Chapter 29 Samantha
Samantha
Everyone else is with their family, opening presents. I can even hear the yipping of Natalie’s new puppy from her cottage, which is the closest to mine.
The adoption agency’s website says they review all applications within twenty-four hours.
I submitted mine on Christmas Eve, so it’s insane that I keep checking my email to see whether they’ve begun looking over my application, or whether they might want to set up a video chat.
There’s no way their timeframe applies to Christmas Day.
I keep checking, anyway, because it’s Christmas.
Maybe something magical will happen, right? You never know.
Except then I start googling the adoption process, and it’s long. Like, there are a lot of hoops to jump through before the agency even gets a profile and you can possibly start meeting with mothers-to-be, and that’s only if any of them even want someone like me.
A single woman in her forties who just divorced her husband.
She spends all day long riding horses, and she lives nowhere near her real family. She runs a brand new, probably-doomed-to-failure startup hotel, and she has no ten-year plan. Also, no boyfriend, and no good prospects. She suffers from PCOS and has zero parenting know-how.
And no health insurance.
But Ireland has healthcare, so I think maybe that’s fine here. I should really look into that. I’ve been paying my old doctor to do tele-visits, because I’m resistant to change. Good thing I didn’t write that down when I filled out my form. They probably know, based on my age.
I click refresh again, and all it gets me is another stupid email from the Loft yammering on about sweaters.
Enough already with the sweaters! I need to do something.
I stand up and decide to go visit the horses.
That’s a good plan. Horses always calm me down.
I felt pretty decent when I was mucking stalls and feeding them earlier.
Petting them and stuff will be at least that fun.
Only, when I step outside, I notice that someone’s outside in front of Vanessa’s place, and it’s not Jack. I sneak closer, and I realize it is Jack, but they must have come in his mother’s SUV. He’s having some kind of talk with her, and it doesn’t look like it’s going well.
If she had a superpower, it would be laser-beam eyes.
I creep back toward the barn, and I pet horses until I’m sure Jack and his horrible mother have left.
Normally, I’d go charging in to make sure Vanessa’s okay, but I don’t have it in me, not today.
I want to go home and click refresh again on my computer like a complete nutjob.
It’s Christmas Day. They won’t be emailing me.
With the holidays, it’ll probably be days before I hear from them.
And that’s fine.
I literally decided to do this late yesterday.
I’m the kind of person who has very little chill once she’s made a decision, which is why I broke up with Richard on that very day his dad proposed.
That’s a weird sentence. But I’m not someone who waffles, or wobbles, or flips and flops back and forth.
I’m decisive. That’ll make me a good mom, right?
Probably.
Or maybe kids need someone who’s more contemplative about things she does. Shoot. What if my decisiveness makes me a terrible mother? I whip out my phone and text Natalie.
How do you know if you’ll be a bad mom?
You won’t
Oh, please
You can’t know that
I can
Because you’re worried about being bad, and that’s literally the most important thing
If you worry, if you fret, and if you spend every waking and most sleeping moments trying to be the best mom you can be, you will be
Or at least, you’ll be good enough
My mom calls, then.
I bet she just woke up. She always calls me in the late morning since I moved here. She’s been an early riser as long as I can remember, and she loves that I’m always awake when she pops out of bed now. My dad will snore along for another hour at least.
“Happy Christmas,” she says.
It’s not lost on me that my Irish friends are saying Merry, and my family and friends back home keep saying Happy. Everyone’s a comedian. “Thanks, Mom. I hope it’s a good one. I’m sorry I’m not there.”
“We miss you,” she says. “We love you. I hope you know that.”
“I do,” I say. “But you should know that I’m doing really well here.”
“Uh, yeah. I noticed. A duke. I can’t even imagine.” She giggles. “Your dad said he’d fly me out so I can meet him. That’s my Christmas present. So just tell me a time that would be good and we’ll book the flights.” She clears her throat. “Also, he is way hotter than Brent. Nice work.”
I need to tell them, but it felt so raw when we broke up that I haven’t been up to it yet. Now I need to tell them about the breakup and the plans for adoption, and I’m sure they’ll misunderstand and think it’s some kind of crazy reaction.
I’ll tell them tomorrow.
I can’t handle it today.
“That’s great, Mom. You’ll love him.” If I sound tired, Mom doesn’t notice. “You’ll love lots of things.”
“I know where I’ll be staying when I come.” I can imagine how she looks, with her proud-parent smile.
“Mom, you can stay with me, you know. I don’t live in the hotel.”
“Why would I stay in your tiny apartment when I could stay at my daughter’s posh new hotel for free?”
Oh, Natalie’s going to love that. “Right, well. I look forward to your trip. Just let me know when you’ll be here.”
“Can you tell me when your next horse show will be? I’d love to come cheer at the same time.”
Thirty years of horse shows, and she still cheers. Everyone else is videotaping or quietly watching, and my mom’s chanting like it’s the Super Bowl or a swim meet. It’s made my horse spook at least five times. Thankfully, she rarely actually comes.
“My last two shows were horrible,” I say. “So I’m not in a rush.”
“Why were they horrible?” She sounds offended that I didn’t tell her.
I sigh. “Not in any specific ways, but my horse is really green, and he has a lot to learn, and our dressage test was—”
“Your dressage what?”
“Test, Mom. That’s what they call the dressage part, remember?”
“Huh. You’d think I’d remember that they just stole their words from school.”
I wouldn’t think that. She forgets almost everything I tell her about horses, because it’s all boring and meaningless to her. She still can’t tell when my horse has changed leads. “It’s fine, Mom. I’ll look at the calendar and make some suggestions. Did my gifts arrive in time?”
“Oh, Samantha, they were such a hit. The girls loved those little wool sheep with the caps. Your sister about died when she opened that Herringbone coat, and you know me. I’ll be praying we get a cold front in Florida so I can wear my new scarf.”
My mom thinks anything under seventy degrees is a cold front. Most Floridians agree with her, but still.
“I’m glad. Did Dad like the shoes?”
She raves about the custom shoes I had made for at least five minutes. She knows nothing about horses, but everything about men’s dress shoes. My dad has worn fancy, leather-soled shoes every day of his life. He’s a lawyer down to his DNA, I’m pretty sure.
“Well,” I say, trying to think of a way to wrap this up. I need to refresh my email. “I guess—”
There’s a truck rumbling its way down our long drive, a massive lorry. And notably, there’s a horse trailer behind it. I peer at it, trying to figure out why we’d have a truck headed our way on Christmas Day. I blink.
“—better let you go. Those rolls aren’t going to make themselves.”
“Right.” My mom, in true Southern form, always tells me she has to ‘let me go,’ like I’m dying to hold onto her, but it’s just not possible. In her mind, it’s the only polite way to get off the phone. “I love you, Mom. Merry Christmas.”
“To you too!” I hear squeals behind her, which tells me that she’s already at my sister’s and her kids are awake, probably combing through their stockings right at this moment.
When I hang up, the truck has reached the barn, and I realize it’s Richard’s horse trailer.
The family crest’s emblazoned on the side in gold and black.
It’s two enormous bucks, holding a black shield like they have hands.
It’s a little disturbing, especially since the shield has three deer heads on it, so why are they holding it like it’s on display?
I suppose if it was two humans holding up a shield with human heads, that would be macabre beyond belief.
Anyway, I prepare myself, because if Richard’s here with a horse trailer. . .what’s he doing? When Aodhán climbs out of the lorry and circles around to the back of the trailer, I can’t help myself. I have to intervene. “What are you doing?”
“I’m unloading a horse.” He’s smiling.
“And are you alone?”
He frowns. “You didn’t know Richard flew back to London yesterday?”
Part of me was hoping Richard was with him, I realize. “Uh, well, I thought he might have changed his mind.” I sigh, because it seems like Aodhán doesn’t know. “We broke up.”
His jaw drops. “If you broke up, then why. . .” He whistles. “I really should have dated him.”
“If only he liked men.” I laugh. “Then why the trailer? Does he have more semi-retired horses for my program?” As far as breakup gifts go, it’s not a bad one.
Only, the horse Aodhán leads out isn’t a semi-retired or even an almost-to-retirement horse.
It’s one of the few horses in Ireland I would never forget, not if a year or ten had passed.
It’s Cachacco.
“He told me to bring her papers.” Aodhán hands me a letter.
“For what it’s worth, he really, really loves you.
It was so obvious that I just. . .” He shakes his head.
“I don’t ever get involved in this kind of thing.
” He winces. “But if I did, I’d be rooting for you to work this out, whatever it is. ”