by Kendall Ryan
“Our differences are significant,” my father cut in. “Your mother wants to go and explore the world and now that we’re getting older, I can’t bring myself to hold her back. But I also can’t bring myself to even think about traveling like that.”
“We are still a family.” My mother smiled from my father to me. “We always will be. We have shared so much of our lives with one another and we have you, but I can’t sit around this house and become an old lady who knits and stares out the window, wishing for more.”
“And I wouldn’t want you to.” My father nodded toward her, then closed his hand over hers. He shot a glance to me and shrugged. “It’s time, son. And we are both at peace with it.”
My mouth went completely dry. Were they serious right now? It’d be one thing if they’d been unhappy. I’d be fully supportive, encouraging each of them to move on to something that made them happier. But this? What in the what? I took a deep breath, searching for the words I knew I was supposed to say as their adult son.
“You should do whatever makes you both happiest, of course. It’s a shock, is all, so I’m just trying to process.” Now that I’d finally found my voice, I couldn’t seem to shut up. “I thought you guys had this fairy-tale marriage, you know?”
“A lot of kids think that,” Mom said. “You never would have known the struggle and compromises we’ve made along the way to make it work as long as it did.”
“But the cancer—”
“—was terrible,” Dad said with a wince, his eyes soft with remembered pain. “But just because someone stood by you through a bad time doesn’t mean you’re shackled to him for life. We get only so much time and we each should guard it as we get older. Use it exactly as we each see fit.”
“Exactly. So instead of ignoring the fact that we are different people, we’ve decided to embrace it and try to find our bliss while we still can.” My mother squeezed my father’s hand. “We hope once you’ve wrapped your head around it all, you can understand and support that decision.”
I nodded slowly and then pushed myself to my feet.
“I need to get some air. Are you guys okay if I just take a little walk and come back in ten?” I asked.
I was a grown-ass man and my parents had to live their lives. There was no question I would support and love them unconditionally. But suddenly, the room felt stuffy and hot and I had to get out, if only to reconcile everything that had just happened.
“Sure thing, sweetie,” Mom said, but I was already halfway toward the door, ready to breathe in the crisp evening air and think through…well, my entire life, really.
Every decision I’d made, every relationship I’d been in had been founded on the belief that once you found your soul mate, that was it. Game over. You stayed together through thick and thin. There was no challenge or difference too great for the two of you to overcome.
Now, though? That was gone. And the timing couldn’t have been worse, from a totally selfish standpoint. I was on the precipice of a huge relationship in my own life with someone who was gun-shy and possibly pregnant with my child. Not only that, I was locked and loaded to go all in based on my own confidence in the premise of soul mates and my unshakeable belief that I’d found mine.
Only soul mates weren’t real. Or at least, the pair I’d always hung my hat on weren’t. And I couldn’t deny, this news was like an A-bomb, obliterating my world and shaking one of my core beliefs.
I took the familiar route I used to walk when I’d hung around with my friends in this neighborhood, but I barely noticed the brick homes or stately trees as I strode past them. Instead, I was focused on my life, the faces of all the girls I’d run through or disappointed over the years because I’d had such strict blinders on. I’d been searching for my one and only the entire time.
If my parents’ happy, perfect relationship wasn’t as happy or perfect as I’d thought, then why had I stayed single for so long? Why had I insisted on being so choosy about the person I’d finally settle down with?
Not for the first time, I thought about fate. That maybe, after all of this, fate had forced me to be single in the hope that it would lead me to Bren and, maybe, our baby?
But now, if my parents were right, what did any of it matter? I had only the here and now.
For the next ten minutes, I ate up the block with my stride, trying to work off some of the tension that had been building since Bren had left.
By the time I got back to my parents’ house, I was feeling less breathless and my brain had finally calmed.
My parents were healthy and, by the looks of it, happy with their decision. They would be fine and so would I. And as for Bren?
Nothing had changed for me.
I thought of her panicked face as she’d sprinted from my apartment. Of her sweet-smelling hair and her soft lips. Of the way her mouth tilted to the side when there was something else on her mind—something she wouldn’t, or maybe couldn’t, tell me. She was hiding something, and I just hoped she’d tell me before it was too late.
She was like no other woman I’d ever known and if it wasn’t love yet, I was well on my way. She could say what she wanted but her body didn’t lie. She was just as into me as I was into her. She was just scared.
I’d known that from the beginning and I’d pushed too hard. She needed time. Time I hadn’t been giving her.
The drawer had been a stupid idea, but I could make it up to her. I just had to figure out how, and how the fuck to get a hold of some extra patience.
Because I had a feeling I was going to need it. Even if soul mates were a crock of shit, she and I needed our shot.
Chapter Seventeen
Bren
“Guess who brought donuts.”
Mandy’s chipper singsong echoed through the front hall of my apartment and I grimaced, groaning to let her know where I was before shoving my pillow over my face.
Lord knew I wasn’t in shape for company—I was barely in shape to be around myself.
Ever since I’d left Mason’s last night, I hadn’t been able to think about anything other than what a complete and total ass I’d been and the sheer, utter terror that had filled my heart as soon as I’d realized what our hot, passionate moment of fun had become.
Together.
Not that Mandy would understand.
In her mind, everything was rainbows and puppy dogs and every chance at love ought to be snatched up and savored—at least, that was the only way I could figure she’d gotten married so young. But that was just it. She was married. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, what a risk it was to take a chance on someone nowadays. It was a jungle out here.
A gentle knock sounded on my wooden bedroom door and I croaked for her to come in, though I didn’t bother to drag the pillow from over my face. Distantly, I heard the rustle of her donut bag and caught the savory, sweet smell of my favorite hazelnut latte.
“If that’s what I think it is, you’re a goddess,” I muttered.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” There was a little thunk and I peeked through the small space between my comforter and pillow to see her setting a tray of drinks on my nightstand before she poked me in the stomach. “It’s ten thirty,” she said with a disapproving click of her tongue.
“So?” I grumbled. “It’s Sunday.”
“Which means you should already have gone on your run and come back by now.”
“I can’t run. I’m pregnant,” I argued.
“You don’t know that,” she shot back with a chuckle. “And besides, I’m pretty sure pregnant people are allowed to run.”
“It’ll wiggle the baby. Or something,” I said stubbornly, pushing the covers off me. Any excuse not to run was just fine by me.
“If your new boyfriend taught you that, then I have some bad news about his credentials as a doctor. Now come on, get up and have a donut with me.”
Grumbling to myself, I propped a few pillows between my back and the headboard,
then grabbed for the cup with my name on it.
“Is this caffeine-free?” I asked suspiciously.
“Yup.” Mandy nodded. “Who knows? The caffeine might—what was the medical term you used? Ah, yes. It might ‘wiggle the baby.’ We’d hate to have that happen.” She rolled her eyes, then took her own cup from the cardboard carrier and brought it to her lips.
I took a sip of hazelnut goodness, sighing at the comforting heat before meeting my friend’s questioning gaze.
“So, spill. What’s the real reason you’re still in bed?” she asked.
“Jeez, can’t a girl sleep in every now and then?” I muttered.
“A girl can. Just not you.” Mandy raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t have morning sickness or anything, right?”
I shook my head. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“Mason stuff?” Mandy pressed.
“Wow, three seconds after I wake up and I’m already being interrogated.” She waited expectantly and I knew she wasn’t going to get off my back unless I told her, so finally I blurted, “Fine, yes, if you must know. Mason stuff.”
“What happened? He confessed his love?” Mandy asked, taking another nonchalant sip of her coffee.
“What? No.” My cheeks flamed as renewed terror consumed me. “God, what would make you say that?”
“Because that’s always when I find you in bed like this,” Mandy shot back.
“I’ve never done this before,” I said, taking another sip from my cup and glaring at her.
“Haven’t you?” she sniffed. “What about two years ago with that Venezuelan guy…what was his name? Don?”
I rolled my eyes again. “That was nothing. He moved way too fast. Buying me a new computer for my birthday? Who did he think he was, fucking Christian Grey, for crying out loud? Take it easy, am I right?” I asked with a snort.
Mandy frowned. “And Devon from work?”
“That wasn’t even a thing,” I protested. “We went on three dates.”
“Until he told you how gorgeous you were in the moonlight and you wigged out and told him you never wanted to see him again.”
“What?” I scowled at her through narrowed eyes. “Who told you that?” I recalled specifically not detailing that little breakup to her because I knew she’d judge me over it.
Maybe because you deserve her judgment? a little voice in my head whispered. I wanted to fire that damn voice of reason and tell it to get lost.
“He did,” Mandy said. “I was waiting for you to finish your evening rounds and he was on his way out. He stopped and asked me what he’d done to turn you into a psycho.”
A psycho?
Ouch.
“And what did you tell him?” I asked, my stomach feeling queasy.
“That you have a habit of picking guys you can’t get emotionally attached to and he shouldn’t take it personally. You’re just broken inside.” She shrugged as if spilling my personal dirt to the world meant nothing.
“Jesus, Mandy. Tell me how you really feel.”
“I always do. That’s why you keep me around,” she said with a smug smile. “Don’t get me wrong, though. I still love you.”
“Good, because you’re wrong,” I said.
She laughed. “Is that so? So, you’re going to tell me the Mason thing that has you lying in bed like an invalid has nothing to do with the fact that you maybe actually like him and he tried to get close to you?”
“I let him get close to me,” I said. “We…did some stuff that was—”
Scary.
“Romantic,” I finished.
“Okay, so did he then introduce you to his toenail collection? Or punch you in the face?”
“Well, no…”
“Did he drop to one knee and ask you to marry him? Because that might be rushing things and that I could see,” she said, taking a big bite of a chocolate glazed donut and chewing while she waited for my response.
“Not exactly.” But it was close. “He offered me a drawer.”
“A drawer?”
“Yeah, you know, like to leave stuff at his place or whatever,” I said, trying not to fidget as she stared me down.
“Oh my God. Did you call the police? Get a restraining order?” she demanded, eyes wide in faux shock.
“Okay, okay, I hear it now as I say it out loud. Not that big of a deal,” I admitted, which sent her off into a fit of laughter.
“Not a big deal at all. Especially since you agreed to spend some time with him and slept with him. Which only goes to prove my point that you have commitment issues. After all, you’re lying in your own bed instead of his right now.”
“It’s complicated,” I tried again.
“It’s not. You like him but you’re doing what you always do. You know, I’ve been handling this with kid gloves for a long time now, but considering everything with the baby, I think it’s time for some tough love, kid.”
“Meaning what?” I asked, inwardly cringing at what I knew would come next.
“It’s time to face facts. You are not your mother.”
“I know that,” I shot back reflexively.
“Do you?” she challenged me. “Because last I checked, you were still emotionally closed off. You know, just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to be in constant fear of losing them or that, if you do, you will never be able to grieve and find a new normal again. What happened with your dad—”
“I get your point,” I said. “But I don’t agree with you. It might look that way, maybe, from the outside, but I don’t think that’s the problem. I just don’t like being rushed.”
“Fine, you want to prove you’re not closed off? Let’s take it to the Lady’s Journal.” She whipped her phone out of her pocket and thumbed the screen menacingly.
I raised my eyebrows. “What’s a magazine going to tell us about whether I’m emotionally available? I mean, you’re an amazing friend. You know that I’m there for you emotionally, right? I’m not a person who doesn’t know how to love or something.”
“For me, yes.” Mandy nodded. “But with men, it’s another story, and last month’s personality quiz, ‘Are You an Ice Princess?,’ is going to prove it.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Really? An ice princess?”
“Their words, not mine.”
“Gee, thanks. I’m starting to think you only brought the donuts to soften the blow here.” I dug in the brown bag and pulled out a glazed confection, then closed my eyes to focus on the sugary goodness in the hope of blocking out the carbohydrate carrying torture I’d just invited inside my private sanctuary.
“If I did, then it only goes to show how my master plan is working.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, now, question one. When was the last time you told someone you loved them?” she asked.
“The last time I called my mother. So, a week ago,” I said with not a little triumph.
She gave me the dead eyes and shook her head slowly. “Your mother obviously doesn’t count.”
“Where is that in the question?” I challenged her.
“It goes unspoken. Now, come on, get serious.” Mandy shot back.
“Isn’t this multiple choice?” I groaned.
“Not for you, it isn’t. Stop stalling.”
“What if I told you I love you right now?” I tried, desperate.
Mandy rolled her eyes. “A man, then. When was the last time you told a man you loved him?”
I bit down on my bottom lip. Before he died, I used to tell my father I loved him nearly every day. It had been one of the most important rules of growing up in my family. The world was a crazy place and anything could happen, so before it did, you made sure you told the people you loved that you loved them often and loudly. Before I left the house, whenever I called, whenever I went to bed, I told him. And then, when he’d gotten sick, those words had become a plea.
“I love you
, Dad” became “Please don’t go” or “Don’t leave us.”
And for my mother? She could hardly speak without bursting into tears during that time.
My own eyes burned as I shoved the memory away.
“Hello?” Mandy cleared her throat again. “You there?”
“Just thinking. I don’t think this question counts for me. What if I have never been in love?”
Mandy pursed her lips. “Seems like a cop-out.”
“Fine, fine. So, I told a boy in middle school that I loved him. I think that was the last time if you’re not counting, you know, my dad or anything,” I rushed through the second half of my sentence but it didn’t matter—Mandy knew me too well to let it pass unnoticed.
“You haven’t told a man you loved him since before your father died?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Maybe we should move on to the next question.”
“Fine.” Mandy glanced down at her phone, clicked something, then read, “How many dates does it take before you share personal details about your past?”
“I already told Mason about my past. He knows what my favorite childhood toy was and everything.”
“Then he already knows about your mom and dad?” Mandy asked.
“Well, that’s not fair. The specifics of it haven’t really come up.”
“Really? There was never an opening for you to tell him—the man who might be the father of your child—about your family? Not a single moment?”
I focused aggressively on my donut and licked at a bit of the glaze. “I don’t think I like this pushy side of you.”
“I’m your boss.”
“Only at work,” I reminded her. “And I don’t think it’s that important for Mason to know all my baggage so quickly. It’s good to keep a little bit of mystery.”
“Meaning you don’t know any of his?”
I thought back to our night—the way he’d spoken about his mother’s illness, the way some of his dreams had been snatched from him. “I know some of his history. I don’t know that it counts as baggage.”
“Right. So I’m guessing you want to skip this question too?” Mandy asked.
