Prologue: Vanessa
Sometimes it’s hard to be friends with Natalie and Samantha.
They’re always kind.They think about others all the time, especially their friends.They’re both glamorous, effortlessly, and they’re also sophisticated.
It’s not hard to be their friend because I want to slap them, or because they annoy me, or because they treat me poorly.It’s actually the opposite.They’re so shiny, they’re so polished, and they’re so interesting that by comparison...
I always fall short.
It’s hard to feel like the loser of the group all the time.
I know they never think of me like that, but my feelings all started really early.We rode together for years, in the same lesson almost every week, and they were always the far stronger riders.As we progressed, the differences became more noticeable.
At shows, it was always Samantha who won grand champion and Natalie who won reserve.I’d fall somewhere near the middle of each class.I was never the worst.But with the same instructors, the same classes, and a very talented horse, I was alsonever,everthe best.
In fact, although Natalie occasionally defeated Samatha, winning the big blue, red, and gold ribbon for grand champion, and Samantha often defeated Natalie, I never once beat either of them.Not even taking third while they took fourth or fifth in a bad round.Even when I had a good round now and again, theirs was always better.
They never mocked me for it.
They never allowed anyone else to say anything negative, but sometimes it felt almost strange that they never made an issue of it.And certainly, whenever I was alone, I knew.
Of the three friends, I was by far the shabbiest.
Those feelings have stuck around, even though I know they’re stupid.If Natalie or Sam knew how I felt, they’d surely argue with me, telling me all the great ways I make them happy.They’d tell me all my strengths.They’d build me up.
That’s what friends do.
But it doesn’t change the real truth, that by comparison to them, I’m not really all that great.Most days, it doesn’t bother me.Most days, I know that it’s okay to be a little less shiny than the people who love you most in all the world.Most days, I’m insanely grateful to be living here in Ireland, surrounded by people who care about me and lift me up.In quiet moments, though, especially when things have gone wrong, I sometimes feel my own shabbiness.
And it makes me feel very, very small.
1
Vanessa
The first time I fell in love with something, truly inlovewith it, was when I was quite small.My parents bought me something called anIcee, and I became obsessed.
I made my mom and dad completely nuts with my finagling.
For an entire summer, I managed to beg, borrow, or steal an Icee nearly every day.I loved white cherry the best, but I would drink regular cherry, or coke mixed with cherry.Even blue raspberry was okay in a pinch, and if there weren’t Icees, I would take a Slurpee.I wasn’t unreasonable.As long as I got my Icee, or some reasonably close facsimile, I was fine.
By the end of the summer though, I had decided that Icees, while good, weren’t reallythatgreat.I started drinking Orange Juliuses instead.That was the first of many things I obsessed over and then burned out on, given enough time.In some things, I’m the kind of person who loves hard and then leaves.
Not people, of course.
I loved Jason deeply, and on the day he died, I still loved him just as much, even if it was a little different in depth and nature.Sometimes, though, sometimes people can start to rub a little, too.
I’ve always adored my mother-in-law.She’s all the things my mother isn’t.She’s attentive and kind, she’s soft and gentle, she’s intuitive and sweet.She and my mother do have one thing in common, though.
They’re both always watching when they’re nearby.
And now that Trish has been living with us for a while, it’s kind of starting to get on my nerves.I still love her, and I notice the great things about her every day, but I’m starting to wish we had a plan to find her a new place to live so I could have just a little space.I’m also really tired of Trace and Bryce having to share a room so that she has a place of her own.Since we have a four-bedroom cottage, combining the boys made sense.I also didn’t hate the idea of Bryce being forced to sleep in with Trace.I knew I could count on my younger son to report back to me how Trace was doing.
But as the weeks pass and Trace continues to stay away from the temptation of smoking pot again, I hate the strain it’s putting on their friendship.And the loss to my own sleep.
Bryce is banging on the door to their shared bathroom loudly very early this morning.“Trace, your hair’s perfect already.Just open the stupid door.”
“You can’t come in here to poop,” Trace shouts.“It stinks things up so bad I can’t even breathe.You’re just going to have to wait.I thought I was going todiethe last time you did that.”
