I suspect the only reason Anders got away with the sleeping arrangement at all is because Tillie and Johan ducked out early to go to bed. “It’s not the sleep part I’m worried about, Anders,” I murmur.
“What do you take me for? I’m not that kinda guy.”
I see the hint of a smile as he falls on top of the comforter beside me, making the bed frame creak and crack, and pinning my left arm under the blankets. There isn’t room up here for both of us. If anything amorous was going to happen tonight, this ramshackle bunkbed would throw a bucket of ice water on that fire fast, to say nothing of Mariah Carey watching over us.
Good.
I can’t handle having him so close when I know rejection is looming on my horizon. I can smell his cologne and feel his heat, and the rise and fall of his chest. He’s also being a perfect gentleman, unless you count climbing into my bed and pinning me to the mattress accidentally.
I can’t take this.
“I’m infertile.” The words pop out of me like machine gun fire, surprising both of us.Oh, how I hate those words.I’d much rather say “I can’t have kids,” but when I’ve used that wording in the past it only prompted more questions about my infertility. I’m so tired of answering those questions. The phrase “I’m infertile” tends to shut that down.
A beat passes. Then another.
I knew he wouldn’t take this news well. I can’t believe those words flew out of my mouth like that. I’m just so overwhelmed by this man. He’s been full steam ahead with me this weekend—this month—and I am… scared. I have to stop whatever is going on here. I can’t be his girl, his girlfriend, the girl he loves, or anything, when he doesn’t have the full truth.
“Anders? Are you awake?” I whisper.
“I’m sorry, Sunny.” He pauses, and his hand finds mine underneath him. He pulls my hand free, pressing it beneath his. This man is like a warm blanket. The weight of his hand feels reassuring, and veryfriendly. “That’s… probably difficult?”
Is it difficult for me to know that I’ll never be able to have children of my own? That there have been exactly zero men who have stayed interested in me after learning this information? It’s old news for me, but he should’ve known this long before we ended up in the same bunk bed.
“It is—or it was, anyway. I’ve known for a long time, so I’m fine.” This isn’t entirely accurate, but it will shut down further unwanted questioning. “I just thought—I guess I thought you should know.”
He rolls onto his side to face me in the dark, shaking the bed and making a racket. I can’t see his eyes, but I feel them on me and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm in a move that is becoming a terrible habit.
“Why did you think I should know?” His deep voice hums against my palm.
Now I’m feeling extra silly becauseobviouslyhe doesn’t know that I know he loves me. He doesn’t know that I heard him tell his brothers that he two-point-five-kids loves me. I’m just the nanny sharing her highly sensitive medical history at a sleepover. Wonderful. But there is no trace of teasing in his tone, which I appreciate. Too many men have turned to jokes to lighten the mood during this difficult conversation. No matter how much time passes, I’ve never been able to joke about this part of my life. The grief is always there. I’ve made peace with it and live around it.
He’s waiting almost patiently for my answer. He squeezes my hand when I take too long.
“Uh… I overheard a conversation today.” Might as well throw it all out there at once. “I heard you tell your brothers you love me.”
“Oh yeah? You heard all that, huh?” He doesn't sound embarrassed. He’s as nonchalant about our impending doom as ever. “I figured I’d say it before my mom called me out. She could tell.”
“Hold up. Your mom was in the bathroom at the time?”Aaack. Tillie knows Anders loves me, which means Johan probably knows by now. I am going to disappoint the entire family instead of just Anders and his brothers. I should’ve tried harder to stop this from the beginning.
“Yeah. She asked, so I admitted it. She could tell there’s something different about how I feel about you.”
I groan, pulling away from him. “Anders, we can’t do this.”
“Why not?” he asks with a smile in his voice, tugging me even closer. My head is tucked under his chin now, and he’s rubbing a line up and down my back.
“Did you hear what I just told you?” I let out an exasperated sigh.
“That you’re… infertile?”
“Yes. That. I know that you love me. I think I love you, too, but you’re not thinking about—”
“You love me?”
The surprise in his voice does something to my heart. It squeezes and aches behind my ribs. I picture the father of a little girl who was abandoned by her mother, navigating life alone and yet always surrounded by prying eyes. Always second-guessing the intentions of the people around him, to the point that he is surprised when someone genuinely loves him—even when he is so entirely loveable.
“Of course I love you, Anders.” I pretend to scoff. “It’s not that hard to do.”
Instead of the response I expect, he wraps an arm around me, pulling me impossibly close. He holds me so tight, it eases the ache in my chest. It’s like our hearts want to be physically close to each other. He weaves his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, and I feel his long sigh when his warm, solid chest relaxes against mine. I knew Anders was an excellent kisser, but it turns out that his true gift is hugging. Anders Beck is a world-class, Olympic-caliber hugger. I could stay like this forever. I curl into him.
