"Our boy," he says. His tone is gentle, hopeful even. I know that's all he really wants--for me to trust him with my son the way he trusts me with his. And maybe one day I will.
"It's pretty out here." The sun is nowhere near setting, but it's low enough in the sky for the land to bask in a gorgeous yellow and orange light. Jim didn't pawn the boys off on his parents so we could stand in an empty field, so I try to find a way to get my feet to move. My man had plans for us, and the least I can do is not fuck them up for him.
"Dad put this place up for sale." Dad. It's not often that he refers to Rage as his dad, but I hold tight to those moments every time he does.
"Whoever buys it is going to be damn lucky," I say. I want to change the subject, but I don't exactly know why. It's just a piece of land, and it's more than I can afford. I don't know anything about owning land, but all of a sudden, I want it. I want to be on the other side of a tree line from his parents. I want my boys to be able to run over to Grandma's. I want Grandpa close enough to whoop their asses when Jim's not around and they need it. Mostly, I just want some kind of permanency in my life. No matter the amazing things my man says, I still don't feel rooted here. Maybe I'm being pushy, but I need that shit. I need the paper and the deed. I need to know that these kids belong to me and this man isn't going anywhere. I need to know the place where I live has my name on it. I need all of that, and maybe I should be apologizing for being such a needy bitch, but I won't. If Jim's taught me anything in the last year, it's that it's okay to ask for what you want. I just have to find my voice first.
"What if we bought it?"
I'm stunned in silence at his casual suggestion. Pulling my brain out of self-pity mode for a moment, I try to really listen to what he's said to me. His dad put the place up for sale. A little bit of the tension that's been building leaves my body. This land already belongs to the Stone family. We could buy it. But then we'd be living together on a piece of land either he or I--or both of us--own, and we'd still not have the permanency that being married would provide. So, no, I don't want to buy this land from his dad. I don't want any of it unless I can have all of it.
"And what? The deed will say James Stone and Ruby Buckley. Or maybe just James Stone."
Jim pulls away and walks around to face me. His jaw ticks.
"This again?"
"What do you mean 'this again'? I brought up getting married once and only once. Don't make me feel bad for doing exactly what you've been encouraging me to do."
"You're half a step from pissing me off." His words are cold and callous in a way I'm no longer used to. Unable to stop myself, I flinch in response but refuse to back down.
"Welcome to the fucking party, Jim. I've been pissed off since Thanksgiving." The longer I stew on my rejected marriage proposal, the more bitter I get. He says he loves me, even says he'll walk through fire, burn the world to the ground, and put up with my fucking crying because I'm it for him. But he won't marry me, and he won't tell me why, so how much of that is bullshit?
"Think I don't know that? You think I like everybody asking when I'm gonna lock you down and not being able to tell them why I haven't already? Newsflash, babe. I. Fucking. Don't. I hear the fucking comments you make to my mother about Grady being married to a junkie. Because, hey, at least they're fucking married, right? I hear it in your goddamn voice when you talk about wanting to adopt Ryan, and I want that for you and him. And I want Ian as mine, but I can't right now, so just fucking let it go."
"Tell me. Tell me why." I'm shouting now, unable to contain my anger. Those fucking tears he talks about are threatening to fall down my cheeks. I won't give him that, though. I won't let Jim reduce me to tears. Again. Every time I cry, he holds me and tells me something ridiculous our boys did to distract me from whatever we were fighting about to begin with. And it works almost every time, but not this time. I won't be deterred.
"Can't." His jaw ticks in response. The truth is on the tip of his tongue, and I'm going to get it out of him even if I have to cut the damn appendage out of his mouth myself.