Chapter 4
Haven
Iwatch Alex’s broad back disappear around the bend in the road and slump into the spot he vacated on the fountain wall. I barely notice the spray of water hit my head, dampening my hair.
I wait for the onslaught of tears, the urge to cry at what could only be described as a disastrous meeting, but nothing comes.
Did I think he was going to jump for joy? No. But I also didn’t picture him storming off either.
Or be quite so angry. It might have taken me a couple of months to get used to the idea myself, but anger was never an emotion I felt. Denial, yes. Frustration, also yes. Despair, definitely.
But never anger.
I’m ruminating on what to do while trying to quiet my screaming daughter when a car drives past us, its back wheels clipping the large puddle in the middle of the street and spraying me with dirty rainwater.
Great. Just great.
The absurdity of the morning hits me, and I bark out a laugh before I can stop it.
It’s loud enough that it shocks Everly into silence, but only for a moment, because once she realizes nothing’s changed and she’s still hungry, her little cry is louder than ever.
“I’m sorry. Sorry, baby girl. Shhh. I’m here.”
Peering around, I see no one and no more cars, so as discreetly as I can, I move to the other side of the fountain, unclip Everly from her harness, lift my sweater, and send out a prayer that she latches on the first time.
When she does, the relief is so overwhelming that the tears finally appear, and the resolve I woke up with runs down the drain like yesterday’s stormwater.
What am I going to do? I’m one day into a five-day trip, and I’m ready to give up. Coming here was an insane idea. Alex was right, I should have emailed him.
My mind spins with his parting words—I can’t do this now—and it’s the now I fixate on. Did he mean now, like right now? Or now as a point in the present? Today, this weekend, next week?
Or now as in never?
He could have done it at one point, but because I never returned his call, he’s no longer interested?
And what does this mean? Talk? Become a daddy?
Should I leave earlier and go home?
Or should I try to see him again?
I sniff through each scenario, none of which makes me feel any better, and try to wipe the tears before they hit Everly, though at this point in her young life, her skin is more or less kept hydrated from them.
Her tiny fist opens and closes in the air while she sucks down her milk. Holding my hand up, she grips on, curling her fingers around my thumb. It’s the touch I need to inject some sense into me. I haven’t come this far only to come this far.
I might have told Alex he’s a father, but there’s so much more to discuss. For Everly’s sake. We live on different continents, but I never want to say I didn’t try to give her the opportunity to have a father.
For Alex to be a father.
If he’s not interested, it won’t be for lack of trying on my part.
I’m too lost in my thoughts to notice Alex’s sister rushing toward me until she’s almost at the fountain. Great. Just what I need.
“Haven, are you okay?” she asks, taking in my tears and the way I swipe under my nose. “No . . . stupid question . . . of course you’re not.”
“Come to interrogate me some more?” I snap with a sniff and attempt to hide Everly under my jacket.
“What?” She pauses, and a frown flashes across her face. “No, God, I’m so sorry, I should have told you who I was. I just knew Alex was on his way, and I didn’t want you to leave without seeing him. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”
She’s looking at me with such compassion that it’s hard to be mad, especially when my nose won’t stop running.
I’m not exactly in the position to be angry either.
I’d have done the same, and technically, she is Everly’s aunt, but my jet lag is creeping in, and my daughter is pissed at me, so I’m running low on patience.
“Clementine, is it?”
She nods. “Yes, Clemmie. Or Clem. Whatever you prefer. I’m Alex’s sister, but you know that.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to finish feeding my daughter. Alex stormed off, so I have to figure out what to do. Perhaps we can talk another time?”
I hope the context is clear. I’m not in the mood.
“He stormed off?”
I nod in the direction Alex left. “Yup.”
Clementine stares down the road, making no signs of following him. I expect her to follow, but she doesn’t. In fact, she doesn’t move at all, even when Everly decides to make her objections known that my left boob is out of milk, and I try to switch her over without flashing anybody passing by.
This time, unfortunately, my daughter isn’t quite so enthused about eating, and her cries go from zero to a hundred in less than a second.
“C’mon, sweetheart, please,” I beg, wishing my audience would leave to go and find her brother or whatever it is she needs to do.
Lifting Everly, I place her high on my chest like the nurse taught me and pat her gently. Sometimes if I can get the burp, she goes back to eating, but not today, it seems.
Patience. Patience. I just need to have patience. It’s become my new favorite word, because unless I remind myself every five minutes, I will lose my shit.
And when I lose my shit, Everly loses her shit. It becomes a perpetual cycle of tears until both our nerves are shot.
“Come on, Everly. Get it up,” I whisper through a deep breath.
Nothing happens until I stand, the momentum jostling her enough that I hear a loud burp followed by the sensation of warm regurgitated milk dripping down my neck.
Great. Just great.
The plus side is that the screaming stopped.
Clementine stands there, eyes cartoon wide.
And this isn’t the time to acknowledge how beautiful she is, but she is, and I irrationally hate her for it.
I used to look like that. I used to be cute.
And now I’m a barely functioning twenty-five-year-old with dark rings under her eyes, who’s learned the hard way the pregnancy glow is a myth.
We’re standing here, this beautiful girl and me, whose life has done a complete one-eighty. This was supposed to be my year of fun, after busting my ass to save my parents’ ranch. I was not supposed to get pregnant.
I can’t take any more of Clementine’s pitying stare. I want to be alone.
Then I realize one boob is still hanging out, so all in all, today has just been another sucky day in a whole year of sucky days.
Willing myself not to crumble, I force back my shoulders so my spine straightens.
“I really need to go change and settle her down,” I say eventually, pulling my coat closed.
I’ll carry Everly to the bed and breakfast, finish feeding her, and hopefully get her to sleep for long enough that I can change into something clean. Maybe take a shower if I’m lucky.
Then we’ll wash, rinse, repeat. My days are all the same. I’m a slave to this tiny human.
“I can help,” Clementine blurts out when I turn away, making me pause.
“Help with what?”
She narrows the gap between us again, standing in front of me so I have to move around her. “Anything. But let’s get you clean first.”
“I’m fine. I need to finish feeding her.”
“You can do that too.”
I don’t get the chance to reply before Clemmie practically drags me away and pulls me down the narrow road in the opposite direction Alex went until we reach a gate.
She pushes it open, gesturing me inside where I find a picture-perfect little house with a straw roof, and a somewhat tidy front yard, lined with rose bushes neatly trimmed for the winter, ready for blooming again in the spring.
It feels exactly the sort of house you’d find on the front of a tourist postcard with text over the top that reads Greetings from England.
Rainboots are kicked haphazardly along the porch, and hanging from a statue of a small stone dog next to the front door is a horse’s bridle, and a couple of carved Halloween pumpkins.
It’s cute and cozy, and of course she’d have pumpkins. I didn’t do pumpkins this year because I didn’t have the energy.
The whole vibe is perfect and makes me feel like shit. Especially with my child objecting loudly at whatever the fuck she’s objecting at.
“Come on, you can feed her in here. I’ll make us a cup of tea.”
Seeing as she walks straight in without knocking, I assume this is her place.
However, when I follow her down the hallway into the kitchen, I change my mind.
Horse and polo magazines are piled up in the corner, shelves adorned with rosettes and framed photos of Miles accepting trophies, and the polo sticks leaning against the wall mean this place can only belong to one person.
“Sit. Sit,” she says, gesturing to a chair.
I do as I’m told, and while Clementine busies herself making tea, I attempt to feed Everly again—this time with success.
Leaning back in the chair, I take in the place. It’s both immaculately clean and messy. The surfaces are covered with anything and everything horse-related, but there’s not a speck of dust in sight. Like Mary Poppins came here but gave up halfway through the day.
“Miles isn’t the tidiest person on the planet, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Clemmie sets down two steaming cups on the table, followed by a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies, then pulls out the chair opposite me.
Miles. I was right.
The memory of the four brothers pops into my head, and the first time I saw them together at my tree store in Aspen village: Lando, the serious one. Alex, the smoking-hot one. Hendricks, the quiet one. And Miles, the one you could get into serious trouble with.
He spent a lot of his visit at the Aspen Polo Club, and from what I heard on the local grapevine, he caused quite a stir with the female grooms.
Never in a million years would I have predicted I’d be sitting in Miles’s kitchen ten months later.