“But you still called him your fiancé?” he questions, no judgment in his tone, just curiosity.
“Technically, we were engaged, but a week before that event I found out he kissed some random girl at a bar. He apologizedleft and right, cried, and begged me to forgive him for his mistake.”
“Dammit,” he mutters, lowering his head.
“So, like an idiot, I did, and we stayed engaged, then got married, only for him to do it all over again years later.” I laugh as I shrug. “I should have known. But anyway, there were a lot of things we didn’t agree on completely before we got married, and I should have been stronger and left sooner.”
“Like what?” he hesitates.
I sigh, because bringing this up to anyone always makes people judge me.
“Kids,” I whisper, fidgeting with my fingers. “We never really agreed on kids. I mean, I thought we did, but I was wrong.”
“He didn’t want kids?” Liam asks, and I softly chuckle. I don’t blame him for assuming that’s the case, most women want children.
“I don’t think I want them.” Saying this out loud used to cause me shame. I used to feel so unworthy as a woman knowing I didn’t feel the urge for children. I love kids, but I’ve never pictured myself being a mom. Which was a very difficult conversation to have with my own mother. It took her time to understand, and I get it—having children is an important part of life the way she was raised. I think my abuela is still secretly holding out that I’ll change my mind, though.
It was a conversation Brandon and I had early on, and I truly thought we were on the same page. Over the years, he changed his mind, and rather than telling me he changed his mind, he slept with someone else instead.
“Oh,” Liam says. “I’m sorry for assuming the opposite, that was fucked up on my part.”
I wave my hand, shaking it back and forth. “No, you’re totally fine. I realize it’s not the norm.”
“So he cheated on you because he wanted kids and you didn’t?”
I shrug. “I think that was part of it. We were on the same page at first, but he changed his mind. I don’t blame him for changing his mind. But he handled it poorly.”
“Understatement of the fucking year.”
I grow silent, replaying one of our conversations we had before filing for divorce. I saw Brandon’s remorse. He was sorry he cheated, but his mind changed and mine hadn’t. Being together was no longer fair for either of us.
Liam’s head tilts, his eyes searching for mine as he says, “Hey, Dem.” He looks at me with a soft smile. So genuine and authentic.
“Your significance and worth isn’t tied to becoming a mother or not. It doesn’t define you or make you any less complete. It’s nobody’s business how you live your life, and if you decide kids aren’t part of your story, then so be it.”
My lips part and my eyes well up. No one has ever had that response to my admission. Not even my mother. Our biggest argument ever came from me telling her I didn’t think I wanted children.
“You’re perfect exactly as you are. Kids or no kids. And fuck anyone who is unkind to you over that very personal decision.”
I don’t know what to even say to him. I just nod, keeping eye contact.
“And say the word, I’ll knock his teeth out. He might be taller than me, but I’m scrappy as hell.”
That earns a laugh from me.
“Not necessary, but I really appreciate the offer. Honestly.” I smile. “My marriage was a lesson, and lessons are good. So I’m good.”
“Promise?”
The blanket spans over both of our legs at this point, and I feel his knee brush against mine as I’m sitting crisscross. I nudge his knee and he stills, looking at me before dipping his chin.
“Pinky promise,” I reply, holding up my finger and he extends his hand, hooking his pinky with mine.
The last thing I want to continue doing right now is discussing my ex when I’m seated next to Liam. He’s opposite Brandon in every way imaginable. My eyes linger on his hands, taking note of the size and strength before I trail up his forearms. I shouldn’t be ogling over his body right now; it feels unprofessional, but I’m not at work. And I’ve already kissed him. I’ve already pictured him in various scenarios that don’t involve a mic and a football field.
So any line I’m worried about crossing with my eyes, I’ve already crossed with my mind. My big, brilliant, horny mind.
This time it’s my phone that vibrates on the coffee table, and I glance down to see my mom’s picture coming up on the screen.
