A Daughter's Trust

Him and his statistics. His educating himself about every damn thing.

“The fact remains that if I need out, or need less, I just say so. At any point. I get that choice every single time a new baby becomes available. They ask me if I want another one, with the understanding that I can always say no.”

That out allowed her to say yes. Every single time. To give. And keep giving.

Looking to the ceiling, Sue braced herself. “Oh, God, this is what I was afraid of from the very beginning,” she said. And looked back at Rick. “Remember, I talked about having you give me a ring and me having to say no?”

He started to speak but she cut him off, frustrated. Desperate. “From the very beginning I told you. I’m not like most people, but that doesn’t make me wrong. My life works for me. You’re just like my parents, trying to make me conform.”

“I don’t think your life does work for you.” His words, offered softly, with more compassion than anything else, weren’t what she’d been expecting. “I think you have such a depth of love that you can’t hold it back, which is why you’re able to care for so many babies, by yourself, for years on end. What you do is amazing. Truly amazing.”

He wasn’t yelling at her. Telling her about her deficiencies. Not that anyone ever had.

Except herself.

“And because you have such a depth of love, I think you need the permanence you’re afraid of. I think that’s why I’m still in your bed. Because you finally found someone you couldn’t turn away.”

He’d best stop thinking. Right now. Or find himself having been in her bed for the last time.

Rick would still be her friend, wouldn’t he? He’d be back. He had to be. What they had was different. Special. He felt it, too. She knew he did. And…

“I don’t think the problem is your inability to care long term, or suffocating under the love of those around you.”

He was just so damn sure he was right. As though he was inside her. As though he knew…

“So what do you think my problem is?” Since you’re so wise and all.

“I think you’re afraid of failing.”

“What?”

“You’re afraid that someone is going to need you and you aren’t going to be enough. They’re going to find you lacking. You’re going to let them down.”

Her defenses dropped out of sheer confusion. “That’s exactly right,” she said, frowning. And meeting his gaze head-on. Finally. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

“No, what you’ve been saying is that you get cramped. You have to flee because you get claustrophobic when people care for you. You suffocate under the love of others.”

Yes. That was right. “And when I get that feeling, and have to have my space, I let them down. I fail them.”

“Have you ever asked your parents if they feel as though you’ve failed them? Or have you just assumed?”

Of course she hadn’t. What kind of normal family sat down and had conversations like that? There were certain

things you just took for granted.

Maybe she hadn’t let them down as much as she’d always believed. But there were things Rick didn’t know. Things no one in her life knew. A dorm room. So much blood…

“I’m not saying I’m right, sweetie.” Rick’s voice entered her darkness. Pulled her back. “But is it possible that instead of your feelings of claustrophia being the cause of you failing people, it’s your fear of failing people that makes you feel claustrophobic whenever they get too close? Is that possible?”

She didn’t know. She honestly didn’t know. And it didn’t matter.

“I can’t marry you,” she said softly. “I’ll hurt you just like Sheila did. Because, in the end it doesn’t really matter which came first. The result is the same.”

Rick nodded and she felt so badly.

“I’m Sheila all over again.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, his frustration evident. “You were honest from the start. But that doesn’t change the fact that I want a family. A wife. A mother for Carrie. More children. I can’t settle for less.”