Chapter 10 Vanessa
Vanessa
I really like Quinn.
Like, she seems like the nicest sister-in-law anyone could ever have. And sure, that’s getting ahead of myself, like, way ahead, but isn’t that what dating is? You’re trying on the other person and their life to see whether it might fit. Quinn fits.
But as much as I like her, I’m terrified of Jack’s mom.
So the fact that Quinn keeps texting me details about this dinner she wants us to have when Jack hasn’t even mentioned it isn’t reassuring. I’m dreading even the idea of having to interact with his mother in an official capacity. It’s left me feeling very frayed.
That’s probably why Trish is making me so nuts today.
“What’s a four-letter word for femur or fibula?”
“Leg is three letters,” I say. “Could it be bone?”
Trish clucks. “No, that’s not right.” She sighs. “What about a three-letter word for ‘bit of horse food’?”
I hate crossword puzzles.
Jason’s whole family has always been obsessed with them, and I’m terrible at them, which is why I never did any.
It used to make me nuts when Jason would ding me with all the ones he couldn’t get, like somehow the worst person in the family at guessing their dumb puzzles should know all the ones they don’t.
“Come on,” she says. “It’s a horse thing. I’m doomed without your help.”
“Maybe it’s oat,” I say. “But that’s not really a bit. It’s just a type.”
“Ooh,” she coos. “That’s it. Thanks.”
I really wish I hadn’t gotten it right. Now she’s sure to badger me with a dozen more.
I fake an upset stomach just to escape. By the time I’ve sat in the bathroom scrolling reels long enough to support my lie, and I’ve finished the accounting work I’m still doing part time for my old company, it’s almost noon.
I really need to talk to the girls about this whole Jack-dinner situation, but I knew they’d be riding early this morning to prep for the show I’m not going to.
I know we all loved to ride, and I know they still do, but is it really necessary for them to ride almost every day to prepare for a little local show?
Old Vanessa would have ridden with them, delighted for the chance.
But now, every time I ride, my heart pounds, and my hands tremble, and my palms get clammy.
Every single time, it feels like I’m fighting off an enemy horde, and even when I settle in, usually on Foxy, it isn’t relaxing until the very end.
So I put it off and avoid it.
But by now, maybe they’ll be done, and I can suggest we all go to lunch or something.
Only, when I emerge from my room, Trish is still in the kitchen, puttering.
“What. . .” I look around. There are dozens of tiny things all over the counter.
It looks like Trish has pulled the whole kitchen apart and is putting it back together. “What’s going on?”
“I saw a video yesterday on the tele,” Trish says.
She still insists on calling any streaming platform ‘the tele.’ It’s kind of cute, but I swear, sometimes I wish she’d mention where she saw the show she’s talking about. “Okay.” Is it really so hard to say ‘Netflix’ or ‘Hulu’?
“They had this amazing method for organizing your kitchen that’s super efficient.” She spreads her arms. “I decided to do it for you today!” She beams. “It took way less time than I thought. I’m almost done.”
I blink, and then I look around. The open-faced cabinets near the sink used to have all the mugs and teacups on one side, and all the glasses, cups, and saucers on the other.
Now there are only glasses on one side, and the other side has a bunch of random things, like dish soap and sponges. It’s ugly.
I reach for the closest cabinet, which used to be the spice area, and now it holds flour, sugar, and baking soda. “Why did you move the spices?”
She crosses the room, her eyes bright. “Look, I left all the baking spices there, near the mixer where you make cookies and things, and then over here, by the oven, I moved all the cooking spices.”
“What does that mean, cooking spices?” I frown.
“Well, like cinnamon and nutmeg are used for baking a lot, along with soda, baking powder, and cream of tartar.” She walks around the corner to the stove and opens another cabinet. “But here are the things like cumin, chili powder, and black pepper. Things you use over the stove.”
I hate it.
I hate, hate, hate that she’s organizing my kitchen like it’s hers without even asking me, and now I have to pretend to be pleased that she did it, or I’m a troll. “Uh, well, okay.”
“You don’t like it?” Her little face falls.
I backtrack quickly. “No, that’s not it at all. I’m just taking a moment to catch the vision. I’m sure once I understand why things are in the places they are instead of where I put them, I’ll love it.”
And she’s off again, rambling on about how the mugs should be near the coffee machine, and how the stuff that used to be in the pantry is now in the cabinets, so that the appliances we rarely use can be stored in the pantry, and the canned goods that would expire are now easily rotated.
I have to work harder and harder to hide my irritation.
I’m very much of the school of thought that when something isn’t broken, you don’t need to fix it.
But I live with a very well-intentioned mother-in-law, so I tamp down on my tongue, and I force a smile I hope isn’t pained, and I bide my time until I can make an excuse and go find my friends.
Unfortunately, by the time I can leave, it’s already one-fifteen. And when I reach the barn, they appear to be just getting back.
Natalie’s holding a little bag.
“What’s that?” I glance at it pointedly, so she knows what I mean.
“Ah.” She lifts it up. “Soup. It’s leek. Do you want it? They love their leeks here, which is honestly kind of strange, but it’s pretty good.”
“You guys went to lunch?” I don’t say without me, but I feel like it’s hanging in the air.
“Oh, well, really we went out shopping first, and then we were so hungry I figured it was safer to grab food than to try and drive back home without feeding the beast.” Sam smirks.
“I really thought Natalie might eat my hand, plus you know how hangry she gets. If you had heard the rant she made about the roads here, you’d understand the critical nature of our timing. ”
“I like shopping.” Oh my word, I sound plaintive, like a puppy left in his crate.
“Not good shopping, to be clear.” Natalie tilts her head, and I hate that she feels sorry for me.
“Girl, we were looking for the random junk we need for the tack room repair. Knobs, screws, and some kind of caulk. I didn’t even want to go, but Sam wasn’t sure what we should replace the hardware with, and she wanted me to help her pick one, so.
. .” Natalie blinks. “Weren’t you doing your part time job earlier? Or are you not doing that anymore?”
I look at the floor. “No, I mean, I was. I still am.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam says. “We definitely would’ve loved you to come, if we knew you wanted to.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “No big deal.”
“The good news is that you can come ride with us now,” Natalie says. “We haven’t ridden yet, because the farrier was here before, and then we had to go buy hardware and caulk. The foot trimming is why we went shopping first.”
Oh, goodie. “Well. . .”
They share a glance.
I hate that. Like they’re both pulling for me to just get over my weird stuff about riding. “Can I ride Foxy?”
“Sure,” Sam says. “I can use another horse for today’s tour.”
“Were you going to use her?” I ask.
Sam shrugs. “I mean, we don’t have to.”
I bite my lip. “If you’re sure it’s okay.”
Natalie walks across the room. “Of course it is. Let’s do a quick trail ride.”
My stomach rumbles just then.
“You go grab lunch,” Sam says. “Or take Natalie’s soup. You can change into riding pants. Then come join us, and we’ll tack Foxy up for you.”
I know they’re being nice, but it feels like just another thing they’ll do together while I’m someplace else. “It’s fine,” I say. “I can bolt the leek soup down and just ride in this.”
“Okay,” Natalie says. “Sure.”
Only, these are my nicest jeans. And it’s getting a little windy. I might want a jacket. “On second thought, maybe I should run change.”
Natalie holds up her soup. “Probably smart.” She smiles. “Want this?”
“Sure,” I say. “Thanks.” I practically race back to the house, and throw the soup into the microwave. While it’s reheating, I change. And when I get out, I rummage around in the fridge for the cheese.
I can’t find it anywhere, even though I just bought two new bags.
“Trish?” I call. “Did you hide the cheese?” I hope she’s not taking a nap or anything.
A moment later, she pops into the kitchen. “Oh, you mean the shredded stuff?”
I nod.
“The doctor on the tele says it’s full of microplastics, and I figured you wouldn’t want that for you or the kids.” She points. “I tossed the bad stuff and bought a block of cheese.”
I slide open the drawer to grab the grater, proud that I’m not fuming. Only, the drawer has salad tongs and spatulas in it instead. “So. . .the cheese grater?”
“Ah, I moved those to—”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Healthier without the extra calories anyway.” I slurp the soup down while Trish stares at me.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I hope I didn’t upset you.” Her face looks raw and vulnerable.
“Of course not.” I sigh. “You’re doing everything you can to be the best mother-in-law I could ask for, and I appreciate you.” That much is actually true, even if she gets a little annoying sometimes. “I’m about to go for a ride with the girls.”
“Oh good.” She claps. “Have a lovely time.”
And once I get there, and we get mounted, I spend the first ten minutes expecting the worst. But after that, when nothing bad happens, I relax.
Foxy’s a doll, as usual. She’s a little frisky with the wind and the cooler weather, but the scenery’s gorgeous and the girls are laughing and happy, and a lot of my anxiety eases.
Until Natalie says, “So, how about Trace and Clara?”
“Oh.” I thought maybe we’d just never talk about it.
“Bryce kind of shut it down, but I doubt that’ll last,” Natalie says. “Not with teenage hormones, right?” She’s smiling, but I remember what she said. She thought they’d be a disaster.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it since then. I get it. If there was a kid one of my friends was always struggling with, a child who kept making bad decisions. . . And then if someone tried to set Trina up with them? I’d be apprehensive at best.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wish. . .”
“Trace is good-looking, smart, and athletic,” Samantha says. “Clara’s not a dope. She knows what she wants. I think the kids will sort this out.”
Was Bryce right, though? If they date and then crash and burn, what does it mean for us?
“I think they will,” Natalie says. “And maybe it’s better if they do just sort it out instead of dragging it out, honestly. Kids get over things fast, but if we interfere, it might get messier.”
I breathe a tiny sigh of relief. It seems like Natalie’s not as panicked as she was.
Maybe as Trace makes better and better decisions, she’ll worry less and less.
That’s what I wanted when we moved here, isn’t it?
A new start for him? I wanted him to make new friends for sure, and Clara’s just the sort of person who would never approve of someone throwing their life away. She’s all girl power about everything.
Maybe she’s just what Trace needs.
Maybe in ten years, we’ll be planning their wedding.
Stranger things have happened. All in all, by the time I get changed for my final shift at the stupid pumpkin patch, doing clean up in the field we rented from one of the moms, I’m feeling a lot better. So far, Ireland hasn’t been nearly as scary as I feared.
Maybe, like my ride earlier, the more I sit on the horse, the more I relax, the more time I spend here, the better things will get.
Maeve even apologized.
I’m coming around the corner, dragging a bin full of rotten pumpkins to the compost area, when I hear them.
It’s Naomi, Maeve, and Ciara.
“—but how can we ever really know?” It’s Naomi. “I mean, he’s a volunteer, and I can’t imagine a better coach, but are our boys really playing with the best players?”
“Or did those American boys just get on because Jack has some fetish for middle-aged Americans?” Ciara laughs. “Her brownies? Ick. Like her, there’s no way people really liked them.”
“They were chocolate chip cookies,” Maeve says. “Not brownies.”
I wait for her to tell them they’re out of line. I wait for her to say that Trace is clearly talented, and that he’s learning fast. But she doesn’t. The only thing she says to defend me is clarifying that I made chocolate chip cookies for the bake sale? Really?
I did tell her she could pretend to hate me, but I don’t like hearing it.
“Who cares what she made?” Naomi asks. “The point is, we have to pretend to be fine with all this, but that doesn’t mean we really are.
Any chance we get, we’re going to make her look as stupid as we possibly can.
Shouldn’t be hard. At some point, Jack will see what the rest of us do—she’s too old, she’s too boring, and she’s too American, just like her boys. ”
As I dump the pumpkins on the compost pile, I decide I’ve had just about enough. Sam or Natalie would march over and tell them off, but that’s not who I am. There’s just not that much fight in me. Instead, I slink back to my car, turn on the heater, and drive home.
But as I drive, I can’t help wondering whether the little cottage I’m sharing with Trish is even my home.
I’m beginning to think this insane move was just that—a crazy mistake.
Because those rude Irish women might be right.
I may be too boring, too weak, and too American for this new life I started.
As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, I miss the safety and the comfort of Colorado.
Ireland’s feeling like less of an escape and more of a prison.