Chapter 3 Natalie
Natalie
Living in Austin, Texas, I was familiar with the idea of what a drought does to pastures and fields. The grass dies, sure, but as the horses pace and frolic, they turn dead grass into a dusty, messy lot.
And then when it does finally rain, that lot turns into a mud slick.
Or marshmallow fluff when twelve-hundred-pound horses walk on it.
It’s disgusting.
To try and prevent that from happening, the barn I rode at would sometimes drag hoses and sprinklers around to keep the grass alive during dry periods.
Sure, it was costly running the well around the clock, and it was messy, moving sprinklers, because sometimes you’d leave them in one place too long and it would get muddy.
It got your legs and hands wet when you moved them. You were always tripping over a hose.
But it was part of my job when I was working to pay for my riding.
There was this one hose that was really like ten hoses all twisted together, because that hose had to water an entire two-acre pasture.
The barn manager was so cheap that he never wanted to replace any of them, no matter how old or janky they were.
Near the end of the summer, the last hose in the setup started leaking where it joined with the one before it.
I tried to tighten it, hoping to eliminate the slow leak, but it didn’t ever help.
When I moved the sprinkler, I always had to find a super dry spot for that leaking joint, or that small leak in a concentrated area would turn into a massive lake.
I mentioned the problem to the property manager, but he said, ‘figure it out,’ so I dealt with it for more than two weeks, moving that sprinkler twice as often as the others to try and avoid creating wet, boggy spots for the horses.
It was the big gelding pasture and they were already plenty stupid enough.
They didn’t need extra reasons to slip or fall.
Then, on a Friday morning, blessedly, it finally rained!
We shut the stupid hoses off and coiled them all up.
Within less than a week, though, the ground was dry and hard again, and we had to turn the sprinklers back on. But before I did, I had an idea. I took that weak, leaky spot, and with the hoses turned off, I tightened the joint between the two as much as I could.
When I turned the sprinkler back on, miracle of miracles, it didn’t leak! I realized that I had been unable to tighten it enough to stop the leak when there was pressure in the line, but once that pressure was gone, I was able to repair the damage.
I’ve thought about that hose a lot of times since that summer.
The basic principle was quite simple, and had I known a plumber, they probably would have suggested I shut the dumb hoses off before trying to tighten up the leak, I’m sure.
But to me, someone unfamiliar with water pressure and how sprinklers and hoses work, it was a revelation.
Sometimes in our lives, we can’t fix a problem when it’s under pressure.
Sometimes we have to remove the stress and remove ourselves from the situation before we can make the necessary repairs.
I even thought about that hose when I decided to make the move to Ireland.
I considered this purchase to be an escape, of sorts, fleeing the mess of a life that Mason destroyed with all his untrustworthy behavior.
I thought that here, at least for me, I could start anew, without the pressure in the line from the sprinklers running.
But then Mason followed me.
He’s made it so that healing from the damage he dealt me is almost impossible, it seems. What I hoped was an empty threat has become all too real as he’s bought a home and just keeps showing up everywhere.
Like the water for the pasture, I know it’s good.
My kids need a father.
And if he really means to be a better father, that’s great for them. But I can’t help thinking that they’re the grass, and Mason’s the water, but I’m the part of the pasture that keeps turning into a messy, boggy puddle because the water won’t stop coming.
It makes me hate the stupid water.
Or maybe this whole analogy’s whack. But the other thing that’s whack is coming in from carrying hay and filling water troughs to my own kitchen and being face-to-face with the man I divorced, smiling at me over a cup of coffee like we’re still married. “Hey, honey.”
Rage bubbles up inside of me and spills over. “I wish I could say ‘good morning,’ but it’s taken a sudden turn for the worse,” I say. “I thought we discussed you getting my prior approval before just showing up.”
“Blaine invited me,” Mason says. “Unless you’re saying your children can’t give approval to their own father to enter their home?” He raises his eyebrows.
“They can’t.” I frown. “That’s what being a child’s parent means. Only I can give approval for people to enter my home. A home I pay for. A home I run. Blaine’s a beloved member of the household, but—”
“Dad!” Blaine bursts through the hallway above us and clatters down the stairs. “Did you bring it?”
Mason’s smile is smug as he turns away from me and smiles at Blaine. “I did, sweetie.” He lifts a bag—a large bag.
“What’s that?” I hate that I can’t even ream him right now, not in front of the kids. We agreed not to disparage each other in front of them, and I swear, he takes advantage of that at every single turn.
“Popcorn.” Blaine has reached the kitchen and she snatches the bag out of his hand.
“We have popcorn,” I say. “He didn’t need to—”
Blaine spins around, her free hand on her hip. “Mom, it can’t be seasoned or have butter. It has to be plain, air-popped popcorn, or it could make Pudge sick!”
I glare at Mason.
“Dad had to buy an air-popper, but the good news is, he says he’ll bring me popcorn any time I want. It’s Pudge’s favorite, and it’s healthy for her, too.”
Now I see why he’s so smug. He just bought himself an air-popping pass to come over any time.
Oh, no he doesn’t.
It takes me all of fourteen seconds to find an air-popper on , and it even suggests I add a bag of kernels to my order. Why, yes. Yes, I will. Make that two.
I hold my phone aloft like it’s a major trophy. “Well, I just ordered an air popper, so now this big inconvenience to your dad won’t be necessary.”
“Or.” Blaine’s eyes widen. “Dad says since he lives close, we can go over there every other weekend, and I can bring Pudge, so at least Dad’ll have some popcorn at his place, too!”
Every other weekend?
It’s reasonable. It’s the reasonable thing for me to allow, because I got the full custody order when I thought I was moving out here alone, and I did it by holding his illegal activities over his head.
If I refuse to let him see his kids after he’s moved here to be closer to them. . .I’m basically the devil.
I force a smile. “What a great idea,” I say.
“But in the future, with as busy as our mornings are, it would be best if your dad ran it past me before he popped over.” I point at the counter where I set up a breakfast yogurt bar.
Three kinds of yogurt, a few different types of chopped fruit, several varieties of granola, and chia seeds.
This has been a hit at the hotel, and the kids love picking their own toppings for their yogurt, too.
“Why don’t you grab yourself some breakfast, and I’ll wake everyone else up. ”
“Here, Dad.” Blaine hands the popcorn back. “Can you put this in that little shed near Pudge’s yard on the way out?”
I can’t help my smile at her casual dismissal.
It would have been rude coming from me, but my own little precocious daughter meant no insult, so he can’t take offense.
“Yes, could you, please?” I toss my head at the back door, which is presumably how he let himself in.
Our door’s essentially always open, thanks to all the animal chores we help with.
Mason takes the popcorn, and he shrugs. “Sure, but I also came by to invite your mom to lunch.”
“I respectfully decline,” I say.
His brow furrows, and his lips compress.
“I have a very busy day, and as you can imagine, with a million things that need doing around here, I don’t see the rest of the week being better.” Plus, there’s absolutely zero reason for us to go to lunch.
He sighs. “Well, I thought you might want to sit down and pick what weekends would work best for the kids to stay with me, but if you’d like me to just select which ones—”
“Fine.” I would rather go over something like that in a public place, instead of having him just pop up here. “Yes, we can take our calendars and sit and eat a sandwich while we talk about what weeks I’ll be generous enough to let you have the kids.”
His furrowed brow graduates to a scowl. “You know very well the reason—”
But the other kids are coming down the stairs like a herd of water buffalo, and he snaps his mouth shut. At least he’s trying to be pleasant, especially when they’re around. And it’s been a few weeks since he’s tried to entice me to go on a date, so maybe he’s not entirely mentally unhinged.
“Pudge will be so happy you came by.” Which is about as close as I can get to telling him to get out without actually saying it. “Thanks for the popcorn.”
Mason still looks stormy as he stomps out. I’m annoyed at how good-looking he still is, in spite of age, a divorce, and a lot of dishonest and even some criminal activity. Shouldn’t people’s outsides match their insides?
I’m still in a funk when Paul pokes my leg. “Mummy, thanks for the granola bar.”
I frown. “We didn’t have granola bars. We had—”
“He means, the bar of stuff to add to the granola,” Amelia says. “Like the burrito bars you do, but with yogurt and granola.”
That makes me smile. I made the kids a granola bar. I laugh. “Sure, okay.” It’s always funny to me when something’s true, but it doesn’t mean what your brain has been conditioned to think it means. “Maybe we’ll have granola bars for breakfast more often.”
Amelia and Blaine look at each other and at the very same time, they both say, “Nature Valley Granola Bars.”