Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HIM — BEFORE

I’m down on one knee. It’s the moment I’ve waited most of my life for. The ring is in my hand. The woman of my dreams is standing in front of me. I’ve asked the question, so then…

Why isn’t she smiling?

Why isn’t she jumping up and down and screaming yes?

Why isn’t she in my arms already, kissing me?

Why does this suddenly feel very, very wrong?

Still on the ground, I stare up at her, unable to understand the look on her beautiful face. “What’s the matter?”

“Honey, you know. We talked about this. I told you I wasn’t ready.” Her face pinches brutally, and I realize she’s trying not to cry.

Slowly, I snap the ring box shut and stand. “That was months ago. You said you wanted to wait until we’d talked about it more, and we have. We’ve talked about it nonstop for months.”

“You kept bringing it up, yes, but my answers didn’t change.”

“I waited until you graduated, like you asked. I’m sick of hiding. I want the world to know that you’re mine.”

“Then we’ll put each other on our social media or something. We don’t have to get married. I know you’re older and ready, but I’m…”

“You’re what? Not? I’m not even that much older than you. Ten years. So what? We’re practically the same age. You’re ready.”

“Twelve years,” she corrects, and she knows I hate when she does that. “And regardless. I just graduated. I want to relax a little bit.”

“And being married to me wouldn’t be relaxing?”

“Planning a wedding wouldn’t be.”

“So we’ll just go to the courthouse. Who says we have to have a big wedding?”

She casts her arms to her sides, turning away from me. “I want a big wedding. I just don’t want one in six months.”

I scoff, stepping back. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “So you don’t even want to marry me in six months.” How long could she possibly be planning to wait? If she doesn’t have kids by the time she’s thirty, her egg quality will start to decline. We’re running out of time for a family and the life I’ve always dreamed of. Why can’t she see that?

“I don’t want to break up. I just…I need a year or two. I always imagined I’d be in my thirties when I got married.”

“That will be too late,” I cry, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

“Too late for what?” she demands, staring at me as if she doesn’t recognize me. When I don’t answer, she adds, “I just…I need more time. I’m sorry. I want, no, I need some time to get out and see the world.”

“Alone.”

She opens her mouth, struggling to find an answer. Because she doesn’t have one. She doesn’t have any sort of plan at all. She’s happy to live life as if it’s all a game and she’s thrown out the rule book. “You…you have your job.”

Bitter tears sting my eyes. “Right.”

“I don’t mean to hurt you. Honestly. You know that. I love you.” Now she’s crying, too, her voice unsteady. “Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t put this on me. I’m not doing anything.” I throw my hands up. “This is all you.” With that, and with my heart still firmly in her hands, I step away, turning my back on her like she just did on me. “I’m done.”