“I’ve already told her that she and I are what’s important. Yes, I’ve always envisioned myself as a dad and having a large family, but that’s what I know. That’s what I grew up with. I never expected to have as large a family as the one I grew up in.”
“But you still expected to have one?” Jere’s leg falls off his other one, and he sits forward. “You still saw yourself having at least one kid or maybe two, maybe not fourteen, but—”
“Sure, I did,” I respond. “But I’d never make Tate have kids if she didn’t want to. I wouldn’t force her to be a mom when the mom she grew up with constantly made it clear she didn’t want her. I know Tate doesn’t want to become like her mom, so by not becoming one—”
“She protects herself?” Becca raises her eyebrows, and I nod.
“Something like that.”
“I think it’s great that you don’t want to force her into having a baby in the future,” Jere begins. “But did you ever stop to think about the fact that you might do it unintentionally?”
My forehead wrinkles, my nose scrunching, as I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“What do you mean?”
“That someday, Tate will pick up on signs that you want the family you told her you were okay not having. Even if it’s small passive comments, you don’t realize you’re making, and because she feels guilty and wants you to be happy, she comes to you and tells you she’s changed her mind.”
I suppose I never considered that. I remember in high school, Tate almost went the pre-law route when applying for college, even though she knew she’d hate it. All because of the little comments her mom would make.
Ones that put the thought in Tate’s mind that if she chose that career path, maybe her mom would be more interested in her and her life.
I'd hate Tate to sacrifice something so significant because she thinks I’d become less invested in our relationship if we didn’t have a family.
“I guess that never crossed my mind.”
“Look, Fletch, you know I love you both. You’re my family, and I would do anything for either one of you. However, I think you really need to sit down and decide if you’re truly okay with not having kids. Or, if you’re just saying that because you’re scared to lose her.”
“You won’t.” Becca smiles. “I hope you know that. Regardless of what you decide, you’re not going to lose her. She’s your best friend.”
“Yeah.”
I don’t believe the words I’m saying, though. Yeah, Tate’s my best friend, and we have a lot of history, but I almost lost her once this year.
How can I be sure it won’t happen again?
And this time for good.
forty-five
Tate
Finals absolutely killed me this year. Between writing new songs for my social media pages, sending them to Brinley to edit so I could post them, studying for finals, and writing new songs that met my class requirements, I feel like the last couple of weeks for college were a blur.
My confusion about what to do about my relationship with Fletcher added to the stress, making everything ten times more stressful than it was last year. I’ve also been applying for internships at major music firms for the summer. So far, I've been rejected by everyone.
It's not what I want to do when I graduate; I want to make music and tour the world, but I’m hoping it’ll be a stepping stone in the right direction.
Brin has been trying to convince me to audition for one of the numerous singing shows out there, telling me that one of them could be my big break. Still, there’s a part of me that’s worried I’ll go and get rejected before I even start.
I couldn’t imagine going on The Voice and not a single chair turning around during my audition. If I don’t do that, I can live indelusion a little longer and believe one day I’ll make a career out of this.
Honestly, when I didn’t hear back from the Nashville competition I entered, I almost gave up. But all the comments on my videos have also really boosted my ego.
I press send on another internship application and then shut my laptop. I didn’t plan on coming home after finals, but I needed some time to think. So, I used an excuse about my parents wanting me to pack up some of my things and bring them to my apartment; that way, Fletcher wouldn’t question it.
And he hasn’t.
I haven’t completely decided if I’m ready to give up on us just yet. All I know is that I don’t want to look back ten years from now and regret anything. Whether that means I need to end things with him now or not.
