by Sarina Bowen
A gift. I didn’t ask for this gift. I just want to stay in Vermont and be near Dylan and figure out if I can make a go of my business degree.
Leah pats her belly, where a baby bulge is just beginning to show. She’s just crazy enough to try to open a nonprofit women’s shelter and have a new baby and move across country at the same time.
She needs me. It’s selfish not to go and help others the way that Leah helped me.
So why do I want to lie down on the floor and weep?
It’s a difficult day for me after that. Maeve is as hyper as I’ve ever seen her. She knows she’s one day away from Santa Claus, and nothing can calm her down. Not even when I lend her my phone to draw on.
Dylan has texted me, too. Do you miss me yet?
He really has no idea. I feel queasy every time I think about moving away from here.
I don’t return his text, because I don’t even know what to say.
Meanwhile, I have to wrap the gifts I got for the Abrahams. I take Maeve upstairs with me, and I let her use too much tape on the wrapping for the hat I made for Isaac and the scarf I knit for Leah.
There’s a stuffed moose on the top shelf of my closet, too. But it’s hard to feel Christmas joy when my heart is breaking.
This is only my third Christmas ever. We didn’t have Christmas at the Paradise Ranch. I didn’t understand what a big deal it was until I worked at Walgreens and watched the entire store transform into green and red and gold a few days after the unsold Halloween stuff was carted away.
I don’t want to go back there. What if I’m minding my own business in Laramie one day, and one of the Levi brothers drives down there for something? It could happen. What if they find me and decide to snatch me off campus just to teach me a lesson?
For the first time in my life I feel so afraid. It was never like this when I actually lived there. I evaded. I coped. Even the beating I received made me more angry than scared.
I don’t want to go back. I can’t.
“Chassity?” Maeve asks in her small voice. “Read me about the chipmunks?”
“Sure,” I say, because I never turn her down. “Where’s the book?”
She fetches it, and then we curl up on the sofa together. Maeve has a stack of Christmas books. This is the stupidest one, but also her favorite. Go figure.
We turn the pages and I read with only half my brain.
The other half is panicking.
Thirty-Six
Dylan
For twenty-four hours I’ve smiled my way through decorating the tree. I drove my mother to the grocery store so she’d have someone to load and unload groceries. I’ve milked cows. I’ve cuddled goats. I’m basically Mr. Christmas.
Until we’re standing outside the barn, where Griffin starts in with his questions about the future.
“How did that computer programming class turn out?” he asks.
“I fought for a B, but I won’t be taking another one. It’s not really my thing.”
“Oh.” His face falls. “How much time do you have left to declare that major. Two weeks?”
“Yeah, so?”
“What’s it going to be?”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” I grumble. “Maybe give it a rest?”
“How much longer can you put off this conversation?” he demands. “I have things I need to discuss with you.”
“Can we just finish up the goddamn chores and have a holiday?”
Griffin lets out a sigh. Then he retaliates by asking a favor. “This drizzle is supposed to give way to real snow,” he says just as we’re finishing up a bunch of chores. “Before your friend shows up, will you drive the Kubota back into the shed? I left it back by the Winesaps.”
I give the farmhouse a longing glance. My fingers are just about frozen off, and I want to find a quiet spot to call Chastity. “The Winesaps? Why didn’t you just park it in the next area code for fuck’s sake?”
Griffin makes an angry noise. “Just do this one thing for me.”
“Yeah, okay,” I grumble, walking away.
“Don’t come through the center meadow!” he calls after me. “Take the road!”
So I’m basically going for a long drive on a tractor that does ten miles an hour. Awesome.
I lower my head against the drizzle and trudge through the orchard. It’s a long walk, so I have plenty of time to think about Chastity. That talk we had in the truck yesterday is troubling me. I should have just come out and said what I feel for her. I don’t know why I couldn’t.
It’s a little like choosing a major. I fear being pinned down more than I fear anything else. For a guy who claims to be fun, I have a way of overthinking everything.
And I let her walk away thinking I don’t care. That was cowardly of me. But it was literally the last mile before home, and I don’t know how to sort out my feelings on the fly like that.
I’ll call her. Soon. Maybe I can find a way to say it.
I find the Kubota. It’s a small tractor that we use to mow between rows of apple trees. There’s no top on it, so I’m going to be pelted by drizzle for the entire drive back.
She starts right up, so I sit down on the wet seat and begin the slow trip through the orchard. The drizzle has become more of a freezing rain at this point. My face is constantly pinged by little bits of ice.
I love Vermont. But maybe that’s because I’ve never tried farming in California.
My hands are red and frozen by the time I pull onto the little dirt track that separates our farm from Isaac and Leah’s. I can just make out their farmhouse from here, its windows lit up golden in the fading light. They have those electric candles in all the windows. It’s a New England thing—an unspoken rule that you have to put those up for Christmas.
It looks cozy there. I have the strongest urge to get off the tractor and find Chastity and kiss her until she understands that I’ve honestly got it bad for her.
But I have a job to do, and Rickie’s going to show up any minute now at my house, so I putter along until I realize that there’s a length of fencing across the road. It’s a flimsy, moveable fence, but it’s also electric. Isaac’s chicken tractor is just inside the protective circle of the fence.
Well, that’s inconvenient. I could find the electrical box, shut it off, and move the fence. But when it’s raining, the poles like to fall all over the place. It’s a job for two people, and I don’t want to bother Isaac on Christmas Eve.
So I turn around, and—oh joy—the sleet begins to hit the other side of my face. I drive off the track and head back through the center meadow, instead. It’s a shorter trip, anyway. I can get out of this weather faster.
The tractor shed is in my view and everything is going great. Until the tractor suddenly lists to the right.
I turn the wheel to try to get her out of the rut, but it doesn’t work. The tractor’s still leaning, and I’m also slowing down. The engine complains, so I take my foot off the gas and sort of ooze to a stop.
I’m stuck in the mud. This is about to become really embarrassing.
“Ready? Push!” Griffin roars.
I lean in and give it all I’ve got. We’re shoulder to shoulder, trying to get her out of the mud. Daphne is sitting at the controls, ready to drive out of the rut.
“There. GO!” Griff yells.
We push again, and the tractor moves. Daphne does her best, but the damn thing is still wonky.
“Fuck!” Griffin yells. “It’s the fucking tire. Look.” He points at the ground, where tire fluid is leaking into the snow that’s begun to accumulate.
My brother lets out a string of additional curses, and I inwardly groan. He’s going to make this my fault. As if you couldn’t run over a nail anywhere.
“If you’d just taken the fucking road like I asked you to—”
“Enough!” I shout. “Can we just fix this while I’m still young?” I put my hands on the rear of the tractor again, ready to push.
“A hundred and sixty-seven dollars, Dylan
. That’s the price of the tire if I take it in myself,” Griffin rants.
“I know, Jesus.”
“Do you?” he presses.
“Yes! I’m not happy about the goddamn tire, Griff. Let’s just get the tractor home. It’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake.”
“You think I don’t know that? I was trying to get it all done ahead of time. If you’d just taken the road like I asked you to—”
I let out a roar and push with every ounce of my pent-up anger. The tractor moves about a foot and a half.
“Daphne, you can go,” Griffin snaps. “We’ll handle this.”
Oh fuck. Just what I need—more alone time with an angry Griff. And my twin—that traitor—hops off the tractor and strides toward the house. “Why’d you do that? If we get ’er out of the mud, we can drive it even on that bum tire.”
Griffin shakes his head. “Let the ground freeze tonight. It will be easier to drive off it.”
“Either that, or the tire will be frozen in place.” I stand up tall, aligning my spine properly for the first time in fifteen minutes. “Can’t we just fix this now? I don’t want to sit through a whole night of you bitching at me over this.”
“Then maybe you should have just done what I asked.”
My blood boils. I feel dangerously angry. “Question—how many times have you gotten tractors stuck? A dozen? Did you give yourself a lecture, too?”
“Sure.” Griffin snorts. “I don’t spare myself the colorful words.”
“I can’t do this, Griff.” I look up at the deep, cloudy sky. There’s too much churning inside me right now to hold it in. “There’s a reason I haven’t declared a major, and I haven’t decided whether my future plans include this farm. And that reason is you.”
Griffin’s lets out an angry grunt. “Really? You want to have that conversation now?”
“Why not? It’s your favorite topic.” I give the bum tire a kick.
“You act like I torture you for fun, Dyl. But nothing about this is fun. There are big decisions to make around here.”
“Yeah, and you make them all. Just do me this one favor—if you’re going to sell off the rest of the herd before I graduate, can you just level with me? Don’t make me come home one day and be surprised.”
Griffin’s chin jerks up, and his scowl deepens. “You really think I’d do that?”
“You’d like to,” I say slowly. “Last time, you asked all of us whether we thought you should sell the other herd. We all said no. And then you did it anyway.”
“That was necessary. I’ve increased our revenue by a hundred percent! And you’re still mad?”
“What I am is tired. It’s like you forgot you were ever in college. Here’s a refresher—you joined a fraternity and played football and drank beer. You didn’t spend all your time trying to figure out your future on the farm.”
“I don’t enjoy nagging you,” my brother growls. “But what choice do I have? There are decisions to be made. Big ones. And you claim to care about this place, so…”
“Claim?” I bellow. “You arrogant fuck! I care as much as you do. But I know it doesn’t matter what I think, or how I feel. You’re going to make all the choices, and I’m going to have to fall in line. Forever, basically. You talk as though I’m just too scattered to figure myself out.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No!” I roar. “I just can’t picture spending the next forty years trying to make you happy. You’re exhausting. So I quit. Make all the decisions you want. I’m done.”
“What?” Griffin actually gasps. “No, Dyl. That’s not how you make a choice.”
“Save it,” I bark. “I’ve been thinking about it a long time. I don’t want to work for you.”
“But you wouldn’t! It’s a family farm. We all—”
“No.” I shake my head vigorously. “I know you think of yourself as the benevolent dictator, carrying on the family legacy. But who is it really for?”
“You!” he shouts. “Your sisters! Mom! Audrey! Gus! I work my ass off for all of you. Because it’s worth it to keep it for you.”
I just shake my head. “I don’t want it. Not at that price. Today it’s a tractor tire, right? But what if I stay on, and it goes wrong? Like, really wrong?” It’s just too easy to picture this disaster. “Maybe the price of milk takes another dive. Maybe the vet bill is astronomical. I don’t want to have this conversation every day until I die. I’m willing to fuck up my own life. But I don’t want the hell on Earth that plays out when I accidentally fuck up yours.”
Griffin’s shoulders droop as I come to the end of my lengthy speech. “Don’t be hasty, okay? There are big decisions to make. Let’s sit down later and talk this out.”
“No.” I stand my ground. “I made up my mind. I finally did it. That’s what you wanted, right? So why argue now?”
Griffin opens his mouth, and then he closes it again. He honestly looks defeated. That should make me happy, but it doesn’t.
“And by the way?” As I say this, I start walking backwards toward the farmhouse. “Isaac’s chicken tractor was in the way.”
“What?” Griff looks blank.
“I was going to take the road, like you said. But he blocked it with an electric fence.”
“Fuck, Dylan. I’m sorry.”
I turn my back on him and stride toward the house. Before I even reach it, Rickie’s crappy little car comes up the drive, headlights blazing in the near darkness.
He stops, kills the engine and jumps out. “Dyllie! I made it. I drove through that freezing rain. And now it’s snowing.”
I look up, and notice that he’s right. Big, fat flakes have replaced the frozen crud. “Can you come into the barn with me? I’d like to close up before we go inside to eat and drink ourselves silly.”
“Sure, dude.” Rickie shuts the car door and follows me toward the barn. “Show me your tricks. I want to see all of it. Do the cows have names?”
“Of course they do. Duh.” I wave him through the half-open door. “That’s Millie, and this is Barbie.”
“Barbie?”
“She’s very blonde for a Jersey.” I run a hand over Barbie’s back, and she turns her head to sniff me. God, I’ll miss this. If Griffin shuts down the dairy, it just won’t be the same here anymore.
But I feel very clear about this all of a sudden. I meant what I said to my brother just now. I don’t want to farm here if it means spending my years trying to stay out of trouble and win his approval. That’s no way to live.
I make my way down the row, checking every animal and making sure nothing has gone amiss since the milking. “Rickie, serious question—do you think I could get into vet school?”
“Of course you could. But it’s hard, right? Lots of years of study, and then a low-paying job afterward.”
“I don’t care so much about the money.” Farming was never going to make me rich.
“There’s no vet school at Moo U,” he points out.
This is unfortunately true. “There isn’t one anywhere in Vermont. I’d have to go to Massachusetts or Maine. That’s not the end of the world.”
“No, it’s not.” Rickie frowns. “But dude. Do you want to go to vet school? I never heard you mention it before.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I’d rather raise animals than operate on them. But it could be good, right? I could deliver calves for a living.”
“And shoot horses,” Rickie points out. “And treat golden retrievers with cancer.”
“You are just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”
Rickie snickers. “Pretty much.”
The cows are all tucked in for the night, so my work here is done. “See you in the morning, girls! Don’t stay up too late.” I shut out the light.
“Aren’t you going to milk them?” Rickie asks.
“Not now. This is just a social visit. Come and meet my goats.” I close the exterior door to keep the cows warm and lead Rickie through the dark toward the goat enclosure at t
he end of the barn. “Hi girls!”
Jacquie and Jill turn to look at me. They scamper over, probably hoping I have treats.
“Sorry to disappoint you both,” I say, squatting down. Jill tries to jump on me, but I push her back and pet her instead. “It’s going to snow, did you know that? Who’s a pretty girl?” I croon as Jacquie tries to steal my hat.
“Honestly,” Rickie says. “Viewing you in your natural habitat is very enlightening.” He holds up his hands as if he’s framing the picture of me with Jacquie. “I sort of get it now.”
“Get what?”
“The young farmer thing. I always had a little trouble picturing you earning your diploma and then choosing a life of physical labor. But this hilltop spread is seriously cool.”
I let out a sigh. “Farming means I’ll never end up in a cubicle at an insurance company.”
“God, no,” Rickie scoffs.
“But farming is all risk. My brother is stressed out all the time. Do I really want to be responsible for whether Shipley Farms has another good decade?” It’s too much pressure.
“You’re a smart dude, Dylan. A farm could do so much worse than having you on it.”
My roommate knows fuck-all about farming. But his words are a balm on my soul anyway. If only Griffin saw it that way, too.
But he doesn’t. So I’ve made up my mind. And I’m done talking about it. “Are you ready to eat until you burst?”
“Yeah. I brought wine, as promised. And some funny dish towels as a gift for your mom.”
“Funny dish towels?” I’m skeptical.
“Yeah. One of them says—I love big bundts and I cannot lie. And the other one says—Don’t go bacon my heart.”
“You know, you’ll fit right in here.” I give each goat one more scratch on the chin. “Night, girls. Put your feet up. You’re eating for two.”
“They’re pregnant?” Rickie asks.
“I hope so. The buck was brought over to stay the weekend about a month ago.”
“Why don’t you have your own buck? Keeping an animal whose only job was fucking should appeal to you of all people.”