I expect him to say no. He’s self-sufficient and doesn’t let me do things for him. I respect that about him. Now that I hear about how he shoulders responsibility for his brother, I understand it better, too.
It’s not all that different from how I feel about my sisters, but it seems lonelier. He lives behind protective walls that protect his personal space, and I’m not sure he’ll ever let me in.
“Duchess, I would love nothing more, but that’s a lot of driving, and it has to be uncomfortable now that you’re bigger.” His large hand comes to my belly for the first time since he arrived, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.
“I’m huge, aren’t I?”
“You have never looked lovelier.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine driving. It relaxes me. I’ll just need a few extra bathroom stops because this kid of yours likes to shove its feet into my bladder.”
I see that same conflicted look on his face again, the same one he had when he was trying not to tell me what was wrong. “Anything else you feel like saying?” I ask.
“I guess…I hope that wasn’t too much information. I’ve been wanting to let you know about my brother, but I'm kind of embarrassed that this is my family. Doesn’t exactly reflect well on my ability to parent, and I don’t want airing all my shit to drive you away.”
“I don’t see it like that, Fitz. You’re not his parent, but you clearly care about him. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. And you never need to be embarrassed about anything you tell me. Your struggles make me like you more, not less.”
His features go slack and he blinks at me, confused. “I don’t even get how that’s possible.”
“It just is.”
Fitz looks at the ground and says nothing. After a moment, he looks up and nods. “Can we talk about something else? Strollers?”
I nod, grateful that he shared what he did and hopeful that he won’t shut back down now that he has. “Yes, we can talk about strollers.”
Fitz takes my hand and we start walking back to the store.
When we get back inside the baby shop, Fitz is visibly calmer. He patiently looks at all of the strollers, then pulls one from the row. It’s navy blue with mallard ducks and hunter green plaid trim. “What do you say?”
“Is this for you or the baby?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Um, what if we have a little girl who doesn’t go duck hunting?”
“Why wouldn’t our little girl go duck hunting? I’ll teach her how to do it safely and how to honor the animal.” The sparkle in his eye is back, and so is the trace of a smile.
I have a whole lot to say about hunting and the thought of shooting animals is foreign to this city girl, but I decide this isn’t the time. He points at a forest green plaid. “This one?”
And then one that’s bright orange. “Or maybe this?”
I laugh. “You are really going to make a statement when you’re taking the baby out for walks. I love it.”
“Proud dad, that’ll be my statement.”
“Best statement ever.” I signal to the sales clerk, point at the orange stroller, and tell her we’d like two.
When we get backto Fitz’s ranch, I look at everything differently. The neat hedgerows I know he’s planted andmaintained, the flowers that seem so happy in their environment that they bloom year-round, the fresh paint on the porch railing. He juggles all of these tasks while running a massive ranch that supplies restaurants across Southern California and also caring for his brother. And me.
I’m in awe when Fitz brings out the grooming supplies because he knows how much I love brushing the horses even though he probably has more important tasks than standing in the paddock feeding them carrots.
He hauls out a big bucket and fills it with soapy water. “You ever give a horse a bath, Duchess?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
Maybe it’s the emotional toll of shopping for baby supplies coupled with getting a big weight off his chest, but Fitz seems lighter. He shows me how to soap up the horses with a brush, and my heart swells at how the horses respond to him, throwing their heads and standing obediently, clearly in love with him.
I feel an ache in my heart, understanding how they feel.