I cover my face with my hands and peek at him from between my fingers. “I can’t believe she told you that.”
Archie makes a cute frown, a cross of amused and embarrassed. Then he reaches for my hands and gently lowers them to the table. “Why? It isn’t a bad thing.”
“It’s very personal,” I say. “Why did you bring it up?”
Archie sighs. “These last few days… we had fun, didn’t we?”
Fun isn’t supposed to be a negative word, but I’m seriously starting to despise it. What does fun mean in his head? The constant uncertainty makes me snap, “Yeah, a blast. Only two days left; we’d better enjoy ourselves.”
I take a long sip of wine.
“That’s not what I meant,” Archie says. I can tell he’s struggling to find the right words. “What I wanted to say is that I enjoyed being with you…” Loaded pause. “Honestly, more than I enjoyed being with anyone else in the past.” I hate my heart for the leap it does in my chest. “And I was wondering if we could… maybe… uhm… see each other even after the wedding is over.” My treacherous heart keeps soaring into the air. “But then your sister…”
My heart is at that point in mid-air where it has to come down from its jump, and Archie’s last comment makes it lose focus and balance, and the poor organ ends up going down in an uncontrolled fall until it splatters on the floor of my rib cage.
“But then my sister brought frozen eggs into the picture, and it all became a bit much?” I suggest.
“Yeah, I mean, no. Not exactly. What do the frozen eggs mean? If it’s okay for me to ask. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Too late for that. My sister showed all my cards, so I might as well play my hand. “I won’t go into technical details,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “But the gist of it is that after thirty-five a woman’s fertility drops—”
An embarrassed cough behind me makes me stop. A server is hovering next to our table with two plates in his hands. I lean back in my chair and give him space to set the appetizers down. He does, and once he’s at a safe distance, I don’t even pretend I’m interested in my food.
“In short,” I continue, “I’m cheating biology to give myself more time to have kids.”
“More time.” Archie looks like he’s digesting this information. He picks up his fork and moves Brussels sprouts around on his plate. “But you definitely want kids?”
“Not tomorrow, but one day, yeah, I want to have kids.”
“And to get married.”
Gosh, my sister really put the heavy load on him.
“Yes,” I say, working hard not to grit my teeth. He’s making marriage and kids sound like dirty words or something. “If I were in a relationship, it would have to be with someone who’s on the same page about having a family, eventually. I’m in no rush, but that’s the end goal for me.”
Archie looks up at me, a death sentence in his eyes. “I don’t know if I want kids.”
And there it is, the ugly truth my sister has forced us to reveal to each other sooner rather than later. The San Andreas fault might as well have opened in the middle of our table, putting us on separate ridges, because we’ve never been so far apart.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing a glob of sorrow. Then I shrug in a “So what?” way. “Guess we’ll have to stick to the plan, then, and say goodbye on Sunday.”
I’ve lost all appetite, and the idea of riding back to the resort on Archie’s bike makes my stomach churn even more. I throw my napkin on the table and get up, saying, “I need to use the restroom.”
Instead, I walk out of the restaurant and call a cab. Once I’m safely inside and out of Archie’s reach, I text him.
Sorry, I couldn’t stay
This was a mistake
Archie never texts back.
***
I spend half the afternoon crying while taking a bath, and the other half crying while watching a marathon of One Tree Hill on TV. The teen show with its high emotions helps me mourn my own love story that will never be.
I want to be with Archie; every fiber in my body yearns for it.
But he’s not relationship material.
No, that’s not true or fair. The only problem here is that the man isn’t playing for keeps, because if he were, he’d be a fantastic boyfriend. Archie is kind and attentive when the situation calls for it, but also knows how to lighten the mood with a joke when things aren’t that serious. He has had many women, but I bet that if he picked one as his forever and ever, he’d be loyal till the end of times. As a partner, he’d be solid, generous, reassuring, frigging hot, fun to be with, interesting, challenging, protective, but not asphyxiating, full of life, amazing in bed.
Archie would make an exceptional father, too. I could picture him being his kids’ hero. Being the kind of dad who builds a treehouse in our backyard. Because we’d be the kind of family with the white fenced house, the cat, and three kids, two boys and a girl.
And I’ve crashed into fantasyland again. I’d better rein in my imagination. No part of this dream of mine will ever happen. Maybe five, ten years from now when he’ll be ready. But that won’t happen by Sunday, not with me.
Wrong timing.
Story of my life.
I hate it.
Eighteen
Summer
Tomorrow’s lunch will be held on the beautiful lawn behind the estate, but tonight is too cold to dine outside, so the rehearsal dinner has been moved indoors.
Standing signs engraved with Spencer & Knowles Rehearsal Dinner point to a spacious room I haven’t seen yet. This must be the space the resort uses for indoor receptions when it rains or is too cold. The salon is next to the breakfast hall and mirrors it, two halves of the same pie. A nice choice for indoor events. The faraway glass wall provides a beautiful view of the lit vineyards even at night, and the outside patio is decorated with strung fairy lights, adding even more romance to the atmosphere. The only thing I wouldn’t necessarily like for a wedding is the carpeted floor. Its intricate leaves and flowers pattern is not bad per se, but it’s a strong reminder we’re in a hotel and not a magical place lost in a fable somewhere.
I’m so absorbed in my observations, I don’t notice Archie coming my way until he’s standing right in front of me.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
I’m not ready for the ambush, and I’m tempted to flee again but can’t see a way out. Instead, I use attack as the best defense.
“There’s nothing left to say.”
His eyes widen. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes, I’m mad at you. And I don’t want to talk to you, especially not where everybody can hear.”
Archie purses his lips. “Let’s move somewhere else, then, but we’re going to talk now.”
I oblige him, mostly because other guests are streaming into the room and I want to avoid making a scene.