“Terry,” he says, his tone measured. “The love of my life died.” His voice never rises; it doesn’t have to. I know I’ve gone too far.He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks at the floor, then back to me.
“I made more bloody immoral decisions than I care to admit. The result was a painfully short amount of time with the woman I love, lots of broken hearts, and a blended family. Would I change them? No, of course not. But do I wish I’d listened to my heart a decade before I did? Of course, I fucking do.” He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’d have saved everyone a lot of heartache. Bex and I would have been able to make the memories we should have. In the end, the clock was always going to run out too soon, and I loathe myself for it.”
I look away, pretending to check my watch. It’s safer than letting him see what the truth is doing to me. Maybe I’m walking the same doomed path. Slower, perhaps, but my eyes are wide open, and I’m making the choice.
My mood plummets at the recollection, and the hatred I feel internally devours me again. No wonder my old friend is appalled with me; I’m appalled with myself. But there’s no going back now. I’ve made my decision. The life I want to have has children in it. That’s not a life I can have with the woman I love.
“I’ll see you later,” I say and head for the front door without looking back.
Abigail Stephens sits at a small wooden table set for two in the corner of an old-fashioned tearoom. Her brown bobbed hair is styled to perfection, not a strand out of place. Her face lifts as I approach the table.
Her bright green eyes are large, almost too large for her fine features. She blinks, and it reminds me of an owl watching you through the darkness at night.
After rising from her seat, she holds out a fine-boned hand with long, perfectly manicured fingernails. I take it in mine. It feels delicate and fragile in my grasp. Not like Amy’s hands:strong and capable. The kind that held on even when I let go first.
“Hello,” she says. Her voice is soft, and I have to strain to hear her. “Thank you for coming to meet me today.”
“My pleasure,” I respond. “It is a strange situation, is it not?”
She giggles under her breath and shrugs her shoulders. “Needs must,” she replies. “We’re all in the same situation. An empty nest and a ticking biological clock. Shall we sit?” She tucks her flowing floral dress beneath her as she lowers herself onto the old wooden dining chair. It creaks softly in protest. Hopefully, mine is more substantial. I’m probably three times the weight of this woman. We get settled across from each other, both silent as our gazes meet.
On the table is a porcelain teapot, decorated with painted roses, and two small cups with saucers. She gestures to the pot, offering me a drink, and I nod in assent. The tearoom is compact, with tables and chairs squeezed into every crevice. Every seat is occupied. Each table is covered with traditional tablecloths and scrumptious cakes. People talk animatedly to one another as they stuff the delicious fare in their mouths. I bet no one is having the conversation I’m going to be having today. Abigail pours the tea into the cup, then adds a splash of milk and one sugar.
“How did you know how I take my tea?” I ask.
“Wild guess,” she says with a smile. “You look like a man who wants things to be pleasurable with a hint of sweetness.” She passes me the cup and saucer. “So, Terry, tell me, how do you find yourself here?” Her manner is unassuming but direct. This woman is so bland, she’s forgettable.
She’s nothing like my wife. The opposite in every way in fact. Professional and composed, she lacks the glee that shines normally from Amy’s eyes. Maybe that’s why I picked herprofile; the last person I wanted to be with was a reminder of the woman I let go.
I decide honesty is the best policy in this bizarre situation we find ourselves in. “I’ve separated from my wife as we are unable to have children together. She is unable to have a child,” I confirm. “I’m very much aware that at over fifty, I need to find a partner and get a move on if I want to reproduce.”
“When did you separate?” she asks.
I swallow.
“Was it recently?”
“I’m embarrassed to tell you this, but I must be truthful. It was two weeks ago.” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she processes what I said.
Her polite expression doesn’t change, but mine does. Saying that out loud makes it real in the way a suitcase and closed door didn’t. Two weeks. That’s all it's taken for me to pretend I’m ready to start again. What kind of man does that?
“Please understand, this is something I’ve been looking into for months. Amy and I have been together a long time, and we’ve been trying to start a family for a decade. But this past year has made it quite clear that our lives are moving in different directions. She has accepted the fact that she won’t have children and is focused on other priorities. Whereas I can’t give up on this dream.”
She smiles softly in encouragement.
“Abigail, I can’t promise I will love you. Amy is my soulmate. What I can promise is my loyalty and that I’ll be a good partner and father. Having a child would be my absolute focus.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” she says, “and Terry, I’m not looking for love. I need a sperm donor and a dependable partner, someone who will care for the family we can create between us. I don’t buy into love fixing everything; I believe there are moreimportant things in life. It sounds as if you are on the same page.”
“I suppose I am,” I mumble, unsure if it’s true. Amy’s face the day I left has haunted me since, and it probably will forever.
I’ve walked away from Amy to create a family with a woman I don’t know. Love is firmly down my list of priorities.
After twenty years of being in love with the same woman, fully committed to her, I’m ready to move on. My life turned into a shambles, and now is my time to be selfish. Put my own needs before others.”
She nods but doesn’t volunteer an opinion on my words. We continue to talk and swap life stories over the course of the evening. No sparks fly, but the time with her is pleasant. She’s easy company, and I cling to the idea of simplicity because chaos is all I know.
I could see her as a mother, but imagining myself coming home to her is another matter. Since I’ve never thought about going home to anyone other than Amy, it feels foreign and unwanted. A grim necessity in creating the life I desire.
