of salty fries.
“I brought you two pints of mac and cheese. The brisket looked too dry. The pork…well, you don’t eat it. There’s chicken if you want to try it, but,” he shrugs. “Are you still not eating chicken?”
“Sorry, I can’t anymore,” I remind him. “It’s like telling the girls, ‘You’re next.’”
“Hens aren’t as yummy as—”
“Don’t say it,” I order, glaring at him. Ever since we got the chickens, I can only eat eggs. “We have roosters, too.”
“By the way, there’s plenty of land to start an orchard,” he states. “Whatever you need to be built has to be ordered ASAP. There’s only one construction company in town.”
“How about the indoor and outdoor arenas for the horses?” I ask.
He pulls out a sandwich and nods. “Fuck, I forgot to ask the contractor to build those. Before I fly back to Colorado, I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you. They’ll appreciate it. We need to make sure Ally’s pen is secure,” I remind him.
He nods and then says, “Do you mind if I ask about that call?”
“How much did you hear?”
“Listen, I’m not going to get upset, because what’s done is done, but…did you apply to adopt a child as a couple?”
I nod once and stare at the hot, crispy fries that look delicious, but I can’t eat because my stomach is full of anger and sadness. Maybe this is why nothing has happened, because I was a bit deceiving. Or because nothing ever goes my way—ever.
“Again, no judging here or getting upset,” he continues, and really, he’s not upset at all. “What were you going to do when I had to sign the papers?”
I swallow hard. “I wasn’t deceiving anyone. We weren’t divorced, so it was okay to apply as a couple. Once I was chosen, I planned on telling them that we were separated and probably would be divorcing.”
“So, I wasn’t part of the plan at all?”
“I thought about doing that for one hot moment. Including you and imposing the kid on you,” I accept. “You were reluctant about Buster, but…a baby is different, and I understood that almost immediately.”
“Why not sign the divorce?”
I shrug. “Other than the baby, I really need to do it in my own time. Do you know that divorces are pretty similar to a loved one dying? You lose a piece of yourself. It sounds stupid, but I’m working on it. The anger, the pain, what I lost. It’s different for everyone. I’m losing the kids I dreamt about. It sounds a bit crazy, but for one moment, they seemed so real to me. Did I tell you I have a life coach?”
He laughs, but it’s so fake I almost cry because I’m not sure what he’s thinking or feeling. Is he upset? Annoyed? I don’t ask, and when he says, “No, you didn’t. That’s different. What did your therapist think about this move?”
“The old therapist is gone, since August of last year. I now have a life coach, yoga, meditation, and I also have this therapy that…” I stop and look at him. “It doesn’t matter. The point is that it’s been helping me with my PTSD and my life in general. I promise that once I’m ready, I’ll be gone forever.”
He stares at me for a moment, and the silence between us is excruciatingly painful. My silence means: I miss you desperately; if only I knew why you disappeared; if only the old you could be back so I could say goodbye.
“Well, at least I understand the boxes in the back,” he says, looking toward the windshield and breaking the moment. “I’ve been wracking my brain since I moved them to this car. What the fuck is 0-6 MGP.”
“Zero to six-months girl pink,” I answer.
While we eat, I tell him about all the places I applied to adopt and also about my foster parent certification. He’s silent while I give him all the details about the room I have in my apartment. I show him some of the pictures with the crib, the changing table, and the walls I painted. He thinks it’s adorable and can’t believe I found soft farm animals that matched. I explain that most of the stuff is custom ordered.
He finishes his food, places the trash in an empty bag, and points at my food. “Eat. Being upset with me, the agency, or how fucked up life is shouldn’t take away your appetite.”
“I’ll save the mac and cheese. I’m sure I’ll get hungry later.”
Pierce sighs and says, “I hate to