroking her chin. “We’ve only dealt with it once.”
“She’ll be fine. I’ll need to reach in and help guide the baby out.”
I reach into my bag, trying to find my gloves, but they must’ve fallen out. There’s no time to go back to my cabin to grab another pair. I pour water over my hands and retrieve the bucket Jamie carried over from the snowmobile.
Jamie eyes it curiously. “What is that?”
“Lube.”
“Lube?”
“An old teacher told me it’s handy. Keeps the area lubricated and makes it easier for me to move my hand.”
I dip up to my elbow into the goopy substance.
Despite the urgency, there’s something beautiful about this moment.
I carefully feel around before gently pushing my hand inside her, searching for the other leg.
The contractions grip around my forearm, and I focus intently, helping her body do the work.
I will definitely have bruises on my arm after this.
For the next twenty minutes, it’s a blur of careful adjustments and timing to work with Arrietty’s contractions.
Finally, with a big push, the baby comes tumbling into the blankets I’ve spread out in the snow.
Arrietty sinks back into the ground, sides heaving, and the second I place her calf against her nose, she starts licking its tiny, wobbly head with the kind of love that’s instantaneous.
Like the years she spent not getting pregnant all led her to this perfect moment.
A crack happens in my chest then—a sharp, loosening ache—and my vision blurs. I look up, half expecting to see a sudden flurry of rain, but it’s not the sky. It’s me. It’s tears.
crying?
Not the kind of crying I always assumed would finally come, ugly and gasping, the way I sobbed when we buried Moonie, my first dog, in the backyard. This isn’t that.
This is soft. Like settling into a steamy bath after a long day.
“That was incredible, Joy.” When I turn toward Jamie, his green eyes have a sheen to them. He’s not embarrassed, and I realize I’m not either.
“I’m crying,” I say, my voice breaking on a laugh.
“You’re crying,” he echoes, smiling as he drops into the snow beside me.
I’m not an ice queen like Parker said I was. I’d just shut off a valve in my heart a long time ago, and it finally opened today.
For a long moment, we just kneel there together, our knees going numb while we watch Arrietty nuzzle her baby. The cold stings my cheeks, but inside, everything feels cozy. A week in Cranberry Hollow has done more for me than years of skating through life pretending I was fine.
I snatch up a clean towel, then wipe my hands.
“You should name the baby,” Jamie says. “He’s here because of you.”
“I don’t want to break the girls’ Studio Ghibli streak.”
“Start a new theme,” he says easily. “Something you like. The girls won’t mind.”
My mind is suddenly blank, and then a ridiculous idea pops up. “I can’t name it Mrs. Claus’s Blow Job.” I chuckle at the memory of doing shots at Grandpa’s Basement.
“MCB.” He tips his head.
“No way.” I laugh. The early morning light glints off the flecks of gray in his mustache. The same color as patches of gray on the calf. “What about Selleck?” His eyebrows knit together. “After Tom Selleck. Apparently, I have a thing for mustaches.”