I looked sheepishly at Chuck.

“She just wants what’s best for you. She hates to see you making things harder on yourself. So … what did his message say?”

I pulled out my phone and read the text aloud, “I can’t believe you dumped me and ruined our entire weekend over the off chance that I might want to dump you over something you can’t control.” I read the next message, “To be honest, I haven’t really thought about it before, but now that you’ve insisted there is a real possibility that children are off the table for us, you’re right. It’s an important decision that I should think about, but you didn’t have to kick me to the goddamn curb to make your point.”

Phaedra returned, impressed with what she’d heard. “He’s a smart little shit. I’ll give him that.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, exhausted. So many warring thoughts in my head hadn’t allowed for much sleep.

“He’s at least pretending to attempt to be objective.”

A scowl compressed my face.

Kirby breezed in, and we all immediately pretended there was nothing wrong. She saw right through our pathetic attempt and grilled me about the weekend every time we had a spare moment to chat.

The Bucksaw was packed for most of the day, a welcome distraction from Kirby’s incessant questions and Phaedra’s disenchanted expressions. When I wiped down the last table of the day and sat on the stool to count my tips, Kirby pushed me past my limit.

“At least tell me who is mad at whom!” she begged.

“No! Stop asking!” I snapped.

Phaedra crossed her arms. “Falyn, I want you to listen to me. There are thousands of couples out there who are childless by choice. Look at Chuck and me. Granted, we’ve got you girls, but we’ve always been happy. You’ve been honest with Taylor. He knows what he’s in for. You can’t force him to do what you think is the right thing.”

Kirby stared at me like I was on fire. “Oh God, Falyn, are you pregnant?”

“I’m out.” I grabbed my things and headed for the stairs.

By the time I finished my shower and crawled into bed, Taylor had texted me. I felt sick, worrying about what he might say, but I read the message anyway.

Day Two. You don’t have to respond. I know you want me to spend this time being objective, and I want this to be done, so fuck me if I don’t do it the right way, and you make me start over. Thought about you all weekend. Yesterday was the first Sunday I’ve had off in three weeks, and it fucking sucks that I spent it here without you. I’m half-missing you, half-pissed at you. Mostly, I’m wondering how you could think anything would be more important to me than you. Kids are important, and yes, our relationship is new. But if it means choosing, I choose you.

True to his word, Taylor had thought about my proposal all week, sending me one text every night.

Day Three. It’s only Tuesday. I feel like I’m going to go out of my fucking mind. You don’t have to respond, but I miss you like hell. It’s hard to think about anything else, but I am, and I still feel the same. This is the longest fucking week ever, and I’m worried you’re just going to tell me to kick rocks anyway. Are you? Don’t answer that. I’m going to go stay with Tommy for a couple of days to clear my head.

On the fourth day, Taylor didn’t text. I lay in bed, worrying until I thought I might puke. Feeling something heavy on my chest, my emotions were all over the place. I didn’t want to lose him, but if he wanted more, I owed it to him to let him go. That kind of selfishness would slowly poison any relationship.

Tears fell from the outer corners of my eyes, down my temples, dripping to my pillowcase with a tiny thud. With my arm resting on my forehead, my eyes closed, I tried to push it from my mind, but the fear tore a hole, and it just kept getting bigger.

I looked over at my alarm clock, the red numbers glowing 4:15 a.m. Just as I reached for my phone, it pinged several times in a row. I scrambled to grab it from the nightstand.

It’s the fifth day of this bullshit im in San Diego and maaybe you’re right.

Maybe a hundred ducking years from now I’ll feel fucked out of having a family and wish i had a sun to play ball with and maybe ill want grandkids maybe I don’t deserve you anyway

Maybe I’m just drunk

Fuck it. Fuck all of this. I love you and ive done everything I’m supposed to until now and I’m further from you than ive been since we met. That’s isnt my fault.

I typed out a dozen different responses, but I knew he’d been drinking, and he was upset. Trying to reason with him or even apologize wouldn’t get me very far, and it might even make things worse. Putting down the phone was the hardest thing I’d done in six years.

For the second time that week, I cursed myself, “I fucking hate you.” I covered my eyes.

Just a few hours later, I rolled out of bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth. Then I got dressed before descending the stairs eleven minutes later. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, only to walk back up to get my apron.

I dragged ass all morning, as expected. I was mostly exhausted but also devastated that my intent was lost in the misery we were both in. Still, I had started this mess, and I wasn’t about to waffle until Taylor could make the decision for himself.

Just after the breakfast rush, my phone buzzed in my apron. I rushed around the bar to check it, knowing it was Taylor.

Day Five. Please respond. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry about last night. I guess technically it was this morning. I’m sitting here in the airport. Just got off the phone with Dad. He made a lot of good points that I need to talk to you about. I’ll be in Eakins by tonight. Please go to St. Thomas. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want. My head is pounding, and I feel like shit, but I wish I felt worse even though I couldn’t feel much worse. I want to see you and hold you so bad I’m going nuts. All I can think about is seeing you. No, don’t respond. I’m afraid of what you’ll say. Just please be there.

I ran my index finger along the edges of the phone case, wondering which of his instructions I should follow. Guilt bled from his message, making my guts wrench.

Why did trying to do the right thing end up being so god-awful for us both?

It was just a break, just a week to think about our future, and we were both torn to pieces.

Chapter Nineteen

The air was so thick when I stepped off the airplane that it felt as if I were wearing it, choking on it, and walking through it. A layer of sweat instantly formed on my skin even though I was wearing shorts and a light blouse.