The blizzard hits us like a physical force the moment we step outside. Snow drives horizontally across the yard, and the wind is loud enough that we have to shout to hear each other. Eliza takes my arm—whether to steady me or herself, I’m not sure—and we trudge toward the barn.
Inside, it’s blissfully quiet and warm. The animals look up at our entrance but seem completely unbothered by the storm. Chiron stands in his stall, methodically working through a pile of hay, while the goats huddle together in their pen like furry conspirators.
“Great,” Eliza says, brushing snow from her jacket. “Completely fine.”
I watch her move through the barn, checking water levels and adjusting blankets. “They’re lucky to have you.”
“They’re easy. Animals make sense. Feed them, keep them warm, give them space when they need it.” She pauses at Persephone’s stall. “No hidden agendas or complicated emotions.”
“Is that what you think I have? Hidden agendas?”
Eliza leans against the stall door, suddenly looking exhausted. “I don’t know what you have, Reed. That’s the problem.”
I move closer, my ankle protesting. “Want to know what I’m really afraid of?”
She glances up, wary. “What?”
“That I’m going to fail. That this whole tree business is just an expensive way to prove my father right.” I settle onto a hay bale, stretching my injured leg. “That I’ll end up in his office, wearing a suit and pretending to care about profit margins and market penetration.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“How do you know?”
“You care too much about your trees to give up on them.” Eliza sits across from me. “And you’re too stubborn to let your father win.”
“I’ve been letting him win my whole life.” The words taste bitter. “Every family dinner when I bit my tongue instead of arguing. Every time he dismissed my interests as phases. Even at the presentation, I stood there while he humiliated me.”
“You didn’t stand there. You kept your cool.”
“Only because I didn’t want to make a scene.”
Eliza looks at her hands. “There’s strength in choosing your battles.”
“You’d know. You’re always strong.”
The words hang between us in the warm air, mixing with the sounds of animals settling for the night. Chiron munches contentedly on his hay, occasionally glancing our way like he’s eavesdropping.
“My mother used to tell me I was her favorite,” Eliza says suddenly. “Every time she showed up after being gone for weeks or months, she’d say I was the only one who understood her. That we had a special connection.”
I wait, sensing there’s more.
“I believed her. Every single time. Even when Eden was crying because Mom missed her school play, or when Eila got in trouble because no one was there to sign her permission slips.” Eliza’s voice gets quieter. “I thought being her favorite meant something. That it made me special.”
“Eliza…”
“But it didn’t. She left anyway, and when she came back, she’d tell one of my sisters the exact same thing.” Eliza looks up at me. “So when you say I’m strong, that you want me, part of me wonders what you’ll say to the next woman when you get tired of this one.”
The comparison stings deep. “I’m not your mother.”
“Logically, I know that. But knowing something and feeling it are different things.”
I stand up, ignoring the twinge in my ankle, and sit beside her on the hay bale. “What would help you feel it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe therapy? My sisters have been going, and they seem… better. Less likely to set things on fire when they’re upset.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
“For them. I don’t know if it would work for me.”
