7. Says Every Father
7
SAYS EVERY FATHER
WYATT
T he next morning, Dakota sprints out the door for an early workout, so I decide to help my moms plow the flower fields. All the rows are blooming in spite of the triple-digit heat, so Dakota’s been doing a great job helping manage the farm. I thanked her last night, but she just she shrugged, like managing a ten-acre farm is no big deal.
It’s a huge deal.
My parents’ family owns Windmill Meadow Ranch—a boutique flower provider for small-town businesses in the Texas Hill Country. It’s a family business, and all my aunts and uncles help manage the ranch during the winter months since we only come back from Nashville during the summers. I’m pretty sure everyone on my Southern mom’s side of the family has owned a flower farm at some point, which is how I learned to make a bouquet faster than a florist.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, it’s hotter than a sauna in hell out here,” my mama, Stella, complains while spraying the row of orange zinnias with her garden hose. “Since when did Texas get to be so hot? I don’t remember it being this bad. Do y’all?”
“Yeah. You walk outside and start sweating,” my other mom, Jessie, says.
She presses a kiss to her sweaty cheek. Over twenty years together and they’re still ridiculously in love. Maybe that’s why I’m such a hopeless romantic, pining for a woman who wants nothing to do with me.
“Do you say your prayers in church with that dirty mouth of yours?” my mom adds.
She winks under her sun hat. “You bet I do. Every fuckin’ Sunday. If our sweet baby Jesus sends me to hell for having a dirty mouth, I want no part of that heaven.”
“Mama,” I groan, rubbing SPF 100 on Vi’s sweaty face. There will be no sunburns on my watch. “How many times do I have to tell you to watch your words around Vi? She’s repeating everything right now.”
“She’s only said two coherent words, Wyatt,” she says. “So, if she’s repeating the word fuck , it’ll probably sound like fuh .”
Stella Anderson scrubbed my mouth out with soap when I forgot to say “yes, ma’am,” but she’s got no problem cursing more than a frustrated parent. Maybe that’s why she fell in love with a crass hockey coach from up north.
Jessie’s my Northern mom, but Stella’s my Southern mama. That’s what I call them—mom and mama. My mama’s got the same blond hair and green eyes as me since I’m hers biologically, thanks to a generous sperm donor, but while I didn’t get my mom’s brown hair and brown eyes, I got all my hockey skills from Jessie Patton. They combined their two last names—Patton and Anderson—when they got married to form Patterson.
As an NHL player in Nashville, I might’ve only spent my summers in Texas, but my mama was raised in Granite Falls, so I consider myself a Southern gentleman since I was raised by a true Texan. Her sister’s family even owns the old dive bar in town—The General .
My mom sprays some sunflowers. “So, how’ve things with Kodie been? Was she okay with you moving in?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell what she’s thinking anymore,” I say, slathering more sunscreen on Vi’s face. “I almost wish she’d yell at me for leaving, but it’s like she doesn’t even care that I’m back.”
“Give her time,” my mama says. “She’ll come around. She’s always—”
Gravel crunches and Dakota’s 1971 pale-blue Ford Bronco pulls up to the barn, cutting off our conversation. I still remember the summer she spent covered in grease, fixing up Daisy Blue, as she calls it, with her dad.
She steps out of Daisy Blue wearing nothing but a sports bra and tiny shorts that hug her athletic frame. The late afternoon sun catches the sheen of sweat on her skin, highlighting every curve and muscle. She’s clearly getting back from training, and goddamn, she looks good sweaty.
“Kodie Cutler! Get over here, and come say hello to your favorite neighbors!” Mama shouts, waving her arm around with a giant smile.
Dakota struts through the field of yellow flowers and wraps both my moms in a warm bear hug. “Holy shit, it’s been too long! My goodness, I’ve missed y’all. How the hell are you?”
Her face lights up with a dimpled grin, and I can’t help the pang that hits me. I want that smile directed at me.
She releases them from her vice hug and scans my face with a frown, but then her eyes slide to Vienna, and she gives her a small grin. “Hey, girl. You’re looking mighty cute in that pink bucket hat.”
“Mo!” Vi giggles, thrashing in her stroller like she’s trying to get to Dakota, which isn’t all that surprising.
She is my girl after all.
A dimple flickers in her cheek. “I don’t have any more hats, but I’ll see what I can do for you. You’re pretty hard to say no to. Just like your daddy.”
Fuck.
I like hearing her call me daddy.
“Dada!” Vienna suddenly squeals, repeating her.
That dampens the heat in my body. I’m constantly swinging between man and dad so much that I get dizzy. She squirms in her shaded stroller. Her high-pitched laughter fills the space between us, and it’s the best sound in the world.
“Yes, ma’am?” I coo. Her cheeks are a little flushed from the heat, but I’ve got those attachable fans pointed at her face.
She claps her tiny hands. “Dada! Dada!”
I kiss her cheek. She wants some attention. “Yes ma’am, that’s me, baby. Your daddy, and I love you very much.”
I thought I knew what love was, but when I had a child, my entire definition expanded. No matter how wiped out I am, I can’t help but crack a smile when I look down at my little girl.
My mom nods down to Vienna’s T-shirt that reads Long Live Cowgirls . “I’m surprised she hasn’t had a meltdown yet. She’s doing pretty well for being in a whole different routine.”
“She’s always happy when she’s with her daddy.” I pick her up, nuzzling her face in a way I know makes her laugh. “Isn’t that right, baby girl?”
“That she is,” she agrees. “Goodness, she’s getting so big.”
“I hear kids grow up pretty fast,” Dakota adds.
“They do,” I agree, latching on to any shred of conversation she’s willing to throw my way. “I still remember the day I took Vi home from the hospital. She was so tiny. Five pounds, eight ounces. I remember being terrified that I’d trip and drop her.”
Mama slaps her knee. “I forgot about that! Oh my goodness, when it was time to put her in the car seat, it took you over thirty minutes to figure out the seat belt puzzle, and then you crept down the highway at twenty miles under the speed limit. Don’t you remember that, Jessie?”
“Oh, I remember, alright,” Mom says. “Thankfully, you had us.”
Vi cried the whole way home, this piercing sound that made my chest ache, but the moment I took her out of the car and into my arms, she stopped.
Just like that.
It was like she knew she was safe with me.
The hard parts of parenting can outweigh the good, but the good parts are so much brighter. Most people can relate to the difficulties of parenthood—changing diapers, the lack of sleep—but it’s hard to explain the gut-wrenching awe that comes with hearing your child’s laugh for the first time, or watching them smile, or take their first steps... Not that my baby girl’s walking yet.
“She sure is a cutie though,” Dakota says, reaching down to pinch her cheeks.
She stares at my little girl for a moment, and it looks like there’s yearning in her eyes, but I don’t want to get carried away with that thought.
“Isn’t she? It’s a good thing too, since that girl’s got a set of lungs on her,” Mom says, grabbing her shoulder. “We missed you, Kodie. It’s good to see you again.”
“I missed y’all too. How’s Windmill Meadow Ranch look?” Dakota asks, spreading her arms in a circle to showcase all her hard work. “Up to your high standards? Y’all know if you give me a task, I have to overachieve.”
“Sweetie, we would’ve been in a world of hurt if it hadn’t been for you,” Mama says. “You’re an angel.”
They continue to talk about the farm, exchanging thank-yous and I’ve missed yous while she seems like she works hard to not look at me. She continues standing there in those tiny shorts, and I don’t say a word because my throat’s parched from looking at her. I can never pull my shit together around this woman. It’s like I revert back to that same boy-obsessed teenager. Dakota doesn’t say anything to me either, and then she heads back to the barn without a goodbye .
Mama sighs, watching the screen door swing shut. “I always wanted you to marry that girl. You two were so cute together.”
“I need to get her talking to me again first,” I say as Vi grabs at the mood ring around my neck. I tug it out of her grabby hands because, choking hazard.
Mom lets out her booming bark of a laugh that always makes everyone in the near vicinity jump. “You will. You’ve had a crush on her since you were eight. It’s a damn shame you stopped talking to her.”
“I still remember all those nights you’d sprint home from hockey practice to wait by the phone for her call, remember that, Jessie?” Mama says. “It was when we still had that landline, and we wouldn’t let him get a cell, so he’d lock himself in the pantry to try and get some privacy.”
“Oh, but we could still hear.” Mom chuckles as she waters the sunflowers and starts mimicking my voice before it dropped. “‘I miss you, Dakota. No, like, I really miss you. I wish I could be with you all year, and not just the summers.’” She kisses my burning cheek. “You were always such a lover, sweetheart. Don’t ever change.”
I shoot my moms a hollow glare. I can admit it; I’m a mama’s boy, and because of how close I am with my parents, you can bet I’ll raise a daddy’s girl. “How about we stop talking about my most embarrassing teenage moments, yeah?”
Mom adjusts her navy Guardians cap. “But that’s the best part of being a parent. Embarrassing your children. You’ll get your payback when Vi starts dating.”
I grimace, glancing at my baby girl chewing on her tiny fists. I want her to stay this little forever. “The thought of her dating makes me want to puke.”
Mama kisses my cheek, a gold strand of her hair getting caught in my scruff. “Says every father.”