He casually buttered the toast before setting it in front of me, then passed me a mug of coffee.
“I know I’ve been a mess,” I rasped. “And I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he said without looking at me. “Obviously I didn’t mean what I said. I was just angry.”
“You’re not thinking of leaving me?”
He looked up and laughed. “Babe, really? No. Of course not.”
“But you said . . .”
“I’ve been stressed out, too, about the house situation, about work.” He studied me, peering at my face. “I’ve been stressed about you, too, but that doesn’t excuse what I said.”
My swollen eyes were red and puffy, I knew without even having seen myself. I started to explain, but he continued.
“Besides, you know how I feel about that. People who separate or divorce have all sorts of problems. Things that run much deeper than what we’re dealing with. That’s not, and will never be, us. Let’s move on from this.”
I stared at him blankly. Could he not tell that I’d been up all night crying, or did he not care? Anger crept into my heart for the way he ignored it.
I remembered my thoughts from the night before. True, I’d kept Bill at a distance since we’d started dating, but wasn’t he partly to blame? He never tried to break through, never asked questions he didn’t want to hear the answers to.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “About the house and all that—”
“It’s okay,” he cut me off, raising his hand.
“It is?” Overwhelming relief flooded me at the thought that he might agree to slow things down.
“Yes. I know you’re stressed, too. And I think I know what this is really about.”
I inhaled as panic bubbled to the surface. “What?”
“You’re afraid. I know you’ve never had a good relationship with Leanore. But you aren’t your mother.Youare going to be a great mom.”
“Bill,” I started, shaking my head sadly. “I really don’t think it’s about that.”
“But it is, sweetie. You’re afraid, and I don’t blame you. Your mom’s been tough on you. Sometimes I worry you try so hard not to be her, that you’re hurting us.”
I heard his veiled threat. My behavior the night before had been out of character for me, but it wouldn’t have been for her. Had I hit rock bottom of my spiral down? Could I go back to the woman I’d been before David? I feared the answer too much to wonder another second.
“You’renother,” Bill said reassuringly. “You’ve got to let go of that. I have complete confidence in the kind of mom you’ll be.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “You know this is not something I will ever change my mind about, though. I want a child—children. So you’ll have to, I don’t know . . . figure this out. Because I know, deep down, you want this, too. If I believed you didn’t, we’d be having a different conversation.”
My heart fell as he spoke. He was so convinced that this was right for us. Now, he was asking me to trust him because he didn’t have any doubts. I couldn’t deny that when it came to my mother, I didn’t think straight. Bill was right—part of thatwasfear. And then it hit me. I wondered if maybe, just maybe . . . he was right.
20
Bill and I had given up our respective Sunday plans to spend the day together, silently apologizing to each other outdoors on an autumn day. We explored the neighborhood, drank beer in the afternoon, and took a long, late-afternoon walk to admire the way the leaves were changing.
I’d promised to try harder, and though it took every ounce of my energy, I put my sorrows over David aside for Bill. We planned to visit his sister and her four kids the following weekend so I could see how alive a house full of children was. And finally, at his firm request, I’d agreed to stop taking birth control. My fear of becoming my mom had ruled my life too long.
Bill seemed vastly pleased in turn. It was only once he fell asleep that anxiety crept in. I barely slept. There was no more time. Bill had hit the end of his patience. It was time to grow up, forget David, and make the right decisions. I owed Bill more than I gave him and now, I would make it up to him by trusting in his version of us.
But there was something else to deal with first. Days after my confrontation with David, I sat in my office staring at an e-mail that knotted my stomach.
From:David Dylan
Sent:Wed, October 03 02:26 PM CDT
To:Olivia Germaine
