Page 2 of The Surprise
We all want to be loved.
If only I’d known that Iwaslovable before it was too late.
2
Ethan
College is where you go when, instead of learning about life, you want to learn the things peoplewriteabout life in books.
Sadly, I’ve never liked to learn that way.
When I was younger, my mom and dad would sit and read for hours sometimes. I’d come into the family room, ready to talk about my day, but they’d both have their noses tucked into books. I’d ask a few questions and they’d answer them, doing their best not to look annoyed, but I knew that I was keeping them from learning and experiencing the world in the very way they liked to do it.
I was more of a walk-around-and-pick-flowers-and-dig-holes kind of kid. I wanted to learn about the sunshine by feeling it on my face. I wanted to learn about stinging nettle by letting it bite into the skin of my palms. And I wanted to find out about chemical reactions by watching them happen in a beaker instead of reading about the results in a textbook.
So when I was facing the great high school question head on—what are you doing when you graduate?—I wanted to close my eyes and hide. Or run away. But then a slow-talking lawyer called and offered me a golden ticket. I happened to overhear a conversation between the lawyer and my mom, where he explained that my great-uncle Jed had died, and he had left us kids a massive cattle ranch. . .if we moved out here and worked it for a year.
I knew Mom would never agree to doing something like that instead of attending a four-year college. Desk jobs like hers are more transferrable in the storms of life, as evidenced by her ability to work remotely, to support her family by tapping along on her computer in the middle of nowhere. She basically turns her thoughts into money.
Of course she wants that same kind of stability for her kids.
But by some crazy miracle, she listened to me, and we’re here, and it feels like I can breathe again. Kevin and Jeff are the nicest guys, and for months now, they’ve been showing me how to do everything patiently and calmly.
Repeatedly, too, for a lot of things.
Honestly though, lots of ranch tasks have come easily to me. Driving a tractor isn’t that different from driving a car. Fixing a fence is pretty much basic common sense, once you know how to use wire cutters, a level, and a post hole digger. I learned a lot of the things I needed to know about equipment repairs from working part time for my friend Alex in high school. He fixed up four wheelers and dirt bikes in his dad’s shop after hours, and I helped.
It may be wishful thinking on my part, but it feels like even my mom’s happier here. Actually,freermight be a better word. She always looked drained back home. But here, she’s stuck going outside every day for some task or other, from collecting eggs and refilling animal feed, to helping me trim cow hooves. She may not like a lot of the things we do, but she comes back with sun on her face, wind-blown hair, and a calmer attitude. She’s often covered in mud, too, but some people say that’s good for your skin, right?
My one complaint is that even my mom has made more friends than I have. Manila doesn’t exactly boast a happening night life, and since the two college classes I’m taking are online, there’s no way to meet kids my age who live close.
Somehow my mom’s still met tons of people, and tonight she’s hosting a dinner party. I’m not annoyed by the dinner—it’s nice she has friends—but I wish I had someone to invite over.
We all know the second that people start to arrive.
Roscoe, our border collie, loses his mind. He’s actually a pretty cool dog. He’s busy, and he’s a little emotional, but it’s nice to have a big, shaggy bouncer around to alert us of intruders. On a place this big, without some kind of alarm, people could be here for an hour before I even knew they’d arrived.
I consider hiding in my room until Mom calls us for dinner. I’m supposed to write a paper on Shakespeare’sRomeo and Juliet,and I wonder whether I could use that as an excuse.
So far, I’ve only written one line.
Romeo and Juliet’s parents were a problem, but the real idiots were the lovers themselves. At the end of the day, they’re the ones who drank poison instead of facing the future with bravery and strength.
Iwonder whether it’s too obvious if I write about my dad’s death and how my mom, who loved him dearly, kept going for her kids as well as for herself. It feels like a much braver move, and frankly, a much nicer love letter to my dad than rolling over and giving up. But before I can write another single word, I hear an unfamiliar voice. A girl’s voice.
Ateenage-sounding voice.
My heart beats a little faster in my chest and my breaths come quicker. Is there a girl here? Who is she? I hop to my feet and walk through my door without even thinking. Gabe and a little kid I’ve never seen before shoot past me and duck into the room I’ve just vacated, not even seeming to notice that I’m standing here. I’m pretty sure they’re about to blow up the room like a bomb went off, but for once, maybe I don’t care.
“I’ve heard good things, young lady,” my mom says.
“I’m Beth.”
Beth.
The name rolls around in my head like a marble—cold, hard, and shiny.
I start to walk through the doorway, but then I pause. Maybe I should listen to her for a moment before I charge into the room like a bull. Then I could form an impression of her before seeing her face.
