He shakes his head but doesn’t reply. That’s my life with the Wilde brothers.
This is how they communicate: not at all.
They leave me alone for the night, and I sigh. Everyone is so enthralled in their own hurt that they’ve forgotten how to be a real pack.
Fuck, it hurts.
four
Veda
My lids crack open, at least I try, but my eyes are too swollen after a full day of crying. That's all I’ve done since I left the hospital. I cry in silence if someone is around, and I cry loudly when I’m alone. And now that Wilde Ranch is my home, I can cry as much as I want.
My new home isn’t bad. The bed is comfortable, and the room is spacious, though bare, as if they’ve never thought about having a guest. I had no idea Grandpa organized this little stay until I was home from the hospital, and he was ready to send me away once again. I heard about families who would send their pregnant shame away, but I never expected he would send me awayafterthe baby was born.
It doesn’t matter much to me. I can fall apart here just as well as any place. At least no one is knocking on my door. Hurting this badly in an unfamiliar place might be better than if I were at home.
After I finished school, Grandpa gave me a few choices to work under the wing of carefully chosen women. I helped out during fundraisers, learning how to behave as a good society woman. It wasn’t my dream, but it gave me something to do. Since I fell pregnant, he has made sure I have been kept at home. I already liked the staff at hishouse, but it was impossible not to form bonds with them when they were the only ones kind to me during my pregnancy.
It’s horrible to say, but now their pity glances hurt too bad. Any time they look at me, I don’t see kindness. I see everything I lost. There’s something profoundly wrong with coming home without a baby, so it’s best that I’m not home at all.
It doesn’t mean anything feels right.
It’s like someone ripped off a limb. Sometimes I can’t breathe with how much I miss her. I touch my empty belly, knowing she’s not there anymore, and it breaks me in a way nothing in my life ever did. The postpartum bleeding doesn’t help. It’s a cruel reminder that the pregnancy is over, and all I have left is pain and blood.
Inside my head, a loop replays every cruel thing Grandpa ever said to me. Mostly, that my mother never wanted me, and that’s why I wouldn’t make a good mother. It’s not in my blood. I never got a good example of what motherhood is supposed to look like, so, of course, I shouldn’t attempt to be one. His reasoning doesn't make much sense, and the words cut me deeply.
And sure, I didn’t have a mother, but I had my grammie until she died. I remember her trying to tame my curls, making sure I looked good to go to school. I have flashes of her telling me stories before going to bed. Yes, they were from the Bible, but I didn’t mind. I wanted attention and love, and she gave me that in spades.
I’d like to think I’d make a good mother.
All I ever wanted was to be loved and wanted. I surely could do that for her. I already love her so much it hurts.
A new wave of sadness barrels against my chest, and I start crying again, soaking the pillow under my head. I’ve lost all concept of time. With the windows closed and the curtains drawn, all I know is that Icry until I’m exhausted and sleep just to dream about Mirasol and her cries begging me to hold her.
“Time to work!”
Major pounds on the door, but not even his angry tone can take me away from the pain festering inside. My stomach growls, but I’d have to care if I live or die to notice, so I don’t leave the bedroom to eat or to work. Regardless of how many times Major comes around to let me know I need to earn my keep.
Yet he never comes in.
Even with a foggy brain, I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t invade my privacy despite this being his home. He could open that door at any moment. I’m not sure what I can do with that information, or if there’s anything I should notice at all, so I put it aside and keep sleeping. I keep crying.
“Veda? Are you up?”
It’s sometime in the early morning. There’s light coming from the crack under the door, and I can hear the cowboys going about their day. It’s not Major calling my name, that much I know. I’m not sure which one it is, but his tone has a softness Major doesn’t have.
“I’m leaving breakfast here at your door.”
The room swims when I sit up. I clutch the sheets, damp from the postpartum sweats. That is the grossest thing I’ve ever gone through. Not caring for myself is officially taken to a new level, one that not even I could accept. My wobbly knees make their way across the room, and I open the door to find a small plate with egg, toast, and bacon waiting for me.
Thankfully, the toast is to the side, not contaminating the rest of the meal with gluten. My stomach growls loudly, and I take the plate and close the door before Major has time to come back and tell me I need to work. Before I even sit, I shove a piece of bacon in my mouth,the saltiness exploding over my tongue. I moan, and I keep devouring my breakfast. My hands are greasy because I don’t even care enough to use utensils.
Fed, my brain doesn’t hurt with every thought that comes across my head. I’m grateful for breakfast, though I’m still hungry, and I wish it weren’t just toast staring back at me. It’s obvious that Grandpa never told them anything about me. If he forgot to mention I’m a woman, I bet he didn’t care to say I’m celiac too. It’s not surprising they are trying to feed me gluten. It’s also safe to assume he never told them I just had a baby. Asking a woman to work on a ranch days after she gave birth is insane.
Which is…good.
My eyes go to the door, and I think about the situation. I’ve been saying this is good without the pitying looks, but it could be even better. I could leave this behind. I just need to pretend it didn’t happen, right?
