“A nursery?”
“A guest bedroom?”
We say at the exact same time. Silence settles between us and when I glance down at her she refuses to look up.
Zalea knows I don’t want children. I never wanted children. And now, in my mid-thirties, I still don’t feel a pull to have any of my own. It’s not that I hate kids, though I’m not a fan of teenagers with their pubescent hormones and untamed emotions, but I just don’t think I’d make a great dad.
I like my life the way it is, the freedom that I have to go where I want, when I want, without a second thought. Everyone I know that has a kid is suffering. They’re barely sleeping, their home is always a mess, they have to deal with temper tantrums, picky eating, dirty diapers, and middle of the night vomiting.
None of that sounds appealing to me.
But Zalea? Even though she isn’t sure if she wants a child, she’d make an amazing mother. She takes care of everyone around her, putting in so much thought into everything she does. It would come naturally to her, if she ever decided she was serious about having a child—it just shouldn’t be with me.
I clear my throat. “We can decide later.”
“Of course.” If she’s upset, she doesn’t show it.
I nod once, then gesture toward the hall. “Should we check out the terrace?”
She nods and walks ahead of me, but I can’t help pausing as I look at the room one last time—at the space that, for one overlapping second, held two entirely different futures.
“We’ll take it,”I say to Antonio after we’ve toured the whole place twice.
“È una notizia fantastica. Congratulazioni!"?* Antonio exclaims.
“Thank you for your help today,” I say, shaking his hand. “Email me the purchase agreement paperwork and we’ll get everything signed and sent back to you right away.”
“Of course, it was my pleasure.”
He walks us out of the apartment with the biggest smile on his face, and I'm sure he’s already thinking about the commission he’ll make from this place.
I open the passenger door for Zalea, noticing how quiet she’s been since that moment in the spare bedroom. Do I talk to her about it, and risk ruining this amazing day? Or, do I hold off, in hopes she gets over it?
One look at the sad expression on her face is enough of an answer for me. I shut her door and round the car, taking a seat in the driver's side.
“What’s going through that pretty head of yours, Red?” I ask, not bothering to start the car while I stare ahead.
“I feel ridiculous for being so upset about the potential of not having kids one day,” she mumbles into the sleeve of her cardigan while she looks out her window. “Like it was barely a thought until the diagnosis. Now that's all I can think about.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” I say with a heavy sigh. “And you’re going to have kids one day if that’s what you want, Zalea.”
She scoffs, turning watery eyes to me. “And you know that how? We’ve been having sex for years, Gabriel.”
“Yeah, but that’s because we aren’t even actually trying, Zalea. You’re on the pill?—”
“I was also on the pill the only other time I ever got pregnant,” she argues back. “And even that?—”
She catches herself before she can finish that sentence, eyes going wide so quick I almost miss it.
“And even that, what?” I ask slowly.
When she doesn’t answer, I rub at the crease between my brows, hating that she’s still got some walls up with me.
“Well since we’re on the topic of that. Zale said something weird to me the other day, and I’m hoping you can help me understand what he meant by it.”
“What did he say?” her voice is trembling and I’m positive now there’s something I’m not supposed to know.
“He said I ruined your life, but he wouldn’t explain how.”
