Page 82 of Falling Back to You

“Girls are expensive—between makeup, hair, nails, and extracurriculars, it adds up. That’s why you need to think about securing your future today.”

He was like a door-to-door salesmen trying to convince me to buy a vacuum or water cooler. I’d tell him I wasn’t interested, but instead of leaving he’d rattle off another fact to demonstrate that the Clean Sweep 3000 was the best bang for my buck. My dad didn’t take days off; he was gonna wear me down, bringing up Texas in every conversation, text message, and email.

“We’re finalizing the agreement with the contractor for the Texas build. I need you to be on board with this. No more pussyfooting. Palmer Ranch is as much yours as it is mine. And I need to know you’re willing to make the appropriate sacrifices.”

My gaze settled on Maple at the bouquet-crafting station laughing with her friends. Missing out on moments like this was not a sacrifice I was willing to make. For me it wasn’t just birthdays, which my father had missed many of, but the lost teeth, the walks in the field searching for grasshoppers, or the bedtime stories that rivaled stage plays. It was about being there to offer a bear hug when life kicked her in the face, and her knowing that, no matter what, her daddy would always be a ten-minute drive away. It was bad enough I had to split my Maple time with Dial. I wasn’t missing a millisecond more.

I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders. “I just don’t think Texas is a good fit.”

My father stepped in front of me, blocking the view of my baby girl. “I’m sorry, maybe I led you to believe you have options. You do not. This is a family-run ranch and you’re my son, and a son should mind his father.”

“I’m not a child, though.”

“You’re my child, and until I’m dead and buried, you will do as I say. Do you hear me?”

How the fuck was I supposed to respond to that? Getting disowned was not part of the plan. This ranch was as much a part of me as the air I breathed. I didn’t know much, but I knew horses and what it took to run a ranch. What would I look like getting a job at the grocery store or helping people file their taxes? I was Ernest Palmer’s son. Every lesson my father had taught me was about how to be a horse trainer and ranch operator. The mechanics of what it meant to be a man, I’d learned on my own.

“Yes, sir.” Because what else was there to say? My father’s mind was made up, so there was no need to continue going back and forth, hoping he’d see things from my point of view.

Weaving through the party, I ensured everyone’s stomachs were full, and their cups were topped off. One thing about me was if you came to anything I was hosting, you’d be well fed. I didn’t get to throw parties as much as I’d like to, but when I did, the guests had a ball. My daughter’s eighth birthday was no exception. The ranch didn’t typically host children’s parties, but when your daddy ran the ranch, nothing was impossible.

What would subsequent birthdays look like if I walked away from all this? Not that I wanted to, but my father was leaving me with limited options. I refused to be an every-other-weekend father. Raising Maple was the most consequential life experience I’d have. I wasn’t fucking this up.

“What are you over here in deep thought about?” Cyrus asked. He’d kept his promise and come through.

“How finite time is and how much of it I’ve wasted.”

“Come again?”

“In ten more years, Maple will be eighteen, and I don’t think she has any memories of me and her momma together. And that pisses me off. She knows I love her momma, but I want her to see it every day. I want her to witness us loving each other and what that can be like. A healthy relationship, not a toxic one.”

“Where’s all this coming from?”

“Birthdays make you think about the future. At least, that’s how it works for me.”

“Okay.”

I switched from staring off into the distance to looking at Cy. “Are you hiring?”

“You searching for a job?”

“Shit, I think my dad’s liable to fire me.”

“Because of Texas?”

“Because I’m not built like him. Because I’m soft. Because raising my kid is not a hobby, it’s a full-time fucking job for me. And if he thinks I’m gonna up and leave my daughter, he’s wrong.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“I tried, and he essentially told me to shut my bitch ass up and fall in line.”

“And then you said…”

“I didn’t say shit. I thought about a lot of stuff. I mumbled some shit as he walked away. Far away. If I pushed, Ernest would’ve manhandled me in front of my daughter and her little friends.” I wasn’t afraid of my father—I was terrified. He cast a long shadow, and my entire life had been spent meeting his ever-evolving expectations.

“You know who’s scarier than your father? Dial,” Cyrus said.

“Any way you spin it, I’m getting my ass beat. Either by Dial when I tell her I’m leaving or my dad when I tell him I’m not.”