A few minutes later, my girls were riding their horses all around the ring, Jesse standing in the middle, coaching. His eyes, shaded by his cowboy hat, lifted to where I stood. He waved me closer.
I frowned, wanting to keep my distance. My emotions were a house of freaking cards right now, and had been for days. Hanging onto the fence was safer.
But he waved more enthusiastically until I caved. Once I made my way over, he smiled. “You ready?”
“For what?”
“Your turn.”
My mouth fell open in surprise. “No, Jesse. I—I don’t know if I want to ride.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged, not sure how I would admit I couldn’t muster up the strength to try something new. “I’m just tired, I guess.”
Izzy pulled up beside us. “Mom! You gotta try this!”
“I don’t know if I want to, Izz.”
“You’re going to come all the way to a horse ranch in Texas and not ride a horse?” Izzy rolled her eyes like that was the craziest thing she’d ever heard. “Are you scared?”
“No.” I shook my head, waving her off. “Not scared.”
Izzy deadpanned. “You’re scared.”
Was I afraid?
The way my heart pounded in my chest answered my question. But I wasn’t afraid of the horses. I was afraid of looking foolish. Of having to laugh off mistakes when I was already on the verge of tears.
Nora stopped near us, and both of my daughters piled on the pressure until I said, “Okay! Fine!”
Ten minutes later, I stood beside Jesse and Sprinkles—Bea’s horse—watching as he demonstrated how to put my foot in the stirrup and put my weight on the ball of my foot.
Following his instructions, I grabbed the horn of the saddle and lifted my toe into the stirrup.
Jesse’s hand came to the back of my calf muscle, holding me steady. “Now as you stand on this toe”—he gave my calf a gentle squeeze—“throw your other leg over.”
Before I’d even begun, my toe tipped toward the sky and my heel slipped out of the stirrup, thudding to the ground.
Jesse encouraged, “You’re good. Most first timers do the exact same thing.”
He walked me through the steps: grab the horn and the back of the saddle, toe in the stirrup, weight on the ball of your foot, and stand. I tried again.
And again.
On the tenth attempt, heat pricked my cheek. “I—I don’t think I can get up there.”
“Here. Let me show you.” He put his foot in and pulled. “You’re losing your momentum right here.” He stopped before he was standing up in the stirrup to show how I wasn’t fully extending my leg or leaning forward over Sprinkles. I tried to listen and take mental notes, but embarrassment crowded my ability to follow along.
On my next go, I immediately put my hands in the wrong spot—both around the horn.
He gently corrected me. “ One on the back of the saddle.”
“Oh. Right.” I shook my head, flustered that I’d already made a mistake. My mouth felt dry, my grip on the saddle weak. I swallowed hard, trying to drown out the voices in my head.
I pulled, the tension in my muscles offsetting the sting in my eyes. My sweaty hand slipped off the horn, causing me to stumble into Sprinkles’ flank. I took a step back, my frustration at its boiling point. I would not let Jesse see me cry over something like this. “I feel so silly that I can’t get this.”
“Why do you feel silly?”
