FarmBoy

by Kayt Miller

  Second, yes, your dad asked me to take care of you, make sure you were eating, but he didn’t say how to do that. I’m the one that wanted to be there for you in the evening. I’m the one that wanted to cook for you. And do you want to know why? Because I, we, (me and Andi) wanted to be with you––to spend time with you because we like you. A lot!

  He likes me? **sigh** I guess it’s better than the alternative.

  Honestly, I’m confused about us. You deserve someone better than me, but whenever I think of you with another man, I want to punch something. Hard. And the reason for that is because when I picture my life, you’re with me. Beside me and Andi.

  Oh my God.

  Nobody else makes me crazy like you do. There’s no woman alive that can hold a candle to your beauty, intelligence, sense of humor, and your smile. And your body? I may never recover from seeing you like that tonight.

  I’m getting emotional. This may be the best letter I’ve ever read––let alone received. Well, until I read this:

  With all of that said, Isabelle, I don’t know what to do. The time doesn’t feel right for us. There’s all of the unknown Ivy bullshit that’s happening. And your dad? What if he doesn’t want to farm anymore? Will you take over? If you do, when would we see each other? If only Isaac wanted the farm… No. The time isn’t right. Not yet. But, I hope, in the future, things will work out. In the meantime, I don’t see why we can’t keep doing what we’re doing. Andi loves spending time with you, and if Ivy thinks we’re still together, all the better. What do you think about that?

  Yours, Nash.

  What do I think about that? I’m crying now, and it’s not pretty. I’m full-on blubbering. Plus, I’m mad too. I mean, he ruined the best letter I’ve ever seen with that last paragraph of crap. Not crap––excuses. I mean, where do I start? First off, the Ivy “bullshit” is how this whole thing really got started because he wanted to prove to her that he’s moved on. Next, using the farm justification is worse. “If only Isaac wanted the farm?” What? Has he never been with someone who had a job before? I guess Ivy was the only long-term relationship he’s had so, no, until she fled for Hollywood, the only job she had was in high school at the local Dairy Sweet. I guess being in a relationship with a career woman is more than the macho asshole can take.

  I hope, in the future, things will work out? Keep doing what we’re doing because Andi loves spending time with me?

  “Well, me too, asshole.” Only it’s obvious they won’t work out with him. I need to forget about Nash being any part of my future. I sniffle and wipe away the last tears I’ll ever cry over that man. “Focus on the farm, Izzy.” That’s what I need to do. My family needs me right now. After that, I can think about my options. Option one? Move far, far away from this place and that man. Option two? See option one.

  31

  Nash

  Isabelle has locked me out. Physically and metaphorically. She literally locked up the house so I couldn’t get in there to cook her supper. People around here never lock their doors. It’s just not necessary. But she did. It’s like Fort Knox now.

  She also won’t answer my phone calls or text messages. Honestly, I think she blocked me. But why? I thought I explained everything in the letter. It makes no sense because that, my friends, was a good letter––probably the best letter I’ve ever written. Ha! No “probably” about it. I practically poured my heart out in that thing. No, I didn’t write the word love in it, but it was implied. Right?

  Damn, I wish I had a copy of it so I could make sure. Maybe she didn’t read the letter. It’s possible. It could have fallen into the trash or something. Although their trash can was under the sink, so that isn’t feasible. Maybe Andi set it somewhere else? No, I know it was on the counter. I looked back at it as we left that night.

  I guess I need to accept that Isabelle saw it and read it and didn’t like what it said. There must have been something in there that made her stop wanting to see me or hear from me. At first, I assumed she didn’t reply because she’s been so busy, but when I stopped by to see if she needed any help with the cattle, she walked away and sent Ben over to talk to me. “We’re all set, Nash. Thanks for your help, but we’ve got everything under control now.”

  I know she has it under control. She’s got the farm running like a well-oiled machine. Now that the harvest has been completed, all she has to do is deal with the livestock and plan for next year’s planting. I say “all she has to do” like it’s nothing. It’s not nothing; it’s everything.

  So, yeah, she’s not talking to me, and it sucks because I need to talk to her. I need her advice. It’s also imperative we’re seen together in town. Word’s gotten around that she broke off the engagement. I’m not sure who started that rumor, but I suppose it could be anyone around here who’s seen us together lately. Or not seen us together. No matter, Ivy got wind of it, and now she’s doubled, almost tripled, her efforts to weasel her way back into my life. I’ve had to put Shawn McMasters, the attorney Max recommended, on retainer because she keeps showing up at my place asking to see Andi, and my kid has been close enough to hear us. It’s only a matter of time before he gets involved with this.

  The last time was yesterday. When Ivy finally left, Andi started asking questions. “Is that my mom again?”

  I couldn’t lie to her. “Yeah, that’s your birth mother.” I reserve the term “mom” for someone who is loving and present. That’s not Ivy.

  “Did she want to see me?”

  I stare down at my smart child. “She did.” I hesitate before I ask this question—a question I should have asked her weeks ago. “Do you want to meet her?”

  Andi shrugs. “I guess.”

  Well, fuck.

  Running my hand through my hair, I nod. “Okay, the next time she stops by, you can meet her.”

  “Sounds good.” Andi turns and heads back to the table to her coloring. I want to chuckle at the absurdity of it all and at the fact that Andi just takes things as they come. It’s a good quality to have. I wish I had some of that.

  Trying the Harmons’ back doorknob one more time, I return to the truck and to Andi who’s still buckled into the back seat. “She’s not home.”

  Andi points toward the barn. “She’s in the barn.”

  I guess that makes sense. I slide into the truck and shut the door.

  “You’re not going to tell her we’re here?”

  “Nope.” I start up the truck.

  “But we went all the way to Emmetsville for her favorite pizza.”

  “Yep.” I nod, backing out of the long driveway. Sure, I could have turned the truck around, but that would have put me closer to the barn, and I’m not getting closer to Isabelle Harmon. Not anymore.

  “Isabelle’s too busy for us.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  That was a shitty thing to say in front of my kid, but I’m pissed. And sad. And lonely for my girl. Ha! My girl? That’s obviously not the case. She’s not even close because my girl would have run out the second she saw me pull up. She would have wrapped her gorgeous arms around me, and she would have kissed me like I was the best part of her day.

  Oh, shit. I feel my eyes get all wet and shit. I’m not crying over this bullshit—not in front of Andi anyway. Turning right onto the gravel road, I drive slowly toward our place. “I didn’t mean it like that. She’s just busy with the farm. I’m sure she’ll call us later.”

  “Or maybe she’ll stop by.”

  “Or… yeah. Maybe.” Not.

  The second I turn into my driveway; I see the fancy black car. Fuck. The last thing I need right now is Ivy.

  “My birth mother is here,” says my smarty-pants daughter.

  “Yep,” I mutter. Pulling to a stop in front of the house, I look back at her. “You want to talk to her?”

  “Sure.” Andi undoes her seat belt and opens her door. Sliding down from the cab of the pickup, she practically skips over to Ivy’s car.

  Reaching over, I pick up the pizza and
jump down too. Walking toward Ivy’s car, I watch her get out. She looks at me first. Then her eyes slide down to Andi. She blinks slowly, but she doesn’t smile. “You look like your daddy.”

  Andi nods. “So I’ve heard.”

  I chuckle at her dry response.

  Ivy still stares. “I figured you’d have something from me.”

  Andi shrugs. “DNA.”

  I laugh again. My kid doesn’t miss a thing. I’ve told her our DNA was a perfect match many times.

  “Want some pizza?” my kid asks, adding, “it’s Izzy’s favorite kind.”

  “I don’t eat carbs, honey.”

  Andi looks back at me. “What are carbs?”

  A loud gasp draws our attention back to Ivy. “Carbs are the devil.” She looks down at Andi. “Something you should be very aware of. If you’re not careful, you could end up looking like Isabelle.”

  Andi beams. “I hope so. She’s pretty.”

  Ivy’s expression tells me everything I need to know about her. She hasn’t changed. Not one bit. As a matter of fact, she may be even more judgmental than she was in high school.

  “So, pizza?” I ask, holding up the box.

  Ivy’s head pops up and a smile appears. A big fake one. “Sure, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

  Choosing not to overthink her words, I walk around her toward the front door. I push it open and let the girls go first. When they’re through, I follow them in, shutting the door as I go. “Andi, grab some plates, would ya?”

  “Sure, Daddy.”

  While we set the plates, silverware, and glasses out, Ivy walks around my living room looking at our things. “You keep a tidy house.” Then she laughs. “Or should I say Janine keeps a tidy house.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m surprised little miss perfect, Izzy Harmon, isn’t over here showing you what a good wifey she’d be.” She smirks. “It must be true, then. The wedding’s off?”

  I choose to ignore her comments because she has no idea what she’s talking about. Even before Bruce’s accident, I’d never think of Isabelle as a typical farm wife. No, she’s a farmer. A good one.

  “Isabelle tried to dust, but Daddy got mad.” I didn’t even hear her approach, the sneaky little ninja. “But she told Daddy—”

  “Andi.” I interrupt her before she says something we can’t come back from. “Time to eat.”

  “Yay!” my kid cheers. “I’m hungry. Come on, birth mother, let’s eat.”

  Oh, shit. I want to laugh, but when I look over at Ivy’s face, it’s all pinched and perturbed. “Birth mother?” she asks me.

  I shrug. What can I say to that? “Let’s eat.”

  And we do. Well, Andi and I do. Ivy just picks at the small slice I set on her plate. “How many pieces is that for you, Andrea?”

  “Andi,” I correct her. Again.

  She shrugs. “Three or four.”

  “I think that’s enough. You’ll regret it when you get fat.”

  Andi stops midchew. She looks at me, then at Ivy. It’s like I can see the wheels turning in her pretty little head. And I don’t like where they’re going. Slowly, she places the remaining piece of pizza back on her plate. She grabs a napkin like she’s going to wipe her mouth, but I can see her pushing the bite out.

  “Eat your food, baby girl. You work hard on the farm every day. You need to eat for energy.” I point my thumb at Ivy. “She’s only talking about people who sit on their butts all day.” I side-eye Ivy after that last sentence. Because that’s what Ivy does. Or what she used to do, but I assume that hasn’t changed. She sits while she does her nails or redoes her makeup for the twentieth time, and she sits when she watches the boob tube. Ivy DeLucas is a sitter. Even with my words, Andi still uses the napkin to hide the bite she just spit out. It fucking pisses me off.

  Andi looks at me. Her brows are furrowed with worry. “But Isabelle works hard and she’s still fat.”

  Okay, that’s it. I’m fucking pissed. “Andi, you’re done. Go get your shower and get in bed. And you”—I point at Ivy—“go home.”

  Simultaneously, they both say, “B-but….” Andi adds, “Daddy” and Ivy says, “Nash.”

  “Now!” I shout at Andi and point toward the hallway. “I’ll talk to you in a minute. As soon as your birth mother leaves.”

  Andi doesn’t wait. She jumps out of her chair and runs toward her bedroom. I can’t tell if she’s crying, but my guess is I scared her enough to cause tears.

  I watch Ivy stand and grab her purse. “What did I do?” she snaps as she click-clacks to the door in her high fucking heels. Jesus, who wears high heels on a farm? Ivy DeLucas, that’s who.

  “You did what you’ve always done, Ivy. I won’t have you making Andi all self-conscious about herself. She’s fine. She’s perfect.”

  Ivy snorts. “I’d say she’s about ten pounds overweight.”

  “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” I point to the door. “My lawyer will handle things from here on out. Don’t ‘stop by,’” I say with air quotes. “I’ll get a fucking restraining order if I have to.”

  “All because Andi said—”

  “Enough!” I shout loud enough for Isabelle––way over at the Harmon place––to hear. “Get. Out.”

  When she finally leaves, I slam the door shut and lock it. I wouldn’t put it past that woman to walk right back in. But I don’t want her here when I talk to my kid. My kid. Stomping back to the bedrooms, I walk right up to Andi’s door and stop. She’s lying across her bed on her stomach. Her face is on her pillow, and her back is shaking. “Andi?” She’s crying, and I did that.

  She doesn’t answer; she just keeps on crying. “Andi?”

  I move into her room and sit on the edge of her bed. “Honey.” I run my palm up and down her back. “Roll over. Let me see you. I have something I need to say.”

  She slowly rolls over, and what I see breaks my damn heart. Her face is red and already puffy. Tears are rolling down her cheeks and more are following. “Andi, honey, please stop crying.”

  “I-I’m sorry, D-Daddy.”

  Does she even know what she’s sorry for? I doubt it. I rarely get angry around her, so I’m sure this startled her.

  “Do you know why I got angry?”

  She nods.

  “What? What made me angry?”

  Wiping her nose with her sleeve, I wince thinking about laundry. “I called Izzy fat.”

  She’s right. That’s what triggered my reaction. “That’s part of it. Why would I be upset about that?” Let’s see if she understands.

  “Be-because you love Izzy and you don’t want people to say mean things about her, and I was m-mean.” She starts crying all over again. “I l-love her too. Birth Mother confused me.”

  I want to laugh at the last bit, but this is serious shit right now. Wrapping Andi up in my arms, I lift her until she’s in my lap. “It’s not nice to judge someone because they don’t look the same as we do. Isabelle looks like Isabelle. She’s beautiful. And she’s kind and sweet and funny. And she loves you too.”

  “You love her, right?” She pauses. “Because she loves you, Daddy.”

  I’m not so sure about that. But I look into my kid’s green eyes, and I can’t lie to them––to her. “I do love Isabelle.”

  “Then why doesn’t she live here? I don’t want Birth Mother to live here.”

  “Maybe call her Ivy instead of Birth Mother.”

  Andi shakes her head.

  Okay, I guess that’s it then. “Birth… I mean, Ivy isn’t going to live here.”

  “I definitely don’t want to live with her.”

  “That won’t happen either.”

  “So, why doesn’t Isabelle live here?”

  “We’re not married, honey. I can’t just ask her to move in with us.” Especially when she isn’t speaking to me. “Plus, she’s needed at her family’s farm right now.” Andi’s thinking. It’s fun to watch her figure things out, but this one is too complicated for her, so I do what I
can to help her understand. “You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think we need to do our own thing. Then when”—or if—“Isabelle has time, she’ll stop over and spend some time with us. She’s got important work to do. She’s in charge of all of Harmon farm.” Which is huge. It really is. “In the meantime, we’ll be right here when she needs us.”

  “And we won’t worry if she’s a little fat.”

  I want to get angry again, but why? “She’s not fat, honey. She’s healthy in all the right ways. We need to be healthy to work as hard as we do.” God, did I say the right thing? I sure don’t want my kid running up to Isabelle and telling her how “healthy” I think she is, but I can’t worry about that. Not right now anyway. “Go on. Get your shower. You stink.” I plug my nose then laugh.

  “Daddy.” She giggles. “I do not stink.”

  “Nah, you smell sweet as sugar.” I tap her nose. “Get cleaned up. It’s time for bed.”

  Then, as soon as she’s asleep, I’ve got some calls to make.

  32

  Isabelle

  Ringing wakes me up. I blink a few times to figure out where I am. On the couch with the television playing some home renovation show. I love those shows, but right now, all they do is lull me into sleep. I hear the house phone ring again, and I jump off the couch. The only people who still call the landline are Mom and Dad. Isaac does sometimes when he can’t get a hold of Mom or Dad on their cells. “Hello?”

  “Isabelle.”

  Shit. It’s Nash. He tricked me, dang it.

  “Nash.”

  He releases a heavy sigh into the receiver. I’m tempted to hang up, but that’s fruitless because I’ve missed him. I’ve missed talking to him and seeing him and Andi. It’s like part of me doesn’t function without them now, and that scares me.