Grabbing the deck from Duke, I flip to the page printed with a map of my family’s property. “We’d designate one of the barns as our therapy headquarters. I had a great call with the guidance counselor at Dean’s elementary school earlier this week?—”
“Yeah you did.” Sally holds up her hand.
I give her the high five she’s looking for. “She actually worked at a program like this back in Wyoming, where she’s from, so she had some really solid ideas in terms of how we can set things up. I’ll create an LLC, which we can then turn into a nonprofit. That allows us to focus on the community impact piece of the puzzle. The program wouldn’t be a huge money maker, but it would allow the Wallace family to put their name on a program that directly impacts people’s lives.”
Ava shakes her head and smiles. “That’s beautiful. Can Junie, Ella, and I volunteer once or twice a week?”
“Only if I get to volunteer too,” Sally replies. “I’d gladly offer my veterinary services for free in exchange for hanging out with some kiddos. What kind of training would we need?”
I answer as many questions as I can. I’m pleasantly surprised to discover my confidence grows the deeper I dive into the program’s details. I don’t know everything—for instance, when Beck wonders aloud if we should hire someone who deals exclusively with medical insurance companies, I tell him I like the idea but that I don’t know where we’d find someone with that particular skill set—but I do end the presentation feeling energized and affirmed.
Is this really happening?
Am I really about to burn down my life as I know it and take this giant leap into the unknown?
I wouldn’t say I’m without a safety net. My family is awesome, and I know there’ll always be a place for me somewhere on the ranch. But if I fail, I could very well end up back where I started. I could also cost my family—my parents—a shit ton of money. The program I’m proposing would be an investment in the future.Ourfuture, and the future of the community.
But it’d be exactly that: aninvestment. Meaning the payoff wouldn’t be immediate.
It might not come at all.
“I know it feels like a huge,hugestep,” Mollie says, reading my thoughts. “But if you don’t take that step, you’re always going to wonder ‘what if?’ Like, what if this is what you were meant to do all along? What if the whole accounting job fail was part of that? Maybe it was the universe’s way of forcing you to pivot.”
“Forcing you to choose yourself over everybody else,” Ava says, and the table nods in agreement.
Sally slides over in her chair a little and motions for me to sit beside her. I rest a single butt cheek on the chair and sigh.“I hear what you’re saying. And I think—I have a feeling my parents will be open to the idea of the program. But the thought of telling my dad that he has to find another accountant makes me want to vomit.”
“Do you feel guilty about quitting?” Duke asks.
I tilt my head back and forth. “Yes and no. I know it’s the right move for me.”
Ava looks me in the eye. “You have to be selfish about these things, Billie. I know that might sound bad, but it’s true. If you’re not putting yourself first in your career—heck, in your life—then you’re never going to be happy.”
“Totally agree,” Wheeler says. “Opinions are like assholes: everyone has them.”
“Always such a lady, Blue,” Ryder replies with a grin.
“And by always, you mean never. But as I was saying, everyone’s going to have an opinion about what youshoulddo. The only opinion that matters, though, is yours. You’re the one who has to decide what youwantto do, and then you have to go out and do that. You owe it to yourself. To the people you love. Think about it this way: You being happy is going to help your family and your ranch thrive. Sure, your parents might have to go through the hassle of hiring a new accountant. But that’s much less of an imposition than having to watch their daughter be absolutely miserable.”
Ava nods. “I think all the time about what my choices teach my girls. I can tell them until I’m blue in the face that being a people pleaser is gonna lead you down a road to nowhere. But if I’m not actually, actively choosing myself on a daily basis, then they’re not going to choose themselves either.”
I catch Ryder looking at me, his blue eyes soft and full.
He’s thinking aboutourkids. Because we’re out of our minds and we’ve already talked about that shit, and now I’m thinking about our kids too.
Specifically any daughters we have. I don’t want them to ever feel trapped or suffocated the way I have in my life. I want to show them that getting in the dirt and loving animals with your whole heart, that daring to be different, is where it’s at.
It’s okay to get your dress wrinkled.
Hell, it’s okay if you ditch the dress altogether.
“I love that idea,” I reply. “And I certainly agree with it. At the same time, I think part of the issue I’m having is also how hard it isfor meto let go of the image of the perfect daughter and sister and woman I always thought I’d be. Like, it’s hard to accept that I’m not that perfect person. I’m way messier, and while there’s something really freeing about that, it’s also super uncomfortable at the same time.”
“Ooopf.” Sally puts a hand over her heart. “I feel that in my soul. I always wanted to be the perfect daughter too. I tried so hard to make myself fit inside that box.”
My heart palpitates. “Yes. But turns out, that’s a very small box.”
“At the end of the day, I think we all just want our parents to be happy,” Mollie adds. “And as kids without fully developed prefrontal cortexes—cortexi? Not sure what the plural there would be. Whatever the case, as kids, we tend to think that ifwe’reperfect, if we never annoy our parents and only make them proud, then we canmakethem happy. But now that I’m a parent myself, I’m realizing that my parents’ happiness was never about me. It’s onthemto figure that out. Just like it’s on me to figure out my own version of peace, whatever that looks like.”
