The light died in her eyes and I knew I’d lost her when I said we were perfect for each other. I can’t understand why, and I don’t know how, but there’s no mistaking the awkward silence and the wall that went up between us. I thought we were getting serious, but I sorely misjudged the situation.
After a near-argument about getting her number, she pushed past me and walked to the elevator without a backward glance.
And I almost let her go.
I pulled out my suitcase and tossed the last few items into it. I slammed the lid closed and looked around the room to make sure all my belongings were inside. The sound of the zipper filled the emptiness and I stood it by the door, ready to get to the airport, book a new flight and forget all about her.
Forget her taste on my lips.
Forget her sounds, the little murmur she makes in her sleep.
Forget how alive I feel when I’m with her.
Forget all about the last ten months when she crept into my thoughts daily.
If I let her go it all starts again. The longing. The need. Wondering if she’s safe, or what she’s doing. Despite how we parted, I can’t push her out of my head.
I want her. Only her. There’s no one else for me and I’ve had enough time to come to that conclusion.
The clock screams at me that it’s only been two minutes since the door clicked shut behind her.
I can still get her back.
“Ashley!”
Her head turns slightly, yet she slips around the corner, forcing me to run to catch her. I sprint to the corner, skidding around it and moving into the next gear to run to wherever she is. I slide to a stop and gulp in air, though, because she’s sitting on a giant decorative boulder, expectantly watching for me at the corner.
“You stopped! I can’t believe it. I thought I’d have to chase you for several blocks with the head start you had.”
She shrugs and I notice her red eyes. “Running seemed like a lot of effort, when you’re likely to catch me at the bus stop anyway.”
“Why aren’t you getting a cab?”
She doesn’t answer. Just stares at me like the answer is obvious. For all the touching and talking we did in the last twelve hours, it occurs to me that I didn’t ask some of the most important questions.
Like, where does she live? Who does she live with? And what’s the big thing she wanted to share last night? The thing she said couldn’t wait but I glossed over in my haste to get her into my bed? Whatever it is, I’m almost certain it’s the reason she left just now. The way we fit together; I know in my heart there has to be an enormous barrier to us making a future. No one would give up what we have, what we rediscovered last night, then sit here on this rock crying their eyes out.
What a different outcome this day is, compared to our last parting with whispered words and laughter.
It’s time for me to stop being so selfish and let her unburden herself. Time for me to accept whatever it is about her that she’s hiding and assure her it doesn’t matter. I want her, no matter what. I said last night there was nothing she could tell me that would change how I feel about her.
Just like my declaration of love earlier, I meant every word.
ASHLEY
Silence always surprises me. It can communicate nothing, and everything, all at the same time. Ours is filled with unspoken words as he catches his breath and I stare at him. The sunlight catches his hair highlighting all the different shades of blonde. I watch as he takes a final deep breath and stands upright, his hands on his hips. Being outside suits him, I decide.
This is my chance. We’re at a crossroads. Either we part now, and I keep news of Zeke to myself forever, or I share, and take the chance that he’ll reject me.
Shit.
How did my life get so complicated in such a short space of time? Kent lives overseas, which adds an extra layer of complexity. Yes, he’s into me, and by God, I’m into him. But that’s no basis for a long-term relationship. The minute I tell him, I risk talk of custody visits. Overseas custody visits. That thought tastes like bile.
“Ashley—”
“No. Don’t speak. I said I had to tell you something and it’s now or never. If you don’t let me have the floor my courage will desert me.”
He moves forward but I raise my hand. “Stay there. You might not feel the same once you know.”
Kent opens his mouth, but the tilt of my head warns him against the argument he wants to make. Instead he crosses his arms and holds out one hand, inviting me to start.
“Okay, are you ready?” I let a weak laugh escape and he nods.
I recall the various speeches I’ve rehearsed all these months just in case I saw him again. I prepared myself for a chance meeting in the supermarket with Zeke in my arms. A run-in at a gas station with Zeke strapped into his capsule in the car. Dog walking with the baby strapped to my chest in a carrier. I practiced every possible outcome, hoping one day I’d get to deliver one of those speeches.
Yet, here we are. Face to face with no baby in sight. So I just blurt out the words.
“I have a child. A son.”
Silence is our go-to again.
He waits for me to elaborate but I can’t seem to go on. “That’s it?”
“Yes.” I blink. “No.”
“I don’t care if you have a child.” His face softens, the hint of a smile touching his lips. His shoulders drop and his stiff legs wobble. “Why would you think that would change how I feel about you?”
Don’t relax just yet.
“Well.” I can’t help the fat tear that slides down my cheek. Guilt overwhelms me. Why didn’t I tell him the moment I saw him last night? What kind of a person keeps this news from someone who is so obviously a great guy? “There’s more.”
Kent steps forward and takes my hands. He unfurls my clenched fingers and twists them with his. “Out with it then. Let’s clear the air so we can get back to normal.”
Normal. Life hasn’t been normal for me in so long.
I want to see his reaction, but I can’t bear to look at him as I say in a low voice, “He’s yours, Kent.”
Silence. So much silence today.
The thumb that was sliding over mine stills. He gulps but I don’t look up. I hold my breath, repeating two words in my head. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave.
All these months I told myself I’d be fine without him if he wasn’t interested in this child. But I was wrong. I’ll fall apart all over again after he’s gone.
Cool air washes over my hands as he lets go and steps back. This is it. This is the moment he walks away and we never see him again. The moment I know I am truly on my own.
“What’s his name?”
I look up. “What?”
“His name, Ashley. What’s his name?”
“Zeke.” I babble to fill the silence. “According to the very trustworthy internet, it means God strengthens. I needed all the strength I could get.”
“Zeke.” He tries out the word, tasting it, before he raises smiling eyes to mine. “That’s cute.”
“It is. He is. His birthday is September 17.”
“He’s still small then.”
“Tiny, since he came early.” I press my lips together on the next words. I don’t want to have to cajole Kent into any next steps, but I do want him to know how I feel. Caution is the worst emotion I can embrace right now so I slide off the rock and stand in front of this man who owns my heart. “Still tiny enough to fit right in here.” I slide my thumb across his chest. “If you want him there.”
A burst of loud music or a plane roaring overhead would be welcome right about now. I don’t think I can stand another second of silence. A chill washes over me and I step back, disappointment settling deep in my stomach. This was always how it ended. If I’d carried my speeches and daydreams to their final conclusion, this is the ending I dared not consider.
I turn toward the bus stop, but Kent grabs my elbow. Our eyes meet and a silent message passes between us. I have no idea what his says, but mine telegraphs, ‘give us a chance.’