Hero for the Holidays (Four Corners Ranch #9)

Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

S UNDAY WAS RAMBUNCTIOUS . Galloping around the house in her excitement. And Landry and Lila had decided to use one of the crochet animals as a toy for her. So a whole lot of rollicking around the Christmas tree was happening while Fia was trying to make dinner.

She didn’t mind.

There was a comfort to their presence.

To Lila’s laughter and Landry’s encouragement of shenanigans.

But there was a pressure building behind her heart. And every time she felt joyful, it pushed. It pushed and pushed, and she wasn’t sure what it was, or why it was trying to break through this moment of happiness.

She focused on finishing dinner. And when she brought the enchiladas and beans to the table, Lila and Landry were already sitting there eating chips. And Landry was feeding some to Sunday.

She slapped at his hand. “Don’t make the dog fat,” she said.

“I, personally, like a fat animal,” said Landry, scratching Sunday behind her ears. “Lends them a stately quality.”

Lila giggled.

Fia rolled her eyes and sat down at the table.

“You’re incorrigible, Landry King.”

“That is so much nicer than what you usually call me.”

“I suppose it is.”

He put his elbows on the table and smiled at her.

And that was when it cracked on through.

It was like she was looking at an alternative reality. At another life. One that she could have had. One that she didn’t have.

Not really. One where they’d had Lila all these thirteen years. Where she and Landry had gotten married back then. And decided they loved each other.

That they could make it work no matter what.

It was painful. It was just so damned painful. The reality of all of this.

Of the fact that Lila had been hurt. Hurt by the choice that Fia had made when she had been trying to spare her any pain.

She had ended up in foster care.

Maybe they should have just stayed together. Maybe they should’ve weathered it. Maybe making her love those people who had been her parents had actually been a cruelty because they were only with her for such a short time.

Maybe the trauma that Lila felt from that would’ve paled in comparison to the trauma that Fia would have dumped on her as a teenage mother.

She held it together. She sat there at the table and she pretended to eat. Landry and Lila didn’t notice, since they were still busy entertaining Sunday and making jokes while they ate.

“We should introduce Sunday to Gort,” said Lila.

“Now,” said Landry, “I think that might cause some issues.”

“Why?”

“You don’t want Gort to eat Sunday.”

Lila found that hysterically funny.

“He’s a predator,” she said sagely. “It’s the circle of life.”

Fia quietly slipped from the table and went over to the sink. She started doing dishes. And then...stopped.

She walked quietly to the front door and slipped out to the front porch. Then she leaned against the wall of the farmhouse and let her tears begin to fall.

And let herself grieve. Deeply. Properly. For the beauty of this life. For what might’ve been. For what she could never know.

For the good in the lost years. And the loss in those same years. For the certainty that she could never actually claim.

For everything. Everything and anything, all at once.

And a moment later, she heard the door close. And strong arms came around her. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Landry...”

“Did I make you cry again?”

“No. Not you.”

“What is it?”

“When I see you with her, I can’t help but wonder if you’re right. If you would’ve been a great dad. From the beginning. And I tell myself... I tell myself it was you. And us. And my family. And your father. But in the end... I was scared that I was going to fail. I couldn’t handle that. I was so scared of being the one to fail her, because my relationship with my own mother was just so bad, and I...I wonder if I really wasn’t strong enough to give her to you. To have her here, to have you take care of her. What if that’s what it was? What if I was being selfish? Because look, here we are together, and everything is beautiful. But look at all she’s been through, this poor little girl. She lost her parents, and just seeing her face when she saw Sunday...”

“Hey,” he said. “Maybe it would’ve been fine. Us trying. We would’ve made mistakes. We would’ve been poor as shit. But maybe it would’ve been okay. Or maybe it would’ve been the destruction of us. Because some people overcome and some people don’t. The thing is, Fia, we can’t know. And we can grieve for what might’ve been. God knows I did. Not well. Not fairly. But I did. We can grieve for what might’ve been. But all that really exists is what it is. That girl is who she is because of what you gave her. And she’s awesome. You didn’t take her parents from her. You gave her a chance. You’re a fucking great mom, Fia. From conception to now, you are a fucking great mom. You’re right. You made the hard choice. The complicated one.”

Fia drew a shaky breath. “You know what’s funny, having you angry at me across the ranch made it easier for me to not be angry at myself. You were so unfair to me. Just so damned unfair, and then I never had to attack myself, because I knew you were doing it. I felt so justified. And when you forgave me, all this other shit just sort of started to bubble up. I think it’s because there’s no balance now, and now I’m free to question myself. To ask honestly how I might’ve hurt you. And to care about it. You being fair really messed things up. Because when you made me the villain, I got to be more secure in my heroism. It gave me something to fight against. And now I’m just fighting against myself. My own sadness. My own grief. I love her so much, and I feel so aware of the time that I’ve missed with her because she ended up with us now. And it makes me wonder what the point is in a way that I never would have if...”

“I know. I get it. I think we can feel both. Happy that we have this now. Wistful about what we didn’t get. But it would’ve had to be another life, Fia. Another time. And we didn’t get another life. We got this one. But we have her now. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s life. In all of its great and glorious messiness. Maybe it’s not as simple as right and wrong. It’s just making choices. The best ones that you can. The best ones that you can at the time. Because none of us can see the future. And we can only see the past through our own perspective. But goddammit, nobody tried harder than you. To make the best choice. To be the best mother. Nobody tried harder.”

She dissolved then, right there in his arms, because they were safe. Because he was Landry. And she felt sort of undone by the strangeness of this. That he was one of the people who meant the very most to her, and that he was here in the house. After being lost to her for so much time. Much in the same way that Lila was. And it all felt so fragile. And so important. So essential.

She was so scared of breathing and breaking it all.

She didn’t know how to make that feeling go away.

“We already have too much to hold without holding guilt too,” he whispered. “You’re not my enemy, Fia. You’re my partner.”

“You’re not my enemy either.”

As declarations went, it was kind of a weird one. But it suited them. It was necessary.

And there were other words that crowded her throat. Things she wanted to say, but they were far too scary in this moment. Because everything was too scary. High stakes.

When they were kids, they’d been playing with things that were too big for them, but it hadn’t gotten any smaller. They were going to have to find a way to expand to accommodate all this. They were parenting a child, but one with full consciousness. One who was watching them. Learn and fail and succeed, and she would always remember it. At least babies didn’t know if you were terrible at parenting.

At least they didn’t remember your every error as you tried.

But a thirteen-year-old always would.

She had her own lumps and scars; she had her own baggage.

Dammit. This was just so hard.

“I’m with you,” he said.

“I’m with you too.”

It was like getting married. Out there on that porch. These were promises that were deeper than any piece of paper.

It was spiritual. And it was real.

He held her. She held him back.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“It’s my pleasure. It damn well is.”

“You’re a great dad.”

She felt his chest hitch. “It’s one of the only things I ever wanted,” he said, the words husky. “To know that I could be that. To know that I could love somebody. That it wasn’t broken from all of that. But there was a reason for me to be here.”

“There are so many reasons.” She had trouble speaking after that. Because she was all feelings and deep, wordless need.

Because they lived in this house and it wasn’t on fire. But she still somehow felt...distant.

Like she was in a place where he couldn’t quite reach her. And she didn’t know what wall to tear down, what door to open, what window to crack.

And she hated her mother again. For never showing her. For never being there for her.

“I just want to be different,” she said.

“You will be.”

He meant than her mother when her father left. He didn’t understand. She also wanted to be different than herself.

Because she just didn’t feel adequate. She didn’t feel worthy. She couldn’t get to the bottom of why. And it made her want to scream. “Do people just feel like this? When they’re raising another person. When that person is their responsibility, they just feel like this all the time?”

“Only if they’re good parents. I’m pretty sure parents never thought this much about what we were feeling.”

And that was the sliver of hope she needed. In this small moment of hopelessness. Of weakness. This permission to be uncertain. And to see it as a strength. To see it as love. She put her hand on his face. “Thank you. That was what I needed to hear.”

He took her hand and moved her fingers to his lips. She was frozen with the desire for more. And she had the feeling, the sense, that maybe this was the door she was holding firmly closed. But she was too damned afraid to open it.

“Landry,” she said softly. “I need this.”

She meant this family. This living situation. This life. It was a plea. A desperate one. To not push her further than she could go, because she was afraid of what she might do.

“I understand.”

He dropped her hand. “You gonna be okay?”

“It’s so silly. I’ve really never been better. In so many ways. But this is challenging. And it’s...”

“Growing us up?”

“Yeah. I pretty much thought I was done. But there’s a lot of stuff we never really turned over.”

“We didn’t have to. Now we do.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Let Lila and I do the dishes. Why don’t you go... Well, you can sit out here. You could go visit your sister.”

“Thanks. I think... Yeah. I’ll sit out here for a bit.”

She sat there, on the front steps. And finally, she picked up her phone and called her mother.

“Hi, Mom,” she said.

“Finally,” her mom said. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Alaina told me that I needed to give you some space.”

“She was right. I needed space. Thank you for respecting that.”

“You can say what you need to say,” said her mom. “There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t said to myself already. I failed you, Fia. Pretty profoundly. And I’m aware of that. Finding out that you were pregnant back then... Well, it’s given me a lot to think about. That’s what I do here. I think.”

Fia chewed her thumbnail. “I was given to believe that what you did was take new lovers of an evening.”

That was a bit mean. But oh well.

“Sometimes that too. You know you can think and have lovers.”

It was so strange, to talk to her mom like this. Her mom who had joined a commune life, and who had clearly let go of needing to be attached one person and pour all of her feelings into that person.

Her mom, who had traded in the intense marriage that she’d had with their father for casual polyamory and breezy pansexuality.

“It’s important to be able to tell people that you wronged them. I wronged you. You girls needed something from me that I couldn’t give you. Not at the time. I had to go away and I had to get away from your father, and that was when I realized that I could feel different things. Prioritize things differently. That I could be a whole different person.”

“You still haven’t come back here.”

“No. And maybe it’s because I’m afraid. I’m afraid that coming back there will make me more like I used to be. I’m sorry that you’re all caught up in that. In that part of my life that was so difficult. I don’t know what to do about the mess that I made there. I’ve done a lot of therapy. A lot of thinking. I know that doesn’t help you. It doesn’t make me a better mother. I said things to you that were unforgivable, Fia, and from my own hurt.”

“Do you remember. Do you remember when you told me that you were trying your hardest? And that I would be a terrible mother?”

“Yes,” she said. “I thought about that often, especially when you ended up staying single. But I did not realize that you were actually pregnant at the time. I was in a bubble. I was being selfish. The most important thing to me was my relationship with your father, and when it wasn’t going well, nothing was going well.”

“But you feel like you’re a different person now than you were then.”

“Yes.”

She realized then that this was actually the more important thing. It wasn’t coming to terms with her mother. She had a feeling that for her, coming to terms with her mother would always look a little bit differently than it did to her sisters. She had a feeling that for her, there would always be some resentment. She would never ache for a closer relationship to her. But she did want to learn something. As she was, steeped in regret.

“Do you think you would’ve been a better mother if you would’ve waited longer? If you would have maybe been with someone else?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitating. “Some people can learn on the job. I didn’t learn fast enough. And so you were all caught up in my mistakes. I shouldn’t have been mothering in my twenties. I should have been dating. I should’ve been finding out all the things about myself that I didn’t actually find out until I was in my forties. If I would’ve known that I could be happy by myself, if I would’ve known that I could be happy with other partners. With men. With women. If I would’ve known that, I wouldn’t have clung to him so hard. I wouldn’t have made him my entire identity. I would’ve given you different advice. I would have treated you better. I would’ve had more patience.”

“I’m struggling. Because I really do believe that I did the right thing by giving Lila up for adoption. I do. It’s hard because now Landry and I are both so good at it.”

“But you don’t know who you would’ve been. How long it would’ve taken you to get to this point if you’d been struggling through that whole time. I’m evidence that a person can change. But also evidence that a person could just be a bad mother.”

There was something about that that was balm for Fia’s soul. An honesty that she hadn’t really expected.

“It’s tempting to believe that love covers all that stuff,” Fia whispered.

“I loved you, Fia. I always have. But I couldn’t prioritize acting on that love when I felt so miserable about myself. I couldn’t put your needs before mine because I felt like I was going to fall apart if I couldn’t fix my relationship with him. And then I just sat in that farmhouse, and that life that he wanted, and I felt myself getting smaller and smaller. It was the worst when I envied you.”

“You envied me?”

“Yes,” her mom said, broken. “I knew you had a boyfriend—you weren’t that sneaky. I knew you were in love. You were radiant with it. So young and with your whole life ahead and I was stuck. It made me jealous. Of my own daughter. After your dad left it was a slow process, but I realized my life was only fixed if I stayed in one place. It was only too late for me to live if I decided not to live. I knew I needed to change everything in order to find myself. I was going to just continue. I know you were angry that I left. But having me there was only ever going to get worse and worse. We didn’t get along...”

“Yeah.”

It was right then that she realized in her way, her mother had made that decision for her. Because Fia loved the ranch and she didn’t. Because back then being near each other was only toxic. It hadn’t been wholly selfish. It had been a gift in its way. And she’d never been able to see it that way. Because once their mother was gone they been able to paint the farmhouse in bright colors. And find new life and new focus. Because sometimes you had to cut ties to change things for real.

And that didn’t mean you couldn’t circle back. But she could see it. Clearly. And she could see the truth of all this in her own life.

“I do want to come visit. I need to come see Alaina’s baby. And yours.”

“Well, it so happens that Landry has been renovating some guest quarters. You can come visit, and you wouldn’t have to stay in the farmhouse. You wouldn’t have to be at Sullivan’s Point. Maybe that would be easier for you.”

“Maybe,” she said. “You’ve changed a lot, Fia.”

“I have,” she said.

That was the other best thing she could’ve heard.

Because she had so much worry about old patterns, old feelings and old failings. But she had changed. Because in some ways, she’d figured out that she was okay without Landry King. She sure liked having him around, though. But she hadn’t died when they’d broken up. She’d been strong, and they’d made a new life for themselves. Even if a commune and multiple lovers hadn’t been her answer.

She would never be the same kind of jealous that she used to be.

It wasn’t actually because she would be okay without him. It was mostly that she could see the clear differences between him and her father. When at the time it had been too easy to decide that her father made a case for men being all one thing.

Landry wasn’t her father any more than he was his.

“Thank you. For the conversation. I appreciate it. I had some things to work out.”

“I’d like to try,” said her mother, “to have some kind of relationship. I’m learning. That you girls are growing. I’m learning more and more what I need to do to be there for you.”

And for them, for their mother, the answer hadn’t actually been for her to be there. It was complicated. But it was true. For them, it was true. For them, distance had mattered. For them, that had been important.

“I love you,” said Fia.

Because even with everything, that was true.

“I love you too.”

And she believed it. She just believed that it was shown in ways that sometimes she couldn’t see.

Hadn’t been able to see.

She hung up and walked back into the house. Back to her family. And she knew that Landry was right.

What if it didn’t matter? Not in the face of what they had.