Chapter 13
thirteen
HUNTER
I wake before dawn to find Elaina still curled against me, her breathing deep and even, inspiring an unfamiliar tightness in my chest.
But it’s not a bad feeling, it’s a warm, safe one that I recognize, but have only experienced a few times before.
The first was with my girlfriend in college, an incredible person I wasn’t prepared to love in the way she deserved. I regretted not being enough for McKenzie through every second of her wedding to an alcoholic pro soccer player a few years later, knowing I could have given her a better life if I’d just known how to show her how much she mattered to me.
The second time was with Lark, my last serious girlfriend.
Lark was a social worker with a heart of gold and a wicked sense of humor who kept me on my toes, and I loved her. I truly did. I did my best to show it, to live it and share it with her, but…I failed. Turned out I still didn’t know how to turn that warm tightness in my chest into something another person could feel.
My love remained locked away, a sad, pathetic secret I carried for years, long after Lark married one of my friends from work and announced the birth of their first child.
I was invited to the wedding and the christening. That’s how bad I am at being in love. My sweet, thoughtful ex, who would never knowingly hurt a living thing, never imagined I’d be upset by her invitations. Because she never believed I cared in the first place.
Like Elaina, Lark thought I had a heart of stone.
But I don’t. I have feelings, sometimes deep, gut-wrenching ones, they just don’t show on the outside.
But maybe last night…
Maybe Elaina could see them, feel them? At least a little?
The way she brought my hand to her lips and kissed the back before she drifted off, whispering, “Good night, Hunter. I’m glad you’re home,” gives me hope.
Last night was good…really good. Not just the makeup sex, but the time together after, too. I enjoyed dinner and a movie in bed with her more than I’ve enjoyed any of my dates to Michelin Star restaurants or trendy pop-up bars in the past few years.
But will she be able to understand where I’m coming from this morning? Even if I bare my soul to her as much as I’m capable of baring it to anyone?
I don’t know.
And I’m not looking forward to the fallout if we fail to reach a meeting of the minds. I don’t want to say goodbye to Elaina. I don’t want last night to be the last time I hold her, fuck her, or see that sweetly sarcastic smile I haven’t seen her flash for anyone else…
And I really don’t want to have to tell my mother that the girl she thinks is “perfect for me” is gone…
So, I do my best to delay the inevitable, letting Elaina sleep while I make coffee in the dark, taking refuge in the familiar morning ritual. The sky outside gradually lightens from black to purple to pink, painting the kitchen in the kind of soft glow that makes life seem deceptively simple and perfect.
Like those Instagram posts of “morning routines” that conveniently leave out the part where you’re having an existential crisis over your fancy Italian latte machine, wondering what’s the point?
What has all your hard work and striving been for if “success” can’t cure your mother’s cancer or make the people you care for stay when you really don’t want them to go?
“Well, that smells amazing,” Elaina says in her husky morning voice.
I turn to find her ambling into the kitchen, wearing my discarded dress shirt from last night. Her hair is messy, her mouth is still swollen from my kisses, and the liner she didn’t thoroughly wash off in the shower is smudged under her left eye. In short, she is beautiful and sexy and the only way I could want her more was if she was still wearing my tank top.
“Latte with a hint of vanilla and lavender in the milk?” I say, nodding toward the machine. “I can also do one with caramel, if you’re so inclined.”
“No, vanilla and lavender sounds perfect, and I need caffeine like woah,” she says, crawling into one of the barstools on the other side of the island and making grabby hands. “Gimme, please and thank you.”
I set the latte in front of her and turn to make another for myself as I ask, “Hungry? I could make an omelet and toast. Or we could order something.”
“Coffee is fine for now,” she says. “I’m too nervous for food just yet.”
I glance over my shoulder as the machine whirs, grinding the espresso beans. “Nervous about?”
“The talk,” she says, cradling her warm mug between her palms. “We’re having ‘the talk’ this morning, and the talk is always scary.”
I grunt in agreement.
“But not as scary as a lot of other things we’ve both been through,” she says, with what I’m guessing is forced chipperness. “We can handle it. So, let’s just dive right in and get it over with, shall we?”
“All right.” Girding my loins, I turn to face her with my arms crossed. “I’m developing feelings for you, and I would like for this to be more than a business arrangement. But I’m terrible at relationships. My longest lasted about ten months, and that was with me trying in a way I don’t have the bandwidth to try right now, considering the situation with my mother. Additionally, I have no desire to be a husband or father. Ever. Since you clearly want children, that means—even if I were able to give you what you need emotionally, though I have yet to show any talent for that with other women—we’re incompatible in the long-term. Therefore, all I can offer you is the affection, companionship, and support I’m able to provide in the present moment, for as long as we both decide that moment should last.” I pause for a moment, but I can’t afford to leave the last part of this unsaid. “And, should you decide you’d like to continue to try for a baby during the time we’re together, I would still plan to exit your life after the child was born. As I stated before, and as outlined in our agreement, that’s non-negotiable for me.”
In the wake of my speech, Elaina sits in stunned silence, blinking as if she’s just emerged from time spent underground. Finally, she pulls in a breath and mutters, “Well, that was direct.”
“I thought you would have realized by now that I don’t do subtle.”
She blinks again. “Yeah, I have. Realized that. I guess, I just thought…” She glances down at her mug, takes a drink, then, stares at it some more, as if she’s waiting for the latte to offer guidance on the situation.
I’m about to tell her that there’s no rush, that she should take time to digest everything I’ve said, when she looks up.
Her gaze is clear, calm, if a hint more cynical than it was a moment before. “But deep down, I knew better. You are who you are. And I am who I am. Yes, I like to imagine there will come a day when I have an amazing husband, a pack of kids, and the kind of loving family that lasts forever, but…I never had that growing up. It was just my mom and me. And my longest relationship only lasted six months, so who am I to throw stones at you? I mean, as we’ve noticed before, we’re a lot alike.”
“You’re young,” I say, not wanting her to lump herself in with me. She’s not a lost cause, not even close. “It’s not unusual not to have had a long and lasting relationship at twenty-six. I’m forty-two. At this point, for me it’s…pathological.”
“Why?” she asks, her brow furrowing. “Because you don’t want to change or try to get better at relationships? Or because you don’t believe you can?”
I meet her gaze across the island, my mouth curving into a wry smile. “That’s one of the things I like best about you.”
“What’s that?”
“That you always ask the toughest question possible. You go right for the throat, no hesitation. I find that irrationally attractive.”
Her lips twitch. “I’m glad to hear that. Most people find it intrusive. Or obnoxious or inconsiderate and a sign of poor social skills. It even pisses my friends off sometimes, and they love me.” She shrugs. “I just…can’t help it. Ignoring the things we’re all too afraid to say out loud doesn’t make them any easier to handle. If anything, it only gives them more power to scare us. So?” She cocks her head. “Which is it? Do you even know?”
“I’ve had therapy,” I say. “And I’m still in therapy. It’s not that I’m unwilling to do the work, I just…” I break off, wanting to get this right, to be as honest with her as possible. She deserves that. “I honestly don’t know if I’m capable of showing affection in the way other people do. I tried with my last partner, I really did, but I couldn’t seem to break through. I couldn’t take what I felt on the inside and bring it to the outside in a way that made her feel what she needed to feel.”
Elaina nods slowly. “Okay, but…maybe that was her problem, not yours. Or maybe you two were just a bad fit. I think you’re capable of showing what you feel.” A vulnerable expression twitches at her features as she adds, “I felt something. Last night. In the shower and later…when you told me your heart wasn’t made of stone, but you sometimes wished it were.”
I grunt again.
“Why do you wish it were?” she asks, her tone softer, but no less insistent.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I say. “I no longer find your nosiness attractive.”
A smile flashes across her face before she sobers again. “Come on, Mendelssohn. You were doing so well with the opening up thing. Just keep going. Baby steps toward intimacy. You can do it. I believe in you.”
I sigh, torn between finding her persistence charming and wanting to walk out of here right now and stay gone again for another three to four days. But that didn’t work the first time, and I know it won’t work now.
“Because,” I say, my throat so tight I can barely get the words out, “it hurts to feel things and try and…fail.”
Empathy fills her gaze as she nods. “It does. It hurts so much. But, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you would fail this time. I can tell that you care, Hunter. I can see it in the way you look at me, in the way you touch me…”
My jaw tightens and hope flickers in my chest, a tiny flame I snuff out before it can grow. “But you want children. That’s still non-negotiable for you?”
She bites her bottom lip but doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. I want babies. Pretty desperately.”
“And I do not. Most emphatically. So…”
She nods slowly, tracing the rim of her now-empty mug with one finger. “Okay. Then, I guess the path forward is clear.”
“It is?” I ask, trusting she’ll clue me in.
She nods. “We move forward as planned, but with one very important change. From now on, the relationship part is real for…however long it lasts. And who knows? Maybe I’ll have a hard time getting pregnant, and we’ll have plenty of time to get good and sick of each other before it’s time to call it quits.”
“Maybe,” I agree, but I don’t believe it.
I won’t get sick of her. More likely, she’ll grow frustrated with me, the way other women have before her, and move on to someone else. But that’s always the way this was going to end. At least now, we don’t have to play games or pretend we aren’t feeling emotions far stronger than friendship or respect for our partner in this strange venture.
This way, we can just enjoy the time we have.
It might actually be…fun.
“And one thing’s for certain,” Elaina says, hopping off her stool and circling around the island, her mug in hand. “It’ll be way easier to fool your mom if we’re not fooling her. I felt bad about that part anyway. She’s such a sweetheart.” She stops in front of me, pushing out her bottom lip as she lifts her mug. “Please sir, I need some more.”
I arch a brow. “There were two shots of espresso in the first one.”
“Yes, but four is a better number than two,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And I run a coffee shop, dude. Do you really think I chose that barista thug life because I enjoy consuming a responsible amount of caffeine? No, I like to be wired for sound from seven a.m. to three p.m. Maybe four if I’m planning to stay up past ten.”
“You’re going to have to cut down eventually, coffee thug,” I warn as I take her mug. “Too much caffeine isn’t safe during pregnancy.”
She sighs. “I know, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Until then, coffee is my friend, and I really need you to teach me to use the fancy machine. I obviously have the normal latte situation on lock, but this thing confused me so much that I did the French Press while you were gone.”
“Stay. I will teach you my ways,” I say. “And then, once you’re dressed, I’ll take you out to brunch before I swing by the office, how about that?”
She looks up at me, her expression brightening. “Yeah? Like a date? Our first real date?” She frowns. “Or any kind of date, really, since I don’t think dinner with your mother really qualifies.”
“It doesn’t. And yes. A real date. Though I will be going over to Mom’s again later this afternoon. We do tea and cards on Wednesday, dinner on Fridays, and I take her out for a walk in the park on Sunday or sometimes a Broadway matinee if she’s up for it. She hasn’t been recently, but I got three tickets to The Music Man for this weekend. Just in case.”
Elaina takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That sounds like fun. I’ve never been to a Broadway show. I’m happy to come play cards today, too, if you want. Or to give you guys time alone, whatever you’d prefer. I know you want to sell her on our happily ever after, but these might be some of the last memories you make with her. They shouldn’t all be fake.”
“Agreed,” I say. “I thought about that, and I?—”
“Not surprised,” she cuts in with a smirk. “You’re always thinking.”
I huff. “I am. Yes. And I think it’s best I do the Wednesday visits alone for now. But thank you for the offer.”
“Of course, no problem.” She grins up at me as she chucks me on the bicep with one tiny fist. “Look at us! We’re so good at teamwork when we’re not being big babies about our feelings.”
“It’s impressive,” I agree. “Almost like we’re emotionally mature adults.”
She nods seriously. “Almost, but I don’t think I’m quite there yet this morning. I need something to help me reach peak emotional maturity. And that thing is…” She taps a finger to her chin before casting a pointed glance at the still-empty mug in my hand.
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. “Caffeine coming right up, my little fiend. I’ll bring it to you in the bathroom. You need to wash your face. Your eyeliner smeared while you were sleeping, and you look like you got punched in your left eye.”
She gasps, hand flying to her cheek as she backs away. “What? Why didn’t you tell me? Geez, Hunter. This is not okay! You should have said something earlier.” She turns, fleeing into the living room as she calls over her shoulder, “Don’t ever let me have a serious conversation with ugly face again!”
But, of course, her face wasn’t ugly.
It was beautiful.
She’s beautiful.
She’s beautiful and strong and confident and tolerates zero bullshit. She’s also funny and clever and compassionate and seems to be the only woman I’ve ever cared for who can see the truth behind the mask I don’t even realize I’m wearing most of the time.
In my father’s house, that mask probably saved my life. Any show of emotion, any sign of vulnerability, was an excuse to attack. I disconnected the part of myself that makes a person’s heart show up on their sleeve when I was so young that I can’t remember a time when people didn’t comment on how composed I was, how unflappable.
How cold…
But I’m not cold. I’m not sure I’m even broken anymore, I’m just different. I was forged in a different fire than most people, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want a lot of the same things. I would like to have a partner, a lover, a best friend to come home to and plan a future with.
And if she didn’t want a family, maybe Elaina could have been that person.
But she’s not, and that’s okay. At this point in my life, I know better than to make “perfect” the enemy of good. Neither one of us is going to find our forever in each other’s arms, but we might find things that are just as important.
“Thank you,” I tell Elaina as I deliver her coffee.
She studies me over the top of her washcloth as she finishes wiping her face. “For what?”
“For seeing things other people usually don’t,” I say, finding it easier to open up to her than I ever expected. “It gives me hope that maybe I’m getting better at showing those things.”
She pushes up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek, sending another wave of sweet tightness through my chest. “I think you are,” she says as she pulls back, gazing up at me with a soft smile. “You’ve got potential Mr. M. We here at Fake-Girlfriends-Who-are-Now-Real-Girlfriends-But-Only-Until-it’s-Time-to-go-our-Separate-Ways, think you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.” She widens her eyes, her tone taking on that familiar sarcastic edge as she adds, “It’s not too late to find love with some child-hating monster like yourself.”
I laugh, swat her bottom, and head into my closet to find something to wear on my first date with my bratty new girlfriend, feeling more optimistic about the future of my love life than I have in years.
And it’s all thanks to the woman humming “Hit me with Your Best Shot,” as she gulps down an even more obscene amount of coffee in my bathroom.