by K. A. Gandy
He sighs, then leans forward and puts his head in his hands, taking off his hat and resting it on one knee in the process. “It’s not you, Sadie, it’s me.” It comes out muffled due to his position.
“Grant, you don’t owe me any explanation you don’t want to give. We can part as friends.” I let my hand fall back to my lap, and look out over the shimmering surface of the pond. I can wait as long as he needs.
Eventually he sits up, and runs his hand roughly through his auburn hair a few times before settling his hat back in place. He turns so he’s facing me on the bench, and reaches out to hold one of my hands with both of his. “I meant what I said before, you are a very attractive woman. It’s just . . . you’re not attractive to me, because I’m not attracted to women.” His voice is quiet at the end, as if the confession spoken above a whisper would be too much.
“I kind of guessed, Grant, but I needed to know for sure. I’m not mad. I am curious why you joined this program, though. I mean, only if you want to talk about it.” I don’t want to pry, but I am confused.
He looks down at our hands as it spills out, “I want a son. I want someone to pass on my family’s farm to, and there’s only one way to do that now. I applied for the orphan adoption program, but they won’t even consider you unless you’ve already been through the matching program and either weren’t able to be matched, were found sterile, or were booted.”
“That doesn’t seem fair. Although, I guess none of this is, really.”
We’re both silent for a beat.
“If I release you, would this qualify you to re-apply to the adoption program, or will you have to continue meeting matches?” I ask.
“I’ve been in the program almost four and a half years, and you’re the first match they’ve ever found for me. I’m six months away from being eligible to apply for the adoption program,” he says bitterly.
“Well then, that’s what you’ll have to do.” I give him a friendly smile, “I think you’d be a great dad, Grant. I really do.”
He gives me a thin smile in return, “Thanks, Sadie. But, how did you know? No one has ever guessed before you.”
“Well, to be fair, I had six men to compare you to. You’re the only one who hasn’t tried to feel me up at least once, or sneak a kiss at least on the cheek. At first I assumed you were just being a true southern gentleman, but over time I suspected there was more to it.”
He nods once, then looks over his shoulder at where the horses are waiting. “You ready to ride back? I think Bullet wants a rematch.” This time his smile is sincere.
“Oh, Bullet can have as many rematches as he wants, but it won’t change a thing!” I spring from the bench, and we both quickly mount back up for the ride home.
We race back to the barn along the serene path, and of course I win again. We walk the horses around a few laps in the courtyard to cool off before bringing them back to their stalls and untacking them. I’m giving Hercules a final pat and a cookie when Grant rejoins me, finished with Bullet.
“Can I walk you back to your place?” he asks.
“Sure, let’s go.”
We walk in silence, and he escorts me all the way to the porch steps. The silence is companionable, and I think I sense some relief from him that this is over. We stop, and turn to face each other.
“You’re nothing like what I expected, in the best possible ways,” he says, and I sense that he means it.
“What, you didn’t expect to get matched with another ranch hand who could whoop you in a horse race?” I quip.
He grins, “That too, Sadie, that too. If you’re ever down my way, will you stop in for a visit? I’d love to show you around my place.”
“I’d love that, Grant. I’ll try to come by whenever this program finally spits me out.”
With that, he tips his hat, and turns and walks back to the men’s dorm. I take a deep breath, and then head up to grab my mini-tablet to let him go, too. Two matches down, three to go.
✽✽✽
Lunchtime rolls around, and it’s time to meet Antonio. I change into fresh jeans and a new flannel, pink this time, before heading over to the dining hall. Antonio is waiting for me in the entryway, chatting with a bored guard. He’s holding a small bouquet of red roses.
“Hey Antonio.” I walk up, and he immediately shifts his attention to me.
“Sadie! You look beautiful as ever!” He grabs me by the shoulders and air kisses both cheeks.
“Thank you. Are those for me?” I point to the bouquet.
He smacks his forehead before handing them over, “Yes, of course! I hope you like red?”
“They’re lovely, thank you for thinking of me,” I say sincerely, looking down at them. Passionate love—that’s what my mother would say about this bouquet. I shift to my other foot, uncomfortable.
“Is everything all right, dear?” he asks, more softly this time.
I snap my head up, looking back at him, “Yes, of course. They just made me think of my mother, that’s all. She’s the gardener of our family, and grows flowers to share with her friends at church.” The smile I give him is thin, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.
“Ahh, missing home? I can’t say I blame you, I’m missing my daughter as well.” He shoves his hands into his slacks pockets, “Shall we get started on our date? What are we doing, by the way? All it said was ‘lunch activity.’”
“Oh! Uhm, well, I hope you don’t mind, but on our last date, you told us about how your grandmother made amazing pasta. So, I contacted the kitchen staff and asked if we could have the supplies and space in the kitchen to make our own, as an activity. I hope that’s okay? They said they had all of the stuff on hand. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but if you don’t want to, or if it would make you miss her too much, I’m sure they’ll just bring us a normal pasta dish and we can have lunch.” I’m rambling nervously but cut off abruptly when he reaches up his left hand and cups my cheek.
“That was very thoughtful of you, and, yes, I would be delighted to make pasta with you today.” He looks into my eyes as he says it, and I can see the sincerity there.
“Ok, then—we can just go back to the kitchen and everything should be waiting for us.”
He grabs my free hand, and links it through his elbow before leading me through the dining room and into the kitchen. It’s my first time being back here, but it looks like a standard industrial kitchen—it’s nothing like the dormitory’s kitchen where I made my cornbread. I can see off to one side there is a big stainless-steel prep table with a “Reserved” sign, what I can only assume is a pasta machine, and a neat stack of ingredients. Once we walk up, I can see that they’ve also included a selection of recipes.
Antonio flips through the provided stack, making faces at a few until he lands on one that suits him. “Here we go! Nothing extra, just the essentials. Good pasta is like a good relationship. A few simple ingredients brought together in just the right way.” He kisses his fingertips dramatically, “Perfection!”
He wastes no time handing me an apron and rolling up his sleeves. I do the same, and then he puts me to work measuring and pouring things onto the flat work surface for him. Once everything is piled into a little hill, he goes to work with a fork carefully mixing in the middle. I watch in awe as he brings it all together into a smooth dough without spilling a single drop of egg. After a few moments, he lets me take a turn with the kneading.
“Like this?” I ask, pushing the dough away. Surprisingly, it’s not sticky like bread doughs that I’ve made before.
“No, no—not so hard. Gently, smoothly.” He places his hands over mine and shows me how hard to press the dough into the table. We stay like that for a moment or two, before he lets me finish on my own. He takes the dough and wraps it up for me, and we set it aside to relax. While the dough is resting, we flip through the sauce options they’ve left for us and we let one of the kitchen staff know we’d like to try the ragù. Antonio was skeptical until they assured him they�
�d started it this morning in preparation for our activity.
With that sorted, we decided to skip the machine altogether and let him teach me how to make pappardelle, which is cut by hand. Once the resting time was over, he demonstrated how to roll and flour the dough, before it was cutting time.
I’m watching him roll the dough out, mesmerized by the smooth repetitive motions, when he brings me back to the matter at hand. “So, Sadie, are you making your choice today? I’ve heard that you’ve had two dates so far, and two men have gone home. Am I to be the third?”
Put on the spot, I internally flail for the right words. I’d planned to discuss it with him later, over a big steaming bowl of fresh pasta to soothe our emotions. Not now, before I’d even had my carb fix. “Uhm, well, I am trying to narrow things down today. To be honest, I’m torn on where to go from here.” I fiddle with my apron strings, all Zen gone in an instant. The kitchen that felt warm and cozy before is now too hot and full of clanging pots and pans.
He nods once, sharply, “Let’s talk about it. What are you thinking? You can be honest with me, you won’t hurt my feelings.” He continues rolling, giving us something else to focus on.
“Well, with you there is more to consider than the other two men. You have Gianna, and I have to think about her as well.” I hesitate, but when he stays silent, I continue, “Plus, you and I have the greatest age difference of any of my matches, and you’re not local to Georada.”
He looks up quickly, “It’s okay, Sadie, I know I’m old. It’s not news to me that you’re half my age.” He sounds lighthearted, and I wish desperately that I felt the same. Twenty-one years is a massive age difference. He’s the same age as Gavin, and I’ve never even considered any of his friends as potential boyfriends, because the distance was just too far. Cade and Teddy on the other hand, now they’ve got some good-looking buddies. Not that I’d admit that to them in a million years.
“You’re not old,” I say lightly.
“Let’s circle back. Gianna, how do you feel about being an instant mother? She’s a pre-teen, and I can only assume things get more interesting from here on out,” he says bluntly.
I stop fidgeting for a moment, really considering it. “You know, it doesn’t bother me. She really pulls at my heartstrings, and if I could help her, that would make me happier than anything else I think has come out of this program. Now, whether she’d be as excited to meet me, I can’t say.”
He stops rolling and wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead before answering. “She’d love you, Sadie, and I really mean that. Ready to learn to cut?”
“Yes! Show me.” I watch closely as he dusts, folds, dusts, folds, and then starts cutting the stack neatly into long ribbons.
We work in silence, and in a few short minutes our dough has been transformed into two piles of noodles. His, neat and tidy; mine, a bit more rough-shod. We pass them off to the kitchen staff, who tell us to go pick a table and our lunch will be out shortly.
“I can’t wait to try this pasta! I’ve always wanted to learn to make it,” I say excitedly as we choose our table.
He smiles, “You’re a natural. It will be great.”
Bread arrives, proffered by a uniformed waiter, and we both grab a piece. I nibble at it nervously, but he seems at ease.
“Sadie, I’m going to make this easy on you. I don’t feel like you’re choosing me. Am I right?” he lays it all out, and looks so calm.
I take a deep breath. “Yes, Antonio, I’m so sorry. I really wanted to give us a shot, especially for Gianna. She deserves someone to talk to the next few years as she goes through the next phase of her life. I would have been lost without my mother at her age.” I stop, the lump in my throat preventing further conversation. I look down at my water glass, unsure what else to say.
“It’s okay, Sadie. You and I are not quite meant to be. But I’d like to propose something, if you’re willing to consider it.” He steeples his fingers together. “Would you be willing to speak with Gianna, maybe just as a friend? You’re going through so much, I do understand if the answer is no. But there aren’t many girls her age, and no one I trust as much as you to steer her well.”
“I would love that, truly! I don’t know when I’ll be allowed, but as soon as the program lets us make outside calls again, I’d be happy to talk with her. Maybe we could set up a recurring phone date, in case she has questions about things?” I suggest.
A genuine smile crosses his features, “That would be perfect. You truly are a good girl, Sadie. One of those two ducks is going to be lucky to have you.”
I chuckle at his proclamation as our waiter reappears with our pasta, which smells divine. I take my first bite, and it feels like the gates of heaven opened and delivered this pasta dish directly to us. Thank you, pasta Jesus. Thank you.
“This is so good,” I mumble, my mouth is full but it’s too delicious to stop eating to talk.
Antonio laughs, and we go on discussing pasta sauce-making techniques, and what he’d recommend if I want to recreate this bowl of heaven at a later date. At the end of the meal, he writes his phone number down on a napkin, and slides it over to me for safe-keeping. We part with a hug outside of the women’s dorm, and I’m happy to know it’s not the last I’ll hear from him. He truly is a kind soul.
Contenders
I make a snap decision; something about the finality of being down to just two contenders has brought me new clarity. I cancel both remaining dates that were scheduled for the day, and instead set up one new date with both men. Bowling, at the sports center, and I invite Teddy and Faith. I need my brother’s opinion, and I’m a little ashamed I haven’t considered it sooner. Being away from my family has shaken me in a lot of ways, made me feel isolated, even when surrounded by all these people.
My tablet dings twice in quick succession. Faith accepted, and Matthew. I head into the bathroom to do something a little better with my hair, since Faith always goes all out. Not that it’s a competition, but, I also don’t want to get shown-up in front of my future husband. Whoever that is.
I flip on some music recommended by the ever-rocking Jenna, and go to work on my unruly brunette head. I think curls, something flirty but polished, would be best. Feeling the rumble of monster butterflies in my stomach, I spend more time primping than I have the entire time I’ve been here. Very, very soon I’ll be saying “I do” with one of these guys. My mind spins over the two men, trying to analyze them fairly, logically.
Matthew is handsome; he’s tall and all straight lines, sharp edges. His look fits his personality, as he’s also direct, to the point, and doesn’t BS; all of which I appreciate. He isn’t local, but he’s said before that he’d be willing to split time between York where his businesses are, and Georada where my family is. He’s got the money to make that feasible, and probably a lot more, though I don’t really care about that.
Fancy dinners and fancier homes and cars aren’t my bag. I already had everything I wanted, right back home in Georada—land, clean air, family, friendship, my amazing Morgan. I set down the curling iron, and stare myself down in the mirror for a minute. Is that really all I want out of life, though? I always assumed I’d find “the one” someday, have that fairy tale, swept-off-your-feet, love-at-first-sight kind of romance that my parents did. The one who lasts forever, the one who completes me, makes me a better person. If I’m being honest, I do still want that.
I pick the curling iron back up and contemplate Patrick. He’s handsome, with his dark, thick hair and working-man muscles. He’s not quite as refined as Matthew, a bit rougher around the edges, but more in a boyish way than an unkempt way. He’s shown himself to be caring and protective throughout my time here, and let’s not forget he literally took a man’s life to save mine, without a second thought. Granted, it’s his job. But I have the feeling that there’s more to it than that—more to our connection.
Which isn’t to say there’s no connection to Matthew. He’s powerful, warm, and—despite the fact that
I’m sure many would consider him intimidating—he treats me as an equal. There’s something to be said about a man who has the world at his feet, but still knows how to treat people. He’s never once been derogatory or unkind to a waiter here, and he’s never acted bored when I talk about my home life or interest in horses and ranching. With Matthew, I do worry that he’d be disappointed with me in time, and that’s something I need to have a real discussion with him about. I’m a simple woman at heart, and that’s not going to change no matter how much money he has. I’m never going to be a perfectly tweezed trophy wife, and I’m always going to want to live close to the land. The question is, can he accept me as I am, or does he want to turn me into a Margaret?
I finish my curls and set the curling iron to the side to apply some seldom-used makeup. Then it’s on to my nicest pair of dark skinny jeans, dress boots, and a black top. I’m inspecting myself in my closet’s full-length mirror when I hear a soft knock on the door, barely audible over my getting ready jams. I walk over and open it to find Faith waiting with a huge smile on her face.
“Sadie! You finally want to double date with us!” She grabs me into an unexpected hug, and I pat her back awkwardly until she releases me.
“Yeah, of course. I should have thought of it sooner, but, I’ve been distracted.” I stammer, unsure what else to say.
“It’s okay, I’m just glad you’re finally okay with it!” she enthuses.
“Come in, come in. And, of course I’m okay with it, why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, confused.
She bites her lip before answering me, “Well, a lot of the girls have gone on double dates, but you haven’t, even though your brother is here. And we could both tell up front that you weren’t thrilled he’d signed up. We agreed to just give you some space, and hopefully you’d ask us when you were ready. I’m just so glad you’re ready now!” She flings her arms back around me before I can even shut the door.
