I passed him to sit on the couch, using the hair tie around my wrist to pull my hair into a messy bun. "I wasn't sneaking anywhere. I talk to Pete a lot in the mornings when no one is around."
"Not when I'm here," Taylor said, sitting next to me. "What's going on, Falyn? Talk to me."
"I need to tell you something."
He visibly braced himself for whatever I was about to say.
"I can't have children."
He waited for a moment, and then his eyes danced around the room. "I ... know?"
"If we take this further, if we move in together and then whatever comes next ... it will always just be us. I don't think you truly understand that."
All of his muscles relaxed. "Goddamn, woman, you scared me."
"Huh?"
"I thought you were dumping my impatient ass. You were just worried that I wasn't thinking about you not being able to get pregnant down the road?"
"Yes," I said, a little annoyed he was being so flippant about it.
He his head back. "I've already thought about it, baby. No worries."
"That right there shows me you haven't thought this through."
"There are a million ways for us to try to get pregnant. If none of them work, there's adoption."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "You don't get it. I've told you. This was supposed to happen. You can't just screw with the order of things."
"You don't really believe that shit ... about it being your punishment."
I barely nodded. It sounded crazy when he said it out loud.
"Baby, don't you think you've been punished enough?"
Tears burned my eyes. Without any idea what to expect or any way to prepare, I'd assumed this would be an emotional conversation one way or another.
"You're already the best thing to ever happen to me. Stop showing off."
Taylor pulled me in, holding me tight. He kissed my hair.
"What if I told you I don't want to adopt?" I asked, glad that I didn't have to look him in the face.
He hesitated. "I'm ... surprised."
"I know you want kids. I don't want to take that away from you. I've had a lot of time to think about this, and I just can't. I would be too afraid to try to adopt. I'd worry about so many different things, like who gave the baby up and why. What if one of the family members decided to take the child back? I can't chance losing a child twice. I just ... I can't."
"I didn't think about it that way."
"I know."
"I understand. I mean ... we'll cross that bridge when we get there."
"This is something we need to address now. You want kids. I can't get pregnant, and I don't want to adopt. That's a big deal. We can't wait and see, Taylor. Then it will be too late."
"I want you."
Tears welled up in my eyes. "I want you to think about it for a while."
"Jesus Christ, Falyn. Do you really think I have to think about it? No. I'm not giving you up. You're not giving me up."
My face crumpled, and I shook my head. "That right there tells me you're not taking this seriously."
"I hear what you're offering. My answer is no. If we end up being alone but together, I can think of worse things."
I sniffed. "This is why moving in together hasn't felt right. I know better than to let you do this without really thinking it through."
"But it feels right to bail? Fuck that," he said, standing. He paced a few times and then came back.
Kneeling in front of me, he tucked his hands behind my lower back and pulled me toward him until my knees were pressing into his bare chest.
He shook his head. "I'm pissed at you for this, and I love you for this. But you have to know that there's nothing I want more than you."
"What if you regret it?"
He paled, his face falling. "You said you weren't bailing. You're fucking bailing on me. You just want me to be the one to do it."
"You need to think about this ... I mean, really think about it."
"Why are you really doing this, Falyn? How about you really think about that? It's getting serious, and alarms are going off. Stop, and think about this for two fucking seconds."
"We just need a break. If you still feel the same way later ..."
"Later? When the fuck is later?"
"Taylor," I said, watching him get angrier by the second.
"A break. I'm a grown man, Falyn. What is this? You're putting me in a time-out, so I can think about what you want me to think about, the way you want me to think about it?"
"I know that's how it looks, but I'm just trying to do the right thing. You might thank me later. I'm not trying to stir up trouble for us. I--"
"Don't say it. Don't say it's because you love me, or I'll lose my shit."
He stood up and disappeared into my bedroom. Returning a few minutes later, he wore jeans, socks, and a black fleece pullover with a black-and-gray hat pulled low over his brows, and he bent down to pick his boots off the floor.
"You're leaving now?" I was a bit surprised and feeling guilty for it.
Of course he was going to leave. What had I expected him to do? What had begun as good intentions was going downhill fast, and I was already regretting it even though moments before I'd thought that I thought it all through.
He pulled on his boots, shoved his dirty clothes into his backpack, and then slid one strap over his shoulder before swiping his keys off the counter. "That's what you want, isn't it?" he said, holding out his hands. He gripped the knob and then pointed at me. "I'm going to go home, and instead of applying for that job, I'm going to think about this for a week. Then I'm going to come back, and you're going to apologize to me for fucking up the weekend I've been looking forward to for a month." He yanked the door open, and without looking back, he said, "I love you."
The door slammed, and I closed my eyes, wincing at the sound. I fell back against the couch cushion and covered my eyes with my hands. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was pushing him away. Now that he was gone, I felt exactly the way Travis had described the first time I went to Eakins. It was like I was dying slowly with a little bit of crazy mixed in.
"I hate you," I said to myself.
Monday morning, I trudged down the stairs, passing on the pancakes for a cup of coffee. It had been a little more than twenty-four hours since I saw Taylor, but I knew no matter how much time passed, the awful feeling that had come over me the moment he left wouldn't go away.
The dining area was empty, except for Chuck, Phaedra, and me. Pete and Hector peeked out from the food window.
Phaedra and Chuck had matching expressions of concern.
"Still hasn't called, huh?" Chuck asked, patting my shoulder.
"He texted late last night," I said.
"Well?" Phaedra asked. "Good or bad?"
"He's still thinking."
"It's your damn fault," Phaedra said. "He didn't ask for an easy out. Sounds to me like he didn't even want it."
"Dear," Chuck said, a hint of warning in his voice.
"She's right," I said. "He might not need it, but he does deserve it."
She grabbed a stack of menus. "Oh, baby girl, he's been good to you. He didn't deserve that." She walked away, clearly angry with me.
I looked sheepishly at Chuck.
"She just wants what's best for you. She hates to see you making things harder on yourself. So ... what did his message say?"
I pulled out my phone and read the text aloud, "I can't believe you dumped me and ruined our entire weekend over the off chance that I might want to dump you over something you can't control." I read the next message, "To be honest, I haven't really thought about it before, but now that you've insisted there is a real possibility that children are off the table for us, you're right. It's an important decision that I should think about, but you didn't have to kick me to the goddamn curb to make your point."
Phaedra returned, impressed with what she'd heard. "He's a smart little shit. I'll give him that."
"What does that mean
?" I asked, exhausted. So many warring thoughts in my head hadn't allowed for much sleep.
"He's at least pretending to attempt to be objective."
A scowl compressed my face.
Kirby breezed in, and we all immediately pretended there was nothing wrong. She saw right through our pathetic attempt and grilled me about the weekend every time we had a spare moment to chat.
The Bucksaw was packed for most of the day, a welcome distraction from Kirby's incessant questions and Phaedra's disenchanted expressions. When I wiped down the last table of the day and sat on the stool to count my tips, Kirby pushed me past my limit.
"At least tell me who is mad at whom!" she begged.
"No! Stop asking!" I snapped.
Phaedra crossed her arms. "Falyn, I want you to listen to me. There are thousands of couples out there who are childless by choice. Look at Chuck and me. Granted, we've got you girls, but we've always been happy. You've been honest with Taylor. He knows what he's in for. You can't force him to do what you think is the right thing."
Kirby stared at me like I was on fire. "Oh God, Falyn, are you pregnant?"
"I'm out." I grabbed my things and headed for the stairs.
By the time I finished my shower and crawled into bed, Taylor had texted me. I felt sick, worrying about what he might say, but I read the message anyway.
Day Two. You don't have to respond. I know you want me to spend this time being objective, and I want this to be done, so fuck me if I don't do it the right way, and you make me start over. Thought about you all weekend. Yesterday was the first Sunday I've had off in three weeks, and it fucking sucks that I spent it here without you. I'm half-missing you, half-pissed at you. Mostly, I'm wondering how you could think anything would be more important to me than you. Kids are important, and yes, our relationship is new. But if it means choosing, I choose you.
True to his word, Taylor had thought about my proposal all week, sending me one text every night.
Day Three. It's only Tuesday. I feel like I'm going to go out of my fucking mind. You don't have to respond, but I miss you like hell. It's hard to think about anything else, but I am, and I still feel the same. This is the longest fucking week ever, and I'm worried you're just going to tell me to kick rocks anyway. Are you? Don't answer that. I'm going to go stay with Tommy for a couple of days to clear my head.
On the fourth day, Taylor didn't text. I lay in bed, worrying until I thought I might puke. Feeling something heavy on my chest, my emotions were all over the place. I didn't want to lose him, but if he wanted more, I owed it to him to let him go. That kind of selfishness would slowly poison any relationship.
Tears fell from the outer corners of my eyes, down my temples, dripping to my pillowcase with a tiny thud. With my arm resting on my forehead, my eyes closed, I tried to push it from my mind, but the fear tore a hole, and it just kept getting bigger.
I looked over at my alarm clock, the red numbers glowing 4:15 a.m. Just as I reached for my phone, it pinged several times in a row. I scrambled to grab it from the nightstand.
It's the fifth day of this bullshit im in San Diego and maaybe you're right.
Maybe a hundred ducking years from now I'll feel fucked out of having a family and wish i had a sun to play ball with and maybe ill want grandkids maybe I don't deserve you anyway
Maybe I'm just drunk
Fuck it. Fuck all of this. I love you and ive done everything I'm supposed to until now and I'm further from you than ive been since we met. That's isnt my fault.
I typed out a dozen different responses, but I knew he'd been drinking, and he was upset. Trying to reason with him or even apologize wouldn't get me very far, and it might even make things worse. Putting down the phone was the hardest thing I'd done in six years.
For the second time that week, I cursed myself, "I fucking hate you." I covered my eyes.
Just a few hours later, I rolled out of bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth. Then I got dressed before descending the stairs eleven minutes later. I pulled my hair into a messy bun, only to walk back up to get my apron.
I dragged ass all morning, as expected. I was mostly exhausted but also devastated that my intent was lost in the misery we were both in. Still, I had started this mess, and I wasn't about to waffle until Taylor could make the decision for himself.
Just after the breakfast rush, my phone buzzed in my apron. I rushed around the bar to check it, knowing it was Taylor.
Day Five. Please respond. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry about last night. I guess technically it was this morning. I'm sitting here in the airport. Just got off the phone with Dad. He made a lot of good points that I need to talk to you about. I'll be in Eakins by tonight. Please go to St. Thomas. I'll sleep on the floor if you want. My head is pounding, and I feel like shit, but I wish I felt worse even though I couldn't feel much worse. I want to see you and hold you so bad I'm going nuts. All I can think about is seeing you. No, don't respond. I'm afraid of what you'll say. Just please be there.
I ran my index finger along the edges of the phone case, wondering which of his instructions I should follow. Guilt bled from his message, making my guts wrench.
Why did trying to do the right thing end up being so god-awful for us both?
It was just a break, just a week to think about our future, and we were both torn to pieces.
The air was so thick when I stepped off the airplane that it felt as if I were wearing it, choking on it, and walking through it. A layer of sweat instantly formed on my skin even though I was wearing shorts and a light blouse.
I readjusted my bag over my shoulder, descended the stairs set outside the plane's front exit, and paused once my feet hit the tarmac. St. Thomas was breathtaking for more reasons than its palpable air. The landscape was full of lush forests with mountains in the distance and palm trees just beyond the concrete.
I pulled out my phone, shooting Taylor a quick text that I'd landed.
He sent a in reply but nothing else.
The passengers strode in a single-file line to the terminal where we meshed with other travelers until reconvening at baggage claim. I noticed a man standing near the exit, holding a sign with my name on it.
That hadn't happened since I lived with my parents.
"Hi," I said, confused. "I'm Falyn Fairchild."
The man's mouth broke into a bright white grin, a steep contrast with his ebony skin. "Yes! Come with me! Just the one bag?" he asked in a heavy accent, holding out his hand for my bag.
"Who ordered the car?"
"Uh"--he looked down at a paper in his other hand--"Taylor Mad Dox."
"Taylor Maddox?" I said, my surprise making me unintentionally correct him by emphasizing the ix pronunciation at the end.
Shock quickly evolved into suspicion. Taylor was either trying very hard to get me back--or for some reason, he was in full groveling mode.
I handed the man my bag, silently scolding myself. Taylor had secured me transportation to the hotel, and I was thinking the worst. He just wanted to make sure I was safe because he couldn't make it to the airport himself.
The driver's steering wheel was on the left side, but we drove on the left side of the road. It took me a while not to panic every time he turned onto a road with oncoming traffic, thinking he was in the wrong lane.
After hills and many, many curvy roads, we finally reached the security gate of The Ritz-Carlton hotel. The driver parked under the covered lobby entrance, and he quickly hopped out to open my door. I stepped out and swallowed hard. The days when I'd stayed in hotels like the Ritz seemed like a lifetime ago.
The light stucco and Spanish-tiled roof as well as the vegetation were impeccably maintained. I returned the smile and wave of a man high in a palm tree, removing coconuts.
The driver handed me my bag, and I opened my purse.
"No, no. It's all been taken care of."
I held out a ten-dollar bill. "But your tip?"
He waved me away with a smile. "Taken care of, mad
am. Enjoy your stay."
He drove away, and I wandered inside, overwhelmed by the spectacular lobby. I spotted Taylor right away. He was sitting in a chair with his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands together, while his knee nervously bobbed up and down.
Before I could take another step, he looked up, and a dozen emotions scrolled across his face. He popped up out of his chair and jogged over to me, nearly knocking me over before enveloping me into a hug. I'd never felt so loved and wanted in my life.
"You're here. Thank Christ," he said, overwhelmed with relief. He tugged at me with gentle small squeezes, burying his face into my hair.
When he finally released me, I could see that my earlier suspicions weren't ridiculous after all. His face was weighed down with something, the humidity not the only thing making him sweat.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"Thanks," I said, trying not to sound as wary as I felt.
"God, I've missed you." He hugged me and then kissed my forehead, leaving his lips against my skin for a moment longer. Then he took my bag. "We're in building five, Club Level, with an ocean view." He smiled, but there was sadness in his eyes.
"Club Level?"
"I upgraded. We're in the same tower as Travis and Abby. The room is incredible. I can't wait for you to see it." He gestured for me to follow him outside where a man in a golf cart was waiting.
We sat together in the backseat, jerking when the driver stomped on the gas. Taylor looked over at me, both relief and admiration in his eyes. The golf cart sped along the narrow road for at least two minutes before we reached our building. Taylor didn't speak again even though he looked like he wanted to.
The driver parked and carried my bag across the road and down a stone walk. We passed doors that led to rooms, moving to the side whenever a couple or family would step out, carrying beach bags, towels, or cameras. We ascended a few stairs, and then I followed the men to the room I would share with Taylor.
That thought made me suddenly nervous. We weren't technically together even though it seemed all was well. An important conversation was inevitable, and I wondered if Taylor wanted to get that out of the way now or if he would keep me waiting all weekend.
Taylor took my bag, tipped our driver, and then used his key card to open the door. Fresh flowery smells filled my nose, and my sandals clicked against the tiled floor. The white linen and light decor was sophisticated but cozy, and directly in front of where we stood was a large sliding glass door, the curtains pulled back to expose the full beauty of the Caribbean Sea.