“You okay?” Cody asks, towel over his shoulder, eyes soft but still sharp enough to undress me on the spot.
The memory of him inside me, of them all inside me, floods through me, filling me in a way I never thought possible. All my adult life, sex has been something that emptied me of hope, self-worth, and a belief in love. But what happened last night showed me it can be the opposite, too. These men filled me with their bodies and their releases, but with their hearts and dreams and a glimpse at afuture I could never have believed would include me.
“Yeah.” I smile softly, my eyes a little glazed at the memories, and he touches my cheek tenderly and with understanding.
I sit down at the big, worn table. There’s a groove under my palm I didn’t notice before, like a scar in the wood. I look around at the chipped paint and the place where a picture has fallen from the wall, at the yellowing curtains hung by another woman a long time ago, and at the ancient stone floor, and realize something.
This place is scarred, too.
And somehow, that makes me love it more.
Yesterday felt like a dream: birthday candles in a cake they baked because it’s my favorite, cowboy hats swapped out for dancing shoes, off-key singing that made me laugh harder than I have for some time. They didn’t make a big speech or get anything Pinterest perfect, but everything they did was for me. Forme. They turned up, and they showed me what it means to be good men.
Thoughtful men.
And that painting, featuring this beautiful ranch and this beautiful family and me—little old me —at the center. It nearly broke my heart.
Afterwards, they claimed me the way only they could: slowly, reverently, and with a surety that I’ve never experienced before. There are eleven of them, but at times, they felt as one. A mouth at my throat, a hand at my breast, another hand guiding me, eyes on me, and hearts wrapped around me. They held me in ways I didn’t know I needed, talked to me like I’m precious, and took me apart until there was nothing but truth between us.
I believed I was wanted, and that I belonged.
I switched off my phone last night and haven’t turned it back on since. There’s no one I want to be contacted by except the people in this house. The outside world can wait.
Right now, the world is here in the sunlight, slanting through dusty windows, bacon sizzling in a cast-iron pan,and the scent of cinnamon clinging to the air. Someone’s humming again. I think it’s McCartney. He sings like he talks, all gravel and whiskey.
The shirt I’m wearing still smells like his cologne, even though it’s been through the wash. I run my fingers down the hem, feeling surrounded. Inside this moment and this wild, unexpected home I didn’t even know I was looking for, I feel free.
I don’t want it to change.
I want to stay right here, in this messy, noisy, perfect now.
42
DYLAN
The diner smells like grilled onions and melted cheese, the scent that seeps into your clothes and ramps up your hunger tenfold. We’re packed into a booth near the front window, Grace across from me with Junie pressed into her side, Barbie doll clutched tight in one hand. Eli’s next to her, quieter, but her face lights up every time she smooths her doll’s tiny plastic braid that matches her own.
It’s loud in here with a chorus of forks clinking, old country music humming through the overhead speaker, and someone shouting for more coffee from the kitchen, but at this table, there’s peace. Grace has a way of settling everything by being present.
I thought twice about this outing, worried that it’s too much of a step in a direction I don’t even know if we should be traveling. But after being together twice and seeming to move in the right direction, it feels necessary. I’m not a man who fucks first and dates second, and even though this isn’t a date as such, it’s gotten us off the ranch for some quality time together, and it’s what I think we all need.
Junie waves her Barbie in the air like she’s mid-rodeo. “Her name is Princess Junie,” she announces. “And she owns a ranch and a unicorn, and she makes all the rules.”
Grace laughs and helps her adjust the doll’s hat. “I like a woman with a vision.”
Eli’s more careful with hers, brushing the braid-ends slowly and gently, like she’s worried it might break. Her doll has a pink jacket and boots, like the ones I left for Grace. Grace reaches out to brush a crumb from Eli’s cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My heart squeezes tight.
“I think I’m outnumbered,” I say, sipping my coffee, my voice low.
Grace grins across the table. “Welcome to my world, cowboy. How does it feel?”
“Like I need a special license to handle all this Barbie hair and cuteness,” I mutter, reaching for a ketchup bottle with a mock serious look.
Junie giggles. Eli leans into Grace’s side a little more.
And for a few perfect moments, it feels like my kids aren’t burdened by the loss of their momma, or paused, waiting for her to come back. They’re living in the moment, enjoying an afternoon out like normal kids.
