3. ashton
three
ashton
. . .
Why’d You Come In Here Lookin’ Like That - Dolly Parton
It takes four and a half hours to fly from New York to Austin.
Four and a half long, restless hours. Everett managed to pull some major strings—apparently, one of Ruth’s friends is engaged to a pilot—and got me a first-class seat, so I had great legroom and top-tier snacks, at least. The flight attendant brought me a second round of olives after I absent-mindedly polished off the first one and reached out to an empty bowl.
She had blonde hair in a loose braid, and from behind, I almost thought she was Jessa.
I almost turned around and walked right off the plane when I caught sight of her reaching into an overhead bin.
And then she dropped back onto flat feet, and her navy-blue eyes sparkled in the cabin lights.
It turns out she’s nothing like Jessa at all.
She had the sweetest laugh and a Minnie Mouse sticker on a name badge that read Darcy, and she put me totally at ease every time she smiled at me.
In another life, I might have accidentally given her my number.
But instead, I offer an awkward finger-wave to her and her fellow flight attendant as I exit the plane.
Once I’m off the jet bridge, the floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of the Texas sky—brilliant blue and cloudless—and the handful of planes parked up on gates.
The one I flew here on has a green dinosaur painted on its tail, and for some reason, its cheesy smile reminds me of Everett.
I dig my wallet out from the front pocket of my backpack and tuck it into my shorts pocket.
I want it to be in easy reach, because I don’t want to stand around in lines any longer than I absolutely have to.
One quick smile at the ground agent directing traffic and dealing with all the questions, and I am outta here.
As soon as I’ve grabbed my bag, that is.
I didn’t want to check a bag. Didn’t think I needed to.
I left a lot of my summer clothes and work clothes behind on the ranch, and most of the clothing I have in New York is far too heavy for Texas in August, so I didn’t really plan on bringing much of it back with me.
But it turns out that all of the cookies and brownies I stress-baked yesterday take up more space in my backpack than I anticipated, so if I wanted to bring my favorite sneakers, enough underwear to not have to do laundry constantly, and all the gifts I’ve been collecting for my family, a checked bag was inevitable.
Luckily for me, my suitcase is purple, which makes it stand out among the sea of black and gray luggage on the carousel. I spot it quickly and hoist it off the conveyor, hustling as I roll it toward the exit.
The arrivals hall is busier than I expected it to be.
There are dogs and children and balloons and people holding signs and hugging and crying.
It’s like any other airport, and I don’t know why I expected anything different, but I feel a pang of sadness nonetheless.
Everett texted me this morning to say he’s busy and might have to send someone else to pick me up.
I’m not holding my breath, but I’m hoping beyond hope that he can find the time to come here himself.
I could really use that hour and a half in a truck with my big brother to decompress and exist with him by my side.
I scan the crowd for a familiar face. Maybe he’s sent Big John or Grady. I know Dad is at the dentist in Heath this afternoon, so he definitely won’t be here. If I’m lucky, maybe Brooks or Jody were free and they volunteered.
I won’t lie and pretend I’m not a little nervous about seeing Brooks and Jody.
It’s ridiculous, given they’re my best friends.
They, along with Everett, know me better than just about anyone.
But since meeting Declan and Jessa, and then losing them, things feel different.
My life took a path different to the one I always imagined I’d take.
I always imagined I’d grow old right alongside Brooks, Jody, and my brother.
That we’d all settle down with a someone special of our own someday.
That maybe, if I was lucky, one of them might be my special someone.
Who am I kidding. Twelve-year-old Ashton only ever imagined that Brooks might be her special someone.
Fifteen-year-old Ashton would’ve given anything for Brooks to be her first kiss, or her date to homecoming.
And nineteen-year-old Ashton lost her faith in the idea of forever with Brooks when yet another one of his conquests stopped her mid-horse ride to ask for directions to get off the ranch.
That was the moment I realized that even if I did do something dumb like kiss him—or more—Brooks Hart wasn’t the settling down type.
He’d never be my special someone, because he’d never be anyone’s special someone. No matter how much I wanted him to be.
I make my way through a sea of people. Most are holding something: flowers, balloons, signs.
Among the Sharpie scribbles and boring printed pages, one sign in particular catches my eye.
It’s a colorful sketch of a girl on horseback, twin braids flying out behind her as the horse gallops alongside a river.
The horse is dappled and light gray, just like my Mayo.
Above the image, spiky red letters read pocket rocket.
I look up as my breath catches in my throat.
“Evvy!”
“Hey, Ashey.” My brother’s arms close around me and I’m home, at last. I breathe in his familiar scent—leather and dirt, and something unique—and relax in his embrace.
This is the most at peace I’ve felt for a long time, and I could stand here being held by him for hours.
This is what I’ve been missing. This is what I’ve needed more than anything.
The tension in my body unravels bit by bit. Everett releases me and takes my suitcase, rolling it alongside us as he guides me to the exit and out into the late summer heat.
“Good to know some things haven’t changed.” I squint and drop my sunglasses from my head to my eyes. “Still hotter’n Satan’s ballsack here.”
Everett guffaws.
“Good to have you home, Ashey. Missed the crap outta you.”
“Missed you too, Evvy.”
The drive home is easy once we get out of the city. Everett’s truck smells the same as it always did—like dirt and Grandaddy Smith’s tobacco—with a hint of sweet vanilla, which I’m guessing is courtesy of his wife. We pull up to our parents’ house in almost no time at all.
“Who all is working today?”
“See for yourself,” Everett says. He hops out of the cab and reaches the truck bed before I can get there, lifting my suitcase easily.
He sets it on its wheels and extends the handle to wheel it into the house.
“Got Mayo ready for you ‘fore I left. He’s waitin’ out in the paddock. Left him sniffin’ Grover’s ears again.”
“Grover got more ear trouble?” It wouldn’t be the first time we discovered minor ailments from one animal paying extra attention to another.
Everett leaves my suitcase by the door once we get inside, and I set my backpack on top of it, unzipping the main pocket and lifting three Tupperware containers from it.
“Naw, he’s good. Think Mayo just likes his ears.”
“Stay weird, baby boy,” I chuckle. I step into the kitchen to a riot of cheers. I barely have time to leave the boxes safely on the counter before I’m ambushed.
“Welcome home, my sweet girl.” Mom is the first to reach me with her tearful greeting, wrapping me in a hug I could live and die in quite happily.
There’s nothing like being in my mom’s arms. No matter how old I get, I hope I always feel this way.
She kisses me on both cheeks, then takes my face in her hands and looks directly into my eyes.
We don’t say a word; everything passes between us silently until she pulls me back in for another hug.
“Come here, Ashey girl.” Dad is next, lifting me clean off my feet and spinning me in a circle. He still smells the same too—dirt and leather, like Everett, and mixed with the clean scent of fresh laundry and a little tea tree oil.
“Welcome back, Ash!” Brooks’s sister, Harriet Forbes Hart, is perched on the edge of a bar stool, a crayon in one hand, coloring a picture of a horse with her daughter. “Emmy Jean, you know Aunt Ashton!”
“Ann Ass-dun!” Emmy is much bigger than she was last time I was home.
She was still a baby then, but the Emmy sat opposite her mother right now isn’t even the toddler I’ve seen in FaceTime calls and pictures lately.
This Emmy is a grown up little girl with messy hair and a jelly-stained T-shirt.
I do the math quickly. She must be two and a half now.
She was born right after Christmas, and she’ll turn three at the end of this year.
She’s beautiful, just like her mom, and she has the same grin as her uncle.
I try not to cringe as she butchers my name.
I can’t say the same for Everett, who snorts inelegantly.
“We’ll work on it.” Harriet winks at me, and that’s when I notice the small bump rounding her belly.
The last text I got from her showed a still mostly-flat stomach, but in the last week, that baby has grown.
She’s my sister in all but blood, and she’s glowing.
I can’t wait to have another baby around to spoil, even if I have to do it from across the country for a while.
“Look at you!” I cry, gesturing at the bump. “Come here, let me hug you.”
Harriet pulls herself to her feet and leans into my invitation of a hug eagerly.
“It’s so good to have you back, little sis,” she whispers. “We missed you around here.”
“I missed you too,” I admit. “And this place. Even the boys.”
“Not sure I’d go that far,” Harriet says, pulling back. “They still smell pretty bad most of the time.”
“They have their uses.”