34. Elliott
THIRTY-FOUR
Elliott
When they step outside, I’m already waiting at the base of the porch steps. The morning air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of hay and wildflowers, and I breathe it in, feeling lighter here than I have in weeks. The ranch always does this to me—strips away the layers I build to survive in the city and lets me be me.
I spot Jillian and Jamie, and my chest tightens. She’s radiant in the soft light, wearing denim shorts and a loose shirt that flutters in the breeze. Jamie ventures a few yards away, taking everything in but keeping a vigilant eye on his mother, making sure she’s not far.
I lift the backpack slung over my shoulder. “I brought water, snacks, and sunblock. Do you want to put some on Jamie now? And maybe yourself too?”
Her eyes widen slightly, like she hadn’t thought of it, and her lips curve into a small, grateful smile. “Yes, thank you.”
Jamie scrunches his nose in protest as she kneels to apply the sunscreen. “Yes, I know you don’t like it, but you’ll like getting a sunburn even less. Come here.” She talks him through it, her voice soft and steady. The way she mothers him—gently but firmly—hits me square in the chest. She’s so careful with him, every word, every touch laced with love and understanding.
“Everyone ready?”
Jamie nods, a huge smile on his face.
Jillian stands, wiping the excess sunblock on her thighs. “We are. Lead the way.”
I put two fingers in my mouth and whistle for Nero. The dog comes bounding around the side of the house, his thick white coat gleaming in the sun. Jamie’s eyes widen, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
“Is he afraid of dogs?” I ask Jillian, keeping my voice low.
She shakes her head. “No, not at all. He wants a dog, but I guess he’s never seen one so big.”
I kneel in front of Jamie, making myself smaller. “Hey, bud, that’s Nero. He’s very big, but he’s very gentle. Is it okay if he comes with us?”
Jamie looks at me, then at Nero, then back at Jillian. She nods, and Jamie takes a hesitant step forward.
“Wanna pet him?” I ask, watching Jamie’s expression carefully.
He nods, his little fingers forming the ASL sign for yes. I tap my thigh, calling Nero closer, and the dog ambles over and sits at my side like the good boy he is. I take Jamie’s hand, letting Nero sniff it before guiding it to the top of his head. Jamie’s face lights up. The magic of dogs at work.
We walk in silence, the only sounds that of gravel crunching under our feet and the nature all around us. Birds singing, the buzz of insects, the wind through the trees. A hundred different shades of green as our backdrop.
I breathe in the fresh air as we make our way up the trail, the woods lush and vibrant. Jamie runs ahead, throwing a stick and then chasing after Nero, and the two of them—boy and dog—play and circle each other like they’ve been best friends for years instead of minutes. For the first time in a while, I feel free.
Jillian walks beside me, her movements unhurried, her shoulders relaxed. She glances up, and I catch her smile—a real one, unguarded and full of warmth. “Thank you again for inviting us. I didn’t realize how much we needed this.”
Her hand brushes against mine and I intertwine my fingers with hers. “Is this okay?” I won’t assume that because she kissed me last night, she’s okay with me touching her now.
She squeezes my hand in response, her smile bigger now.
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled. After a few minutes, I break the quietness. “So have you tried baking with Jamie yet?” I glance at Jamie, making sure he’s not too far ahead.
She laughs softly. “I did. It was…better. But not even close to your sister’s cupcakes. Jamie made that very clear.”
I chuckle. “She’s a professional. You can’t compare, and according to her, the brand of ingredients also makes a big difference. Maybe I can arrange for another lesson. Or ask her which brands she uses.”
“Oh gosh,” she says, mock groaning. “It’s embarrassing how bad I am at baking.”
“Maybe I could help next time. Sabrina used to rope me and my friends into taste-testing when we were kids. I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”
She looks at me, curious. “You can bake?”
“Not like my sister and not in a long time. But I used to bake with her when she was in high school and I came home from college. That was our thing. Your mom never baked with you?”
She shrugs, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “Mom was—is very much a perfectionist. The few times I tried to bake, she’d stop me and interrupt and then take over because whatever I was doing wasn’t up to her standards. I couldn’t even measure a cup of sugar correctly, according to her.”
I rub my thumb over her knuckles. “I know the feeling. My father is like that. I spent most of my childhood trying to win his approval, but nothing was ever good enough.” Not only my childhood if I’m being honest. Even now I’m still trying to live up to his impossible standards.
Her hand tightens around mine. “That must have been hard.”
“It was,” I admit, the words heavier than I expect. “But my sister had it worse.”
“How come?”
“Her choice to be a baker, to have her own business, that didn’t go over well. But he thought it was a phase as if she were a kid and not an adult. And once she was no longer under his thumb and not financially dependent on him, she let him know she was gay. You’d think she had stabbed him in the back. He stopped talking to her and forbade the rest of the family to talk to her as well.”
Her gasp is quiet but sharp. “Oh my God, that’s horrible. What did you do? ”
“I told him he had already alienated one of his kids, and if that was the road he’d be taking, to be prepared to alienate the rest of us because if it was a choice between him and my sister, he’d lose.”
“I imagine that didn’t go over well.”
“Not at all, but he didn’t have much of a choice. My sisters and I? We’re a package deal.”
Her pace slows. “Did you know she was gay before she told him?”
“Yes, since high school. The three of us, my sisters and I are very close. We knew everything about each other. It’s always been us against him.”
She tilts her head. “And your mom, where does she stand in all of this?”
“Mom is compliant to his face and does whatever she wants behind his back. She doesn’t confront him but also never really protected us from him. She’d try to comfort us after, but it did little to reassure us as young kids. It was confusing. We learned to rely on each other instead. And Grace. We loved coming up here and spending summers and holidays.”
“I can see why. It’s beautiful and Grace is wonderful.” Jillian squeezes my hand, her eyes soft and thoughtful. “You’re a good brother.”
Before I can respond, Jamie stops ahead of us, pointing toward a break in the trees. We catch up, climbing the small hill. This view never fails to take my breath away. A clear lake stretches below us, its surface reflecting the sky like a perfect mirror.
“It’s beautiful,” Jillian whispers, pulling out her phone to take pictures .
Jamie stands with Nero, his little figure silhouetted against the backdrop. Jillian snaps a photo, then laughs as Nero licks Jamie’s cheek.
And then it happens.
Jamie squeals, a clear, unmistakable sound of joy that echoes through the trees.
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Jillian’s phone slips from her hand as she covers her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. She goes down to her knees.
Jamie made a sound—the echo of it lingering in the air like it can stop time.
I look down at her, my chest tightening, and in that moment, everything feels raw, overwhelming. And if it feels that way for me, I can’t even imagine what it feels like for her.
I kneel beside her and hold her as we watch Jamie find his voice again.