Moments We Forget

by Beth K. Vogt

  Geoff remained standing just outside the dismantled kitchen. “I don’t have to ask what you were talking about. I heard.”

  “I . . . I didn’t expect you home so early.”

  My words made it sound as if I was trying to hide something from him. I wasn’t. Not really.

  Geoff huffed a short laugh, removing his glasses and then rubbing the back of his hand against his jaw. “I imagined you wouldn’t have had that little conversation if you thought I’d be coming home now.”

  “No. That’s not what I meant.” I turned my phone over and over in my hands. “I can—”

  “Are you going to say you can explain? Because I really want to hear it, Jillian. Why were you talking to someone about adoption when I’ve told you that I don’t want to adopt?”

  With his words, Geoff built the invisible line between us back into a brick wall, and anger simmered hot behind it. He could barely get the words out, his jaw was clenched so tight.

  Why was my husband so angry?

  “I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.” I took a step, two, toward him. Stopped. “I was gathering some information so we could talk.”

  He slid his glasses back on. “We already talked about this.”

  “We did not.” I pointed my phone at him. “You said no before we could discuss adopting.”

  “I said no because there is no reason to discuss it.” Geoff paused. Looked away from me for a moment. His shoulders shifted as if he carried an invisible weight. “The truth is . . . the truth is, I don’t want to have children, Jillian.”

  My husband might as well have said that he didn’t love me. Or that he wanted a divorce. Or something even more absurd, like he was an alien. As his words echoed in my mind, I wanted to scream at him, “Don’t say that to me. You can’t mean that. Of course you want children.”

  I fought to remain calm. “What do you mean, you don’t want children?”

  “It’s a self-explanatory statement.” His words were rough. “I don’t want to have children.”

  “Why didn’t you bother to tell me this before now?”

  “We never really tackled the kids-or-no-kids question when we were dating. It seemed like a nonissue. You didn’t bring it up, so neither did I. Things moved so fast.” Geoff adjusted his glasses as if he were having difficulty seeing me. “And then you were diagnosed with breast cancer right when we got engaged. It wasn’t the time to say, ‘Let’s talk about kids.’ I thought we’d have time to discuss all of this later.”

  “Discuss the fact that you’d already decided we wouldn’t have children?” I couldn’t keep a shrill note out of my voice. “You didn’t think that was important? Why did we even go through the process of freezing my eggs?”

  “Because it was important to you.”

  “Do you hear how you just contradicted yourself? First having children isn’t important to me, then it is. What kind of explanation is that?”

  “You had a lot on your mind and you obviously wanted the chance to have children—I didn’t want to take that from you then, not when you were facing cancer.”

  “But you’ll take that chance away from me now.”

  My knight in shining armor was slipping off his horse. Geoff, who had loved me in so many brave, amazing ways, was breaking my heart—and there were no tears in his eyes . . . no sign of emotion on his face at all.

  With his declaration, I’d become married to someone I didn’t know.

  “Let’s be honest, Jillian.” Geoff shook his head. “Why all this sudden interest in adopting when you couldn’t handle your job at the bank?”

  “What . . . what kind of question is that?”

  “It’s a realistic one. How can you think about taking care of a baby when you can’t handle something as simple as paperwork?”

  His words reminded me, once again, of all my inabilities, and lashed at what little self-control I had left. Geoff, who had always defended me, found me “less than,” too.

  I had no response. No defense.

  I stumbled past him, up the stairs to our bedroom, slamming the door on the sound of him calling my name. I twisted the lock, securing my safety, before I crawled into bed, pulling the covers around my shaking body.

  I couldn’t have children.

  In Geoff’s eyes, I wasn’t even capable of caring for a child.

  But it didn’t matter, because he’d already decided that the two of us would comprise our family. No sons. No daughters.

  Just us.

  PAYTON WAS AS COMFORTABLE in Zach’s cabin as she was in her townhome. It was almost humorous to think back to the times she’d resisted coming here. But now the past events, with their misunderstanding and heartache, had been covered over with forgiveness and second chances. With friendship, an understanding of grace, and hope for a future for her and Zach.

  A hope that neither of them voiced aloud.

  Laz, Zach’s dog, stretched out in front of the fireplace in the open great room with its large windows that provided a view of the mountains. Colin, Zach’s coworker, and his girlfriend, Deanna, had just returned from a brief after-lunch walk and were watching the Seahawks game, something Payton could tolerate since it was a bye week for the Broncos.

  Payton washed the lunch dishes, rinsing them and then handing them to Zach so he could dry them and put them away in the cabinets he’d custom-designed and installed.

  “I’m impressed with your latest attempt at a vegan recipe.” Payton offered Zach a bowl. “That black bean soup was delicious. I’m glad Colin and Deanna got to enjoy it with us.”

  “Me, too. I’ve come a long way from having nothing but a couple of dried-up pieces of fruit in my fridge, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, you have. You’re quite a guy.”

  Zach slipped the damp dish towel over her head and down around her waist, pulling her close against his body. “And you, Payton, are quite a woman.”

  The air seemed to spark between them, all attempts at casual compliments disappearing.

  “Zach, we’re not alone!” That was probably a good thing—something planned by Zach. Payton’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And my hands are wet . . .”

  “Let me help you with that.” Zach’s husky whisper matched hers as he used the cotton cloth to dry first one hand, then the other, his touch warm and gentle. When he was done, he let the towel drop to the floor, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her even closer.

  His gray eyes searched hers as he caressed the side of her face with his fingertips.

  All she longed for was found in this man’s arms. And this kiss—because, oh yes, he was going to kiss her for the first time—would be more than just a kiss. It would be a yes to him. An admission that she was in love with him. That she knew he was in love with her, too.

  But he deserved better than that from her. Better than a yes now and both of them being sorry later.

  Payton pressed her hand against his chest, half-turning away. “No, Zach.”

  He stilled. “What is going on with us, Payton?”

  “Is this a ‘define the relationship’ talk?” She tried to lighten the mood with a laugh.

  Zach stepped back, raking his fingers through his hair. “Of course it isn’t. We can’t have that kind of talk because we’re still stuck at square one. At just friends.”

  “And that makes you angry?” Payton bent and picked up the dish towel.

  “Yes.” Zach groaned. “No.”

  Payton twisted the length of cotton material between her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

  “Payton, where are you with God?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “But you do know we can’t do anything about this—what we feel for each other—until you figure that out, right?”

  “I’ve told you that I don’t know what I think, Zach. If anything, I’m more confused than I was a few months ago.”

  His mouth twisted with unspoken words, a V deepening between his eyes. “But you’ve been reading books. Coming t
o church. We’ve been talking. How can you not know?”

  “And now you’re pressuring me.”

  Zach’s shoulders slumped. “I never meant to pressure you, Payton. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel that way. I just wanted to help . . . to answer your questions . . .”

  “You want me to say I believe in God because you want more from me.” She fought against the words building inside her but lost. “Sometimes I think you should just date Kelsey.”

  Zach stiffened. “Kelsey? What does she have to do with any of this?”

  “She’s the kind of girl you need in your life, Zach. Not me.” One of them needed to speak the truth, no matter how bitter the words were. “She probably started going to church the day she was born. Knows all the right answers. Believes what you believe—there’s no confusion with Kelsey.”

  Payton had seen Kelsey watching them during church services, probably wondering what Zach was doing hanging around with someone like her.

  “Kelsey and I are friends. Nothing more.”

  “You and I are just friends, too, Zach.”

  “You’re saying you don’t love me?”

  No matter what she did or didn’t know about God, she knew how she felt about Zach. And she couldn’t lie. Wouldn’t lie. Zach deserved the truth. “Yes, I love you.”

  “Then I’m willing to wait . . . to hope . . .” He took a step toward her.

  “But I can’t . . . I can’t fall in love with you.” Payton raised her hands, fending off his advance.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She’d been walking an emotional tightrope for months. Let’s be friends. Just friends. And today Zach was shaking the wire beneath her feet, threatening to send her tumbling. She wanted to ignore reason and leap into midair, to fall madly in love with this man, whose heart had pounded beneath her palm when he’d held her moments ago.

  But she had to do the right thing so there were no regrets. No reason to say, “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not a Christian, Zach.” There. She’d said it—and he knew it. “I mean, I believe in God . . . I think. More than I used to. When I’m with you, it’s easy to lean into your faith. Church is nice . . . it’s not foreign to me. I like the worship music. I can even sing along now. And the sermons are encouraging. But sometimes I still feel like I’m on the outside looking in.”

  “Everyone starts with doubts, Payton. We can figure them out. Together.” Zach clasped her hands, attempting to lead her to the couch in the living room. “Ask me. Better yet, we can talk about it, all four of us.”

  “Stop.” She tugged her hands away, anchoring her feet to the kitchen floor. “You can’t help anymore. I can’t have a relationship with God so I can have a relationship with you . . . so I get some sort of approval stamp for falling in love with you. And I don’t want to discuss this with Colin and Deanna.”

  Zach’s eyes clouded over. “You know I’ve struggled with this, too. Tried to convince myself that we’re okay . . . that we’re friends . . . nothing more. I meant what I said, Payton. I’ll wait—however long you need.”

  Sometimes, with all of her own battles, Payton forgot Zach faced his own.

  “I’m sorry . . . I wish I could make a decision. It’s not just you.” The complications rose up in her mind again. “I can’t believe in God so I can wear Pepper’s necklace—so I can make my dead sister happy. I have to do this—if I do this—for me.”

  How ironic. In her effort to find God, she was pushing away the man she never thought she could love.

  Tightness closed her chest, seeming to make it difficult for her heart to take its next beat, and her hands trembled. She hadn’t had an anxiety attack in months. But this was more like her heart icing over.

  Maybe she could change her mind. Let Zach help her find her way.

  No. She had to do the right thing—or forever doubt herself. Forever doubt her faith.

  “So where does this leave us?”

  “Maybe we break up?” Even as she asked the question, Payton realized how absurd it sounded. “I mean, I know it’s not like we’re dating . . .”

  “Stop being friends? Stop loving you?” Zach reached for her hands again. “I can’t change how I feel because you want me to, Payton.”

  She stepped away, her hands behind her back. “So we stop spending so much time together. We’re fooling ourselves telling everyone we’re just friends—telling ourselves we’re just friends. We both want more. We both feel more for each other.”

  “But we can’t have it.” Zach’s words shut the door on their future.

  “I need time and space to figure this out . . . not just what I believe about God, but why I believe it.” The next words burned her throat. But she had to speak them. “Maybe we’re not meant to be together at all.”

  “I don’t believe that. And you don’t either.”

  “I don’t know what I believe. Or why. That’s the problem.”

  The more they talked, the more their words snarled like a ball of yarn tossed back and forth between them. She told herself to leave, only to find herself in his arms, her face pressed against his chest.

  “I love you, Zach. You’re my best friend. . . . I haven’t felt this close to anyone since Pepper died.” The pain in his eyes when she looked up had to be a reflection of her own heartache. “You’ve taught me to believe there is a God. I’m going to do my best to find my way all the way to Him . . . and hope He leads me back to you. But if . . . if He doesn’t, I’m going to believe it’s for the best.”

  That was all the truth she could speak for now.

  The warmth of Zach’s arms was, once again, a safe haven for her. But she couldn’t stay there any longer. She couldn’t trust herself to be strong. To do the right thing and leave.

  She stepped away, forbidding herself to say, “I love you” again. Hoping Zach would know not to say he loved her again because it would crumble her resolve.

  “I’m going to slip out the back door. It’s cowardly, I know.” Payton brushed away the tears filling her eyes. “I don’t care what you tell Colin and Deanna. They know something’s going on—I saw him glance in here a few minutes ago.”

  Once in her car, Payton rested her forehead on the steering wheel. Maybe . . . maybe she should go back inside. Sit. Talk with Zach and Colin and Deanna. Let them help her.

  No.

  She had to let her determination to do what was right, to figure out what she believed on her own, somehow be stronger than her fear of losing her way to God.

  And be stronger than her fear of losing Zach.

  THIS MORNING I didn’t know who needed to get outside more—Winston or me. But then again, I knew I’d enjoy taking Winston for a walk more than I’d enjoyed my shower half an hour earlier.

  I’d stood beneath the spray, hoping the warmth would seep into the chill that had encased my heart for the past week. But if it did, my heart would have to struggle to beat against the overwhelming losses I’d been dealt.

  My best friend was leaving.

  My husband had declared we’d be childless.

  I had less than two weeks before Harper headed east. And when Geoff came home, we moved around one another like strangers who’d been chosen at random to be roommates.

  The house was too quiet again this morning, despite Winston’s insistent barks and the echoes of my last conversation with Geoff, where I found myself trapped between his revelation and his accusation.

  “The truth is . . . the truth is, I don’t want to have children, Jillian.”

  “How can you think about taking care of a baby when you can’t handle something as simple as paperwork?”

  Geoff’s words pummeled my heart, making me doubt who I was in ways I never had before.

  I had nowhere important to go, but I couldn’t stay here. Maybe I’d be able to eat breakfast after taking Winston for a walk. One thing I could do well—I could walk our dog. I threw on the first coat my fingers touched in the little front hall closet—one of Geoff’s zippere
d jackets lined with fleece that wrapped me in his scent. I stood there for a moment and savored the false sense of closeness. Then I fished a pair of gloves out of the basket on top of the table and managed to calm Winston long enough to clip his leash to his collar.

  “Yes, yes, we’re going for a walk if you’ll be still for just a minute. . . .”

  Wind bit at my face and neck as I stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind me. Maybe I should go back for a scarf and hat. But Winston tugged me forward, down the steps.

  Onward.

  As we rounded the corner, Gianna came toward us pushing a running stroller, Avery snugged inside a blanket decorated with hearts and stars, a fuchsia knit hat topped with a large pom-pom tugged low over her eyes. The two-year-old looked better than I did. Gianna and I did the typical make-eye-contact-smile-look-away routine until we were close enough to talk.

  “Morning, neighbor.”

  “Out for a run?” I nodded toward the stroller, allowing Winston to sniff the wheels.

  “Out—but not running. Avery and I were both a little stir-crazy this morning.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  I gestured at Winston. “Just a short walk.”

  Gianna pulled the stroller back and to the side, the rubberized wheels scraping on the sidewalk, maneuvering it so we faced the same way. “Mind if we join you? It’d be nice to talk to an adult.”

  There was no way I could tell Gianna, “No, I’d rather you didn’t join me.” Because then I might confess that I wanted her life. Wanted the chance to push a stroller with my own two-year-old in it who demanded my attention and interrupted my conversations and brought me dandelion bouquets.

  “No, of course not. But I’m not a fast walker.”

  “This is more about mental health than exercising.”

  “For me, too, to be honest.” I positioned myself on the outside, walking on the grass so Gianna could stay on the sidewalk.

  “Last time we talked, the house renovation wasn’t going as planned. What’s the update?”

  “The good news is we have new electrical and new pipes.” I infused as much excitement as I could into my voice. “The bad news is our budget is a mess.”