The reboot, p.7
The Reboot, page 7
I start with the cheapest one.
Waiting for the read on the test is always the longest three minutes of my life. I stare, and I stare, and I stare.
And I realize I should have saved my money.
These tests sucked back when I was young, and they still suck now. There’s a bright pink line. . .and a very, very, very faint pink line. So what does that mean? Is it some kind of reverb in the paper? The package says pregnant should be shown by two bright pink lines.
I chuck it in the trash.
And I eat dinner with my kids. There’s no way I could even try to pee again this soon. I make sure to drink my entire glass of water. And then I help the girls and Ethan feed all the horses.
By this point, I’m all kinds of nervous.
Steve gets home soon, and I feel like I need to know the answer before he’s staring me in the face. Will he be delighted? Or will I be relieved? Which is it? Which? Which?
I finish up with the animals and rush into the house. This time, I’m smart enough to take a plastic disposable cup with me and pee into that. Now I can take as many tests as I need to take to be totally sure. I won’t waste all my pee on one stupid test that malfunctions. Of course, I managed to pee all over my hand in the collection process, but since I have four kids and numerous animals now, I know there are way worse things than a little pee on my hand. If it washes off—it’s not too bad.
I pop all three tests out of their packaging, and I use a dropper from one package to put the right amount of urine on each test.
And then I wait.
As if the tests know each other, as if they’re old friends carpooling to a barbecue, they all display their results within seconds of one another.
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Positive.
My hands tremble as I wash them off. Thoughts zip around inside my brain at a hundred miles per hour. And my heart swells inside my body. Steve and I almost broke up because he wanted to have a child, whereas I didn’t.
At least, I thought I didn’t.
But now that the test results are right in front of me, I feel nothing but a sense of complete elation. A life milestone I thought was way, way behind me is now coming up again fast.
Newborn baby smell, and diapers, and bottles, and swaddling. It all comes at me in a whoosh—in a flurry of memories. The feeling of having a baby nestled in my arms. The swelling sensation of love and protectiveness that only a mother can truly understand. And the joy that comes from watching that child grow, one day at a time, into a miraculous little person and knowing that you made that.
Suddenly, I’m desperate to destroy all the evidence of this amazing miracle. Steve shouldn’t find out he’s going to be a father again like this. His first time around, he was lied to. He was told it wasn’t even his. And he believed that lie for years and years, only to be broadsided in the worst way.
This news should be celebrated. It should be special. I chuck all the tests and boxes and instructions into a bag and I double tie it and rush it out to the trash. To my shock, the kids don’t even seem to notice what I’m doing.
“Can you believe that?” Ethan’s raucous laughter floods the entire house. “They’re playing the Harry Potter theme song on their washer and dryer!”
The other three kids are all hunched over his phone.
I’ve never been more grateful for stupid Instagram reels than I am right now.
I’m closing the lid on the trash can when a car pulls up. Steve’s home almost thirty minutes early! My heart races, but as I walk back toward the house, I realize it’s not Steve.
Amanda Saddler’s climbing out of her car.
“Mandy?”
“Help me out, would you?”
I jog over and help her stand. “Are you supposed to be out and about?”
She pshaws. It’s not a sound I was very familiar with before meeting her. “Girl, please. I coulda walked here, but driving’s easier. It’s a block.”
I’ve learned not to argue with her. It’s pointless. “What was so urgent that you had to rush over?”
She arches one eyebrow. “Amanda has lost her mind.”
I can’t argue with her about that. “She’s certainly hot under the collar about everyone telling her to date Eddy.”
“That girl is a total idiot, is what she is. She’s sore we’re all telling her what to do, and that’s making her do the opposite.”
“You’re right,” I say. “Which is why I told her to dump him.”
Mandy’s eyes bug out and her mouth dangles.
“She now has no idea what to do. No matter what decision she makes, she’ll be going along with someone’s advice. I’m hoping her pride will let her back down and make her own decision.”
Mandy slowly smiles and slaps her knee. “You’re a genius.”
“I hope it helps. She’s not going to get anywhere until she realizes that she loves him, wholly and completely, but to do that—”
“She has to love herself first,” Mandy says. “And she has to realize that time is all we got in this world, and it ain’t unlimited.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Yes, you’re totally right.”
“I knew you’d get me,” Mandy says. “So you’ll understand when I say I need to revoke that will you made for me.”
“You what?”
“I need to undo it. Revoke ain’t the right word?”
“Oh, no, it is.” But I’m confused. “Are you that upset with her?”
“I need her to think I am,” she says. “And to think that—”
“Are you sure you want to trick her?” I sigh.
She huffs. “I can’t get through to her with talking.”
“Well, all you have to do to revoke a will is tear it up and mean it.”
“You’re sure all I have to do is tear it up?”
I nod.
“First easy legal advice, ever.” She starts to shuffle back to her car, and turns back to say, “Probably because tearing up a will means more work for that lawyer later.” She cackles.
I love her cackle.
I’m overcome with a burning desire to tell her about the baby, but I can’t very well tell someone else when the father doesn’t even know. It’s hard, but I keep my mouth shut as she gets in, closes the door, and drives away.
It has been a really strange day.
First the nausea.
Then David Park’s news about buying the Ellingson property.
And now Mandy, revoking her will that leaves everything to Amanda.
As I think about the bombshells being dropped all day, I decide today is not the day to tell Steve. I want it to be a happy day. I don’t want to just spring it on him the second he walks in the door from a miserable shift of slogging his way from patient to patient.
It should be special.
Maybe I could make some sugar cookies, frost them pink and blue, and ask him which he prefers. . .until he understands what I’m asking. That would be funny.
And totally different than his last experience. Happy. Light. It would also show him that I’m excited about this. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. I’ve just decided, when more headlights turn down our drive.
I can’t help my smile—I’m sure it’s a knowing smile. I hope it doesn’t give me away. But when it gets closer, I realize this isn’t my husband either. It’s a shiny, sleek sports car. The door opens.
And Helen slides out, obviously.
Good grief. Did some strange magical dates converge? Summer solstice and some kind of bizarre constellation? It’s not the middle of June yet, so it can’t be that. But something weird is going on today. No normal day should be full of this much upheaval.
“What’s wrong with you?” Helen asks, studying my face.
“Other than the fact that my pain-in-the-rear sister just showed up, unannounced? Again?”
“Your strange lack of reaction to my arrival is what feels weird,” she says. “Something’s up.”
“Nothing is up,” I say. “So why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”
“Maybe say hello, first, neighbor,” Helen says.
“Neighbor?”
Her smile practically lights up my dark front porch. “I just put an offer down on the ranch down the road. The Ellingsons own it for now, but soon I will.”
Yeah, there’s definitely some kind of weirdness at play.
I’m pregnant.
Mandy’s breaking up with Amanda.
And now David Park and my sister Helen—who hate each other—are about to start a bidding war for the ranch down the road. They don’t even know it, yet. Whatever’s going on, I only know that I want as far away from it as I can get.
So, of course, I’m right here in the center of the storm.
7
Donna
Usually I like cowboy boots on hot men, probably because I grew up in a place where most of the good-looking men I met wore boots. That, and the only concerts I went to in my formative years were country singers—Tim McGraw in a tank top, pair of faded jeans, and some cowboy boots? YES, please.
But they look so wrong on David Park.
“Um, did a little shopping, did you?”
My boss is standing in front of the webcam on his computer, using it like a mirror, and he’s turning back and forth, staring at the small image of himself—or more particularly, of his feet.
“I can’t decide whether I can pull these off.”
I’m smart enough not to just blurt out that he can’t, but my face must be a little too transparent.
“I take it that you vote no.”
My forced smile doesn’t seem to help, so I scramble to get away from being the villain. “I mean, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Because I’m your boss, but pretend I’m your boyfriend asking. What would you say then?”
My heart accelerates a little bit when he says boyfriend. I’m really happy with Will, but I spent a lot of months crushing on this ridiculously handsome billionaire. “If you were my boyfriend, I’d say that cowboy boots don’t really fit with your overall image.”
“So basically, I’m not at all rugged.” He laughs, and then he sighs. “Disappointing, but probably accurate.”
I shrug. “You’re handsome enough and confident enough to pull off most anything, but I wouldn’t say this dovetails with your natural style.”
“Too bad,” he says. “Because I’m about to buy a dude ranch over in your hometown, and I’ll need something to wear that will keep my toes safe when I’m riding a horse or, like, moving cattle around.”
I can’t think of a single thing more ridiculous than the idea of David Park, corporate mogul, moving cattle around. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say they are ‘moving cattle around.’ The whole thing is as ridiculous as imagining Will, addressing a boardroom full of investors in a suit and tie.
“I doubt sneakers will really be appropriate, so what else could I wear?”
Something he said finally sinks in. “Wait. A dude ranch?” What even is that, exactly? I’ve never been quite sure.
His eyes widen. “Wait. You didn’t know?”
I blink.
“I assumed your brother would have told you.”
There must be neurons loose in my brain, because it feels like a moment right out of a movie. How many ranches could there really be for sale in my hometown? He must be talking about buying my family ranch, from Patrick. I shake my head a bit, as if to clear out the cobwebs. “It’s been a long weekend. My niece is moving in, and that has been nonstop drama. Did you say you’re putting in an offer on my brother’s ranch—my family home?”
David Park beams. “You were so upset he was selling. That’s what gave me the idea. At least this way, you’ll be able to have a say in what’s done with it.” He’s beaming at me, like this is exactly what I wanted.
I have no idea how to respond.
“And, it’s the perfect time. Now that we’re winding up a lot of the details here, I’ll be hiring a property manager who’ll take over most of what you’ve been doing in the interim.”
A property manager, who will know how to run a retreat properly, something about which I know nothing.
I’m about to be out of a job.
“But don’t worry,” he says. “Who better to run the ranch operation out there than you?”
“What exactly are you thinking we’ll do with it?” I ask.
“You know a lot of the guests here have been asking about the local economy, and when we tell them how many ranchers live around here, they all want to see a cattle ranch up close.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I say. “But—”
“We’ll be able to offer them an authentic cattle ranch experience. Or, you know, as much of one as they want. There may be a bit of a learning curve, showing the cute stuff and not the manure and mud and whatnot.”
“Whatnot?”
“You know, like slaughtering the cows and stuff would probably not be very fascinating to them. Those things would definitely not be part of the tour.”
“We don’t kill them,” I say. “We take them to a sale yard and people like that Derek guy come and buy them.”
“Right,” David says. “Of course.”
“So you’re thinking we’ll get rid of most of the cattle and—”
He stands up, shaking his head vehemently. “Not at all. You’ll be in charge of supervising the people who run the actual ranch, and then we’ll have a little bunkhouse built and guests can go stay there. They’ll have a chance to learn as much or as little as they want to know from the ranch hands, when time permits, and from the guides we’ll be paying to stay there.”
I can pretty much guarantee that every single resident of Manila will hate this. It might even be more wrong than those shiny black boots David’s wearing. Plus, what kind of person is going to be willing to run a ranch with tourists traipsing all over the place? Forget the liability and the hassle—there would be no privacy at all. It sounds absolutely awful.
And I need to figure out how to make it work, because if I don’t, I’m out of a job. “Well, that’s pretty exciting.” But I have to ask. “What happens if Patrick doesn’t sell to you?”
David waves his hand through the air. “He will, I’m sure. The only other people to offer were some locals—Kevin something and his brother. Their offer was a mess, or so my agent says. Small towns are strange, but everyone knows everyone’s business and that can be helpful in situations like this.”
Oh, no. Poor Kevin and Jeff. If my family’s ranch has to go to someone else, at least I know they’ll do a nice job running it. “But if they did happen to beat your offer, what would happen to me? Would I get two weeks’ severance, at least?”
David sits down abruptly and wheels his desk chair over until he’s less than a foot away. “Donna Ellingson. What kind of boss do you think I am?”
I’m not quite sure, honestly. He’s smart as a whip. He’s hard-working. He’s kind and polite and respectful. He seems to value people and sustainable business. He saved me by offering me a good job when I had no skills to recommend me other than my familiarity with the area. But none of that means he’ll do any more than the legal minimum for someone who didn’t have a job with his company before six months ago and will soon be superfluous.
“You’ll have a job with our corporate office in California whenever you want one, and if for some reason this dude ranch plan doesn’t happen, I’d do my best to find you something else you could do here. Barring all else, a very comfortable six-week severance package with benefits and a strong recommendation would be the absolute minimum I’d offer.”
I should have known he’d do at least that much, but the possibility that everything will work out being contingent on my brother makes me ridiculously nervous. As if my day needed to get worse, when I call Aiden on my way home, he doesn’t answer his phone.
He’s always supposed to answer on my drive home, per our mutual agreement. It’s the time window I was promised. So far, he’s answered less than a third of the time. When I call Charles, he always has some kind of self-righteous, indignant excuse. They were eating dinner. Aiden was busy with friends. He was at a ball game.
He’s being a great father, and I’m not necessary—that’s the message. Aiden’s having way more fun out there with his father and grandparents than he does here with me. The sad part is that it might actually be true. When you’re able to parent for just a week here or there, or even a few weeks over the summer, it’s easy to make every day into a party.
But kids don’t flourish from partying all the time. They have to buckle down and learn. They need a routine. They need to eat their broccoli. It’s just that no one thanks you for making them a model human being. No, what they want is another KitKat bar—never mind the stomachache coming around the bend.
I force myself not to worry about Aiden not answering yet again. I’m sure it’s fine—totally fine. After all, he comes home in less than three weeks. Then it’s back to normal for all of us. There’ll probably be a bit of a bumpy transition, but then things will level out, I’m sure. Aiden will get used to going to bed on time again, to limited screen time, and to reading books instead of watching television. He’ll stop complaining every time he can’t have fast food for dinner, and he’ll start eating his vegetables without twenty minutes of negotiations and pouting first.
This is what happens every time he visits his dad—only it’ll be worse this time because of how long he’s there. Five weeks is an eternity for young kids.
When I pull up in front of my house, Will’s waiting for me. And my rancher boyfriend looks just right in cowboy boots. They’re well-worn, they look great with his Wranglers, and he walks in them like he’s been wearing them for his entire life.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hope you don’t mind that I was waiting on you,” he says. “I finished up early today and didn’t want to miss out on even a minute of our time.”
