The Wedding Steal - A SEAL Romance
Page 19
And, somewhere, I think—I hope—there’s got to be someone who’s right for me.
Back in the ranch house, I sit on the edge of my bed, unable to relax. It’s another new feeling. Usually, the work we do every day tires us out so well that I have no trouble falling asleep at the end of the day, but tonight, my mind is preoccupied. I feel like the Tammy who arrived at the ranch three years ago: stressed and far too analytical. My time here has helped me achieve a much more relaxed mental state, but something about this wedding has driven that peace away.
It doesn’t help that I can still hear the revelry going on. The musicians are playing late into the night, and it reminds me of my previous life. I think of the nights I’d go out dancing, hoping to meet a guy, occasionally even bringing someone home.
That didn’t make you happy, I remind myself firmly. Why did you come to the ranch in the first place? Because you were so dissatisfied with your life, that’s why. And that’s why you decided to stay and embrace this lifestyle.
And, for the most part, it’s worked. Keeping busy all the time, contributing to the wellbeing of the community, adhering to the rules regarding what to eat, how to dress, and who to consort with—it’s all been great for me. Simple. Serene. The last three years have been some of the happiest of my life.
So why do I suddenly feel so restless?
I lie back on my bed. It’s barely wide enough to accommodate a single person, and for good reason—all the single women on the ranch sleep in this building. Our beds are arranged in two tidy rows, along each of the long walls, and separated by room divider screens. Like everything else we use on the ranch, the beds and dividers were made right here, which means they’re more functional than they are nice to look at.
When I’m worn out from a long day of work, this little bedroom nook is a haven. But on nights like this, when I can’t sleep, I don’t even feel like a person here. I feel like something that has been filed away, shelved due to lack of use, with all the other single women, until such time as I get married and start producing new members for the community.
I press my palms to my eyes. God, what a hysterical thought. It’s just a bed. I’m just feeling sad and lonely because my best friend got married today and I’m still alone. That’s a normal reaction. I don’t know why I’m blowing this out of proportion.
The truth is that I love the ranch. I love the peace of my life here. Most of the time, it feels like a miracle that a haven like this could exist.
I love sitting down to dinner with all the people I live with, knowing that the people across the table from me have worked to prepare the food or grown it in our communal garden, knowing that the shirts on their backs were created by my own hands. I love lying in this dormitory, looking up through the skylight I can see from my bed, and knowing this whole building was put together by the women around me.
With big projects, like buildings, we all pitch in and help, and I know I’ll always remember sitting on a crossbeam of what would eventually be the roof and putting up the skeleton of my future home. How many people get to experience something like that? I certainly never would have, if I hadn’t come to Pyrite.
And I never would have experienced the beautiful views we get here, far away from the city. The night sky is a sight to behold. The stars seem big and close, and on especially clear nights, I can even perceive the tint of color that sets planets apart. Gazing up, I can see Mars framed in my skylight right now. It’s glorious. I’m so lucky.
I just wish there was someone here for me to share this stuff with.
Three years ago, when I first came to the ranch, I had no idea I was about to fall in love with a new way of life. I just needed a vacation. I was so desperate to relax, in fact, that I barely minded dropping a year’s savings on a weeklong retreat.
That week was spent alternating between wellness seminars with Xavier—the middle-aged, hippieish man who started the ranch—and chores with the permanent residents of the community. At the end of each day, those of us on the retreat would sit down with the residents for dinner and enjoy the fruits of a hard day’s work. It was wonderful, and by the end of the week, my stress and anxiety had melted away.
I think I was more surprised than anyone else when I decided to stay. Still, my parents didn’t like the idea of their business-school-educated daughter moving out to the middle of nowhere to live on a commune. My friends thought I was crazy. I never could get them to understand how different it was, how much nicer it was than my old life. How much healthier I feel these days.
If I had a partner here—someone to look up at the stars with me, someone to hold me while I fell asleep—he would understand.
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