43. Mila
Two months later.
The night before Christmas.
The chorus of donkey laughter keeps all of us awake.
It’s dim in the barn other than a glow of light over Tinsel’s pen. She’s the last of the pregnant donkeys to give birth, and all the interns are out in the barn, other than Ilsa, who had the good sense to leave town and parents who bought her a ticket.
“Well, this isn’t how I expected to spend the night,” Brooklyn says, shifting on the blanket she’s spread over a mound of hay.
“We knew this day was coming,” Owen says.
“But Christmas Eve?” Brooklyn throws an arm over her forehead. “Is it my turn to sleep?”
I stand up to check on Tinsel. Only a small part of the white amniotic sac is visible. She’s got a ways to go. We’re experts, having sat through three miniature donkey births already.
“How is she?” Owen asks.
“Barely started.”
Tinsel is quiet, lying on her side, her belly heaving. It’s the rest of the donkeys carrying on.
“You think they’re cheering or jeering?” Brooklyn asks.
I sit down beside her. “Probably a little of both.”
Maverick wanders up. I don’t miss how Brooklyn adjusts her hair. Yeah, the two of them are still going at it.
Not that he’s slowed down. It’s common knowledge that several women from laundry and a couple from the kitchen make frequent visits out to the barn. Olive, our new assistant manager, has nicknamed the hay and feed room the “Hey, Girl, Hey” room.
Sebastian says Maverick is careful to do his deeds on his own time, not working hours, so they’ve left it. Nobody has complained about him since the Raya days, and we later learned Raya was stirring the pot anyway, offering better shifts to people who reported him.
She was a real piece of work. No one has heard from her since she left.
Maverick leans over the rail. He prefers to be out here. He and Jed, the animal husbandry guy, get along fine. We figure that when our permanent positions are announced in March, he’ll be placed out here.
The rest of us have no idea. We still go through rotations, although we no longer clean rooms or work in the kitchen.
“She’s going slower than the others,” Maverick says. “It’s her first pregnancy.”
Brooklyn leaps up at that. “Is she in danger?”
Maverick shrugs. “Not right now.”
“Why do we all have to be out here?” Owen asks. “Can’t we take shifts and wait in our own beds?”
Maverick sticks a piece of hay into his mouth and chews on it. With his flannel shirt, black vest, and boots, he’s changed his look. Brooklyn can’t take her eyes off him.
“It’s team building,” I say. “We’re supposed to be bonding.”
“I could stand for some bonding,” Maverick says. He glances at Brooklyn and pushes away from the pen. “I’m going to get some fresh straw to put down.” He heads for Hey, Girl, Hey.
I count how many seconds pass before Brooklyn follows him.
It’s thirteen.
“I’m going to stretch my legs,” she says.
Right. Her legs.
Now it’s just me and Owen. He joins me at the pen wall, looking down at Tinsel. “She’s never going to quit running after him, even if he’s bad news, is she?”
I wrap my arm around his shoulders. “It’s been four months. I can’t talk her out of it.”
“I can’t either.”
Tinsel makes another big push, and the first small hoof appears.
“Wild how they come out feet first,” Owen says.
“It won’t be long now. Less than an hour, I bet.”
Owen walks around the pen to check her from a different angle. At the end of the barn, a door opens, and a shadowy figure heads our way.
It might be Jed. He’s checked on us a time or two.
But as it gets closer, I recognize the walk and the shape.
I hurry over. “Sebastian! What are you doing here?”
“Celebrating Christmas Eve with my lady.” He has a straw basket in his arms. He pops the lid on one side. “I have hot chocolate and Christmas cookies.”
“This is terrific.” I pull a mug out of the basket and pour hot chocolate into it. “Owen, we have treats!”
“Where are the others?” Sebastian asks. “Isn’t Maverick supposed to be out here while Tinsel is in active labor?”
“He is. He’s in the hay room.”
Sebastian takes in the barn. “With Brooklyn, I’m guessing.”
“Yep. You called it.” I sip the velvety hot chocolate. It’s heaven.
Owen sidles up. “I heard treats.”
Sebastian sets the basket down. “Help yourself.”
We wander over to the pen to check on Tinsel.
“It’s very nativity,” Sebastian says. “The birth in the manger on Christmas Eve.”
“At least it’s the donkey this time.”
Sebastian drapes an arm around me. “This will be a Christmas we remember.”
“Because we spent it in a barn?”
He leans in close. “Because we spent it together.”
His lips are cool against my warm ones from the drink. We take a moment to relax into each other until the chorus of donkey laughter gets louder.
“I see a snout!” Owen says. “Isn’t this when we have to decide if she needs help?”
I break away from Sebastian. “Donkey births often need help.”
We watch a moment as Tinsel labors.
“I think the other donkeys are telling us to help,” Owen says. He opens the side door of the pen to go inside.
“He’s not going to get kicked, is he?” Sebastian asks.
“We went in for the others, too,” I say. “It wasn’t a problem.”
Owen puts on a pair of gloves and starts pulling at the sac to expose the foal’s snout.
“Is it breathing?” I ask.
“I think so,” Owen says.
I can’t stand it anymore and head inside the pen to kneel with him. “Tinsel looks awfully tired.”
The donkey drops her head to the hay, wheezing.
“Call Jed,” I tell Sebastian. “Tell him we’re worried about Tinsel.”
Sebastian whips out his phone.
I crawl to Tinsel’s head. “You’re a good girl,” I tell her. “You’re doing so great.”
She rolls back and forth, tossing her head.
“I’m going to pull,” Owen says. “My gut is telling me to pull.”
When he grasps the foal’s hooves, Tinsel lets out an unhappy squeal.
“Shh, girl,” I say. “We’re trying to help.”
Maverick arrives, not bothering with the gate, but vaulting over the pen wall. “She’s in distress. Did you call Jed?”
“He’s on the way,” Sebastian says. “He said to slowly pull the foal out if you need to. Not too fast.”
Owen and Maverick take positions on each side of the baby.
I put Tinsel’s head in my lap and stroke it. “You’re all right, girl.”
She seems spent and doesn’t fight or cry. Maverick and Owen pull on the foal with smooth, easy pressure until it flops into the hay.
Tinsel makes a long sigh.
I hug her neck. “You did it, girl. You did it!”
The foal wiggles and rolls as Maverick and Owen pull the sac away and use a towel to clear its nose and mouth.
Tinsel lies quietly for another moment, then seems to realize her foal is out and stands up to check on it.
“Let her do her job,” Maverick says, backing away. “It will be instinct for her.”
We retreat to the pen walls as Tinsel tends to her foal, nudging it to stand up.
The baby attempts to rise on wobbly legs, but falls on its snout.
I check on Sebastian. He and Brooklyn watch from the rail. She has a glow about her. I know all about that. It’s why she goes back. She doesn’t expect Maverick to be hers. But she does expect him to perform.
And apparently, he’s spectacular.
The side door opens and Jed runs in, his gray hair flapping with his jaunty steps. “How’s she doing?” He stops at the rail. “Ahh, there she goes. Our Christmas girl has a Christmas foal.”
“Is that why she’s called Tinsel?” Brooklyn asks.
“It is,” Jed says. “Three years ago this week.”
The foal makes another valiant attempt to stand, then collapses into a heap. It might take an hour for it to succeed. We’ve been through this before.
But now all the babies are born.
“I’ll stay with her,” Jed says. “You all have done your duty. Have your Christmas Eve.” He winks at us. “Only a short while until midnight. You don’t want Santa to see you all afoot while he’s doing his business.”
We laugh at that. Owen and I file out of the pen, but Maverick stays behind. “I think I’ll hang out,” he says. “Keep Jed company.”
We collect our blankets and Sebastian’s basket.
Brooklyn snags a cookie. “Where did these come from?”
“The party in the secret restaurant,” Sebastian says. “Just a few close friends of Havannah and Donovan.”
“I’ve still never seen it,” Brooklyn says.
“Me neither,” Owen says.
I keep quiet. Sebastian let me into the restaurant ages ago. It’s a beautiful open space with an incredible view of the mountains.
“Soon enough,” Sebastian says. “Now that Havannah’s here full time again, we’ll be back to normal.”
We reach the rear door of the hotel. Owen and Brooklyn go inside, but I hang back.
“You going home with me?” Sebastian whispers in my ear.
“I was hoping so.”
Brooklyn realizes I’m not coming in and retreats for a fierce hug. “Merry Christmas, Mila. Have a great day tomorrow.”
“What are you two going to do?” I ask.
“We’re working,” Owen says. “Thought we could take other people’s shifts since we couldn’t go home.”
“That’s nice of you both,” I say. “Hotel work is never done.”
Sebastian looks up at the tower. Quite a few of the windows are dotted with light. “It’s always busy around the holidays.”
Owen and Brooklyn head inside, and I walk with Sebastian back to his car.
Snow starts falling, a white sparkle in the light of the lamps.
“It’s sure beautiful in Colorado at Christmas,” I tell him. “I never had a white Christmas in Houston. Not once.”
“They’re all white here,” Sebastian says. He draws me close to him. “And I believe it just turned to midnight.”
I check my phone. He’s right.
“Merry Christmas, Mila,” he says.
“Merry Christmas, Sebastian. I love you.”
He pulls back. “You do?”
“You know I do.”
“And you finally said it.”
“Finally.”
“I love you, too, Mila.” His hand slides beneath my hair. As he closes in for a kiss, I feel the whisper of snow on my forehead and the warmth of him in front of me.
I’ve found a new home here. A place I love to work. A man I love, who loved me long before I could bring myself to say it back.
And a confidence I didn’t know I would ever feel.
Maybe I did have a hard time finding someone to appreciate me. Maybe I was awkward and a late bloomer.
But I got here.
And kissing him on Christmas, beneath the fall of snow outside the place we both love, I believe with my whole heart that Sebastian was absolutely worth the wait.