Brown-Eyed Girl (Travises 4)
When I realized what I was doing… rehearsing for a conversation with him… I pushed away the notepad and made myself dial.
Joe picked up right away. The sound of his voice, that familiar, comforting drawl, made me feel good all over and at the same time filled me with wrenching longing. “Avery, honey. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Missing you.”
“I miss you too.”
“Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“I’ve got all night. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
I sat back farther on the bed and crossed my legs. “Well… I had the big meeting today.”
“How did it go?”
I described it in detail, everything that had been said, everything I’d thought and felt. While I did most of the talking, Joe was deliberately reserved, refusing to express an opinion one way or the other.
“Did you talk numbers?” he asked eventually.
“No, but I’m pretty sure the money will be big. Maybe life-changing.”
He sounded sardonic. “Whether or not the money’s life-changing, the job sure as hell will be.”
“Joe… this is the kind of opportunity I’ve always dreamed of. It looks like it really could happen. They made it pretty clear that they want to make it work out. If so… I don’t know how I can turn it down.”
“I told you before, I won’t stand in your way.”
“Yes, I know that,” I said with a touch of annoyance. “I’m not worried that you’ll try to stand in the way. I’m worried that you won’t try to stay in my life.”
Joe answered with the weary impatience of someone whose thoughts had been chasing in circles, just like mine. “If your life moves fifteen hundred miles away, Avery, it’s not going to be all that easy for me to stay in it.”
“What about moving there with me? We could share an apartment. There’s nothing tying you to Texas. You could pack everything up and —”
“Nothing except my family, friends, home, business, the foundation I agreed to help manage —”
“People move, Joe. They find ways to stay in touch. They make new beginnings. It’s because I’m the woman, isn’t it? Most women move when their boyfriends or husbands have a job opportunity, but if the situation’s reversed —”
“Avery, don’t give me that shit. It has nothing to do with sexism.”
“You could be happy anywhere if you make up your mind to be —”
“It’s not about that, either. Baby…” I heard a short, tense sigh. “You’re not just choosing a job, you’re choosing a life. A career on rocket fuel. You won’t have one damn minute of spare time. I’m not moving to New York so I can see you for half of one day on the weekend, and twenty minutes every night between the time you get home and the time you go to bed. I can’t see any room in that life for me, or for kids.”
My heart plummeted. “Kids,” I echoed numbly.
“Yes. I want kids someday. I want to sit on the front porch and watch them run through the sprinkler. I want to spend time with them, teach them how to play catch. I’m talking about having a family.”
It was a long time before I could say anything. “I don’t know if I would be a good parent.”
“No one does.”
“No, I really don’t. I never had any kind of family. I lived with parts of broken families. One time I came home from school and there was a new man and new kids in the house, and I found out my mother had gotten married again without even telling me. And then one day they all disappeared without warning. Like some magician’s trick.”
Joe’s voice turned gentle. “Avery, listen —”
“If I tried to be a parent and failed, I’d never forgive myself. It’s too much of a risk. And it’s too soon to be talking about this. For God’s sake, we’ve never even said —” I broke off as my throat closed.
“I know. But I sure as hell can’t say it right now, Avery. Because at the moment it would seem like nothing more than a pressure tactic.”
I had to end the call. I had to retreat.
“At the very least,” I said, “we can make the most of the time we have left. I have a month until Bethany’s wedding, and after that —”
“A month of what? Trying not to care about you any more than I already do? Trying to back away from how I feel?” There was something wrong with his breathing, something broken. His voice was no less intense for its quietness. “A month of checking off the days until the final countdown… Damn you, Avery, I can’t do that.”
Tears brimmed and slid down my cheeks in burning paths.
“What should I say?”
“Tell me how to stop wanting you,” he said. “Tell me how to stop —” He broke off and swore. “I’d rather put an end to this right now than drag it out.”
The phone was trembling in my grip. I was scared. I was as scared as I’d ever been about anything. “Let’s not talk any more tonight,” I said breathlessly. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s been decided, okay?”
More silence.
“Joe?”
“I’ll talk to you when you get back,” he said gruffly. “But I want you to think about something, Avery. When you told me the story about your mom’s Chanel bag, you got the metaphor dead wrong. You need to figure out what it really stands for.”