Thirty-five and Single
“No weirdness. I wanted to know if you used protection.”
Okay, weirdness totally amplified. I feel like roses are blooming on my cheeks with a heat lamp aimed at them.
“Umm…” he murmurs.
Creative curses string together like tree lights in my head.
“You didn’t?” I confirm.
He bites his lower lip and for a second, I almost lean over and kiss him. What the hell, cougar girl? Get back.
“I didn’t have one on me, and honestly, I didn’t think after you gave me the go signal. But you’re on the pill, right? Because I’m clean. I’ve never gone without except one time in high school, and I get tested regularly. I assume since you’ve only been with one guy…”
“One guy who cheated on me,” I clarify. “But you’re safe there. I’m clean too. I got tested immediately after I found out and six months later, which reminds me I should get tested again. But I’m not on the pill.”
His eyes grow to the size of quarters as he blinks. Irrationally, I want to say a penny for your thoughts, figuring a quarter should cover the cost of them.
“You’re not on the pill?” he asks slowly, as if it’s a foreign concept or maybe a foreign language I’m speaking.
“No, Corey and I had been trying to get pregnant the last few years.”
“What about the morning after pill?”
It takes me a few seconds to put it together. “They have that available over the counter?”
He nods.
My sister and friends are all married with little ones. These last few years, I’ve been focused on getting pregnant, not trying to prevent it.
Suddenly my throat seizes up and I find it hard to choke out the next words. “You know what? It’s not a problem.”
I shake my head and wave away anything he might say. What a fool I am. What am I worried about?
His chopsticks are left in favor of his arms circling around me. “What’s wrong?”
Tears burn my eyes, and I bury my face in his chest. “Nothing.”
“Come on, Olivia. I thought we were better friends than that.”
His words make me think of Corey. I’d thought he was my best friend, and look how that turned out. A sob makes a break for it and leaves my throat.
“Talk to me, babe.”
“Babe?” I repeat. I’ve been darling and sweetheart, but I’ve never been a babe.
A comforting hand strokes down my back. “Just talk to me,” he pleads.
Pulling away, I wipe at my eyes and decide to say it like you rip off a Band-Aid.
“We tried everything to get pregnant, but I failed. So you don’t have to worry. There’s no chance of me getting pregnant.” The admission is gut-wrenching. “This is why we can never be.”
“What?” He looks almost offended.
“What we did last night was great. But you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
“Don’t you?”
I sigh. “You’re twenty-seven. You should be dating someone your own age. A girl who can give you babies one day.”
“Babies. Who says I want kids?”
“Whether you think you do or don’t, you’re still young enough to change your mind. I’m thirty-five, and my eggs are aging. If I can’t have kids now, how do you think I can have them if we’re together and you change your mind?”
“So that’s it?”
He’s angry, and I’m sorry for it. My heart breaks. He’s a good guy and everything I wish I’d had ten years ago.
I nod. “There’s a girl at work who’s a year younger than you. She’s really cute. You should come by so I can introduce you.”
The stillness in his body is nerve-wracking. “We had sex. You promised no regrets. And now you want to fix me up with someone else?” He ends on a humorless laugh.
“I don’t regret anything,” I lie. “We can still be friends. I just think I need to date guys my own age. I’m not ready to settle down yet. But if I find someone, I want their expectations about our future to be certain. Most men my age or older might already have kids, or they are totally sure they don’t want any.”
Somewhere along the way, we are no longer sitting, but standing facing each other. His height makes me feel small. The way his eyes have gone flat without emotion makes me want to cry.
He gives me a stiff nod. “I should probably get going.”
His back is to me before I can squeak out a protest. “Wait.” He doesn’t stop his stride as I call out, “Your food?”
The door is open when he finally turns enough to say over his shoulder, “Keep it. Happy Birthday, Olivia.”
Ungracefully, after the door closes, I fall over to the couch on a sleeping Sable. As she leaps for her life, I sob.
Chapter Six
Joel
Anger radiates down to my balled hands. I have to catch my door before it slams, but I end up giving it one good pound from my fist before I pull myself together.