“Where’s the fun in that?” Clover giggled.
Fun? None of this was fun. My life was nothing but stress, anxiety, and doubt, and Clover was still all smiles and sunshine.
And I had liked that. Once.
But not now. Not when everything was crashing around us.
“And you decided this on your own?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“And you didn’t think to ask me what I thought?”
She teased me with her toes, walking them up my arm until she hit my shoulder. I shooed her away.
“I thought you would be happy for me,” she said. “Look at me. Thinking about my future. I’m going to paint the rest of my walls, clean out my basement, and start organizing the spare guestroom to be a nursery.”
A nursery?
She didn’t need a nursery. She needed a baby first.
The irritation seeped into my words. “Guess you’ve figured it all out then. Why am I even here? You don’t need my help.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I mean, I need a little of your help? I can’t whip up a baby like a plate of pancakes. I gotta borrow a some of your syrup.”
“So, you’ll take my sperm but not my advice?”
She kicked away from me with a huff. “Oh, I’ll take your advice—and tell you where to shove it if you don’t settle down. What’s gotten into you?”
“Forget it. I’m here now. Let’s just get it over with.”
She hopped off the couch and pouted her lower lip. “Oh, sure. Sulking gets me real hot. Take me, stud.”
“I’m just in a bad mood. I’ll get over it.”
“And I’m just supposed to get under you?”
“Under. On top. Apparently, you’re making all the decisions now. Might as well choose how you want it.”
Clover glowered, her expression darkening. “You’re right. I choose to pass.”
“What?”
“Look, I don’t need any sweet nothings from you, Adrian. But I rather not be insulted before taken to bed.”
My frustration peaked. “Then maybe you shouldn’t do stupid ass things on the day you’re supposed to get fucked.”
That did it.
For the past eight years of her career, Clover had traded a harsh temper for patience, restraint, and gentle admonishments. But when pressed, she popped one fist onto her hip and used a finger to wag her displeasure.
“Oh, I know you’re not talking to me that way,” she said.
“And if I am?”
“Then the next words out of your mouth better be an apology.”
The woman drove me insane. She nibbled her lip so as not to say something she’d regret, but it only invited my own teeth, my own kiss.
“Apologize for what?” I asked. “You’re so obsessed with making this baby that you can’t think rationally.”
“Is that right?”
She couldn’t see it? “I get it. You think you need a baby in your life. That’s fine. I’m not fighting you on that anymore. You want a kid, you’ll get one. Tonight.”
“Oh no.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t put yourself out. God forbid I bend over and become a burden to you.”
“You’re lonely. You’re upset. And you’re not pregnant yet, so you’re making rash decisions to fill that void.”
“You think I’m quitting my job because I’m insecure about not being pregnant?”
“Yes.”
She laughed. “You’re so wrong it’s hilarious.”
“You were looking for something new in your life. And you think the baby is going to give it to you.”
I glanced over her house—quiet and still. She’d chosen a pastel purple for her living room walls, something light and closer to grey than grape. It was the biggest change she’d made since choosing an airline to work for eight years ago.
Sure, Clover took risks—but they were superficial. She prided herself on how easily she could leave her home for a trip to any country at any time. But it was only because no one waited for her. No one depended on her. The woman wielded independence like a weapon, but the only thing it couldn’t slay was her own damned loneliness.
And so, she’d pretend to be spontaneous. Travel to some wild, exotic location, stay for two weeks, then rush home to the comforts of her scheduled, pre-ordained life. It was measured impulsivity, and yet, her travel was as structured as it could get. She knew when she was leaving, where she was staying, and when she’d come back. But choosing where to eat each night wasn’t impetuous or freeing. It was just enough adventure to offer her the illusion of reckless abandon. Then she’d return home to me, and we’d both pretend that we were happy with our lives and our schedules and our obsessions.
And we’d support each other’s stupid delusions.
Even when we knew they were wrong.
“Is there a problem with wanting a change?” Clover asked.
If I had to answer that for her, she’d never understand. “Nothing…as long as you know why you’re doing it.”
Her voice sharpened with the edge of frustration. “Because I want to start a family.”
“No,” I said. “It’s because you’re lonely.”
“I think you should stop now before you make a big mistake.”
Clover didn’t often get serious, but her warning might’ve made me think twice had I not been so painfully right.
“It wasn’t about the job,” I said. “Your only goal in life was to keep your feet off the ground. You worked. You traveled. And you ran all over God’s creation looking for something to give your life meaning. But then you realized you can’t trade in airline miles for happiness. And that scared you.”
Her lips pressed thin. “Oh, so that’s it?”
“Yeah. And instead of asking me for help—instead of figuring a way to make it better—you jumped to some half-assed conclusion that having a baby would end all your problems.” I prevented her from walking away from me. “And that’s fine. If that’s really what you want, go for it. But one day, you’re gonna need to ask yourself what exactly scares you so much about being vulnerable with other people.”
“That’s bullshit,” she said.
“Really? Let me ask you—after your flights, did you ever go out with your coworkers? Have you visited any of your childhood friends? Ever decide to head home and spend time with your family?”
I knew the answers. So did she. That’s why she stayed silent.
“You thought you were independent,” I said. “But you’re really just scared to be intimate and vulnerable with anyone else. And instead of opening up to the world, you’d rather create an entirely new person—a safe person—that you can love and who will love you in return.”
Clover’s voice edged with a lethal warning. “Oh, you have me all figured out, don’t you? Makes sense. The great Adrian Alaric. Captain of the Ironfield Forge. Future Hall of Famer. Center. Forward. A man so obsessed with hockey he would break his own body then be naïve enough to think the team would appreciate it.”
My spine stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that you can be as noble as you want to be on the ice, but, at the end of the day, it’s still a game. You can act like the savior of the Forge, but you know as well as I do—it’s all for nothing.”