Chapter Twenty-three
Cooper’s laughter jostles my head resting on his chest, and I sneak a peek at his face in the light of my TV, his smile lines beautiful, his five o’clock shadow dark and in such contrast to his blond mess of hair on top of his head.
I won’t be able to look at him when I tell him.
Those blue eyes have never been able to hide how he really feels—not to mention his mouth can’t hide it that well either.
One of the many reasons why I fell so hard so fast.
The room darkens as the screen goes from show to Netflix menu, and Cooper starts flicking through the choices.
“You up for another episode, or you want to watch something else?”
I lift a shoulder against the warmth of his underarm.
I can’t believe that I’ll miss this.
A month ago I would’ve traded any of my other suitors just to cuddle with my cats instead.
My eyes drift to Tom who is giving me the evil eye for taking up lap space when he hopped up on Cooper first.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Cooper says, selecting the next episode and setting the remote down.
“You okay?”
No . “I… I have to talk to you.”
His brow furrows, and he shifts enough that I get the full blast of concern swimming in his eyes.
“What’d I do?”
I laugh at his joking tone, an ache pulsing in my chest at the fact that this is the last time we’ll be light and fun with each other.
I want to drag it out and soak it up before I break his heart.
“Lots of things,” I tease, settling back down on his warm chest and staring at the TV.
“But that’s not what I need to talk to you about.”
“Care to fill me in?”
“I’m working my way up to it.” I snuggle into his shirt.
I can feel his grin through the kiss he places on my head.
“I’ll prepare myself for random word vomit,” he says.
“I’m not as good at it as you are.”
“The ol’ Cooper bait and switch.”
“Effective.”
“Apparently. Next time I need to get you to do something you don’t want, I’ll just be quiet for an eternity and then blurt it out at the most inopportune moment.”
“We need to stop seeing each other.”
“You like my randomness and you know it.”
“No, Cooper.” I sigh and lift my head, begging my tears to stay inside where they belong.
“We need to stop seeing each other.”
His playful smile slowly fades.
His light eyes darken.
His breathing stops and starts back up in a puzzled rhythm.
“What?”
That one word…
one word that doesn’t mean anything and yet means everything—the beginning of the end.
There’s already so much heartache in that one word that I’m not sure I can continue.
I want to laugh and say, “Got ya!” and snuggle my way back onto that strong and loving chest, tangle my fingers with his, kiss away every ounce of sadness and loss that is eating its way through my stomach.
I slam my eyes shut and turn away, pretending it is someone else, someone I’m not so in love with, just another someone in a sea of someones who meant so little to me.
“I can’t—” No . I don’t want him to know.
Or maybe I don’t want to know how he’d react.
I lick my lips and backtrack.
“I don’t want kids, Cooper.”
He gives me a funny look, like he doesn’t understand why this is such big news.
“I know.”
“I’m never going to… want kids.”
“Maya,” he says, his tone relaxing.
“We’re having fun right now. You wanted that, right?”
“I did . ”
“You took a big leap with me, playing house and giving me a chance.” He takes my hand, and a heavy tear pokes at the corner of my eye as I look down at our interlaced fingers.
“Look, I know we want different things, but I’m willing to risk my future just for the chance to be with you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Cooper…” I need to draw my hand away, and I dig into the deepest parts of my strength to do it.
I’m out of breath when I finally do.
“We’re too different, and I can’t keep letting this play out when I know how it’ll end.”
“What makes you so sure it’s gonna end at all?”
“Picture your life with me, okay? Picture it the way that it’ll happen if we stay together.” I level my eyes, make sure that through all the fantasies he sees, all the dreams he has, that he can focus on the reality I’m going to paint for him.
“You will never have children. Could you really live with that? Because I don’t think I could live with taking that away from you.”
Then I see it—his entire face falling as my words hit him.
Pain flashes in his eyes as the image becomes clear in his mind.
The unshed tears of never holding his own baby, never teaching a son to ride a bike, or having date nights with a daughter.
It’s only me and him, and while for some people it’s enough, for some people—like me—it has to be enough.
But for him, it will never be enough .
I could never give him what he needs, and I shove from the couch, pad my way across the room, and bury my face in my palm, too afraid to feel everything I know he feels with just the idea of no family when the reality is so very much mine.
“If I painted you a picture of what I saw for us, would it… would it hurt you as much as yours hurt me just now?”
“What?”
He stands, his footfalls heavy as he steps up behind me.
He runs his hands down my arms, squeezing my elbows.
“If I told you I picture a house with a big backyard, a swing set, a little girl with her mom’s curls and a little boy with her quick wit… Would it hurt you?” His hot breath cascades over the back of my neck.
“Maya, please look at me.”
I slowly turn in his arms, knowing that he’ll misinterpret the pain in my eyes for something I don’t want instead of what it is—something I can’t have .
“Are you sure you don’t ever want that?” he asks.
“Or even think that you could try to want that?”
I gulp, trying to keep my voice steady, but it’s near impossible.
“You said you weren’t trying to change my mind. You told me that was not what this was about.”
The shock of our conversation, the attempt to talk me back up falls from his expression, and his face crumples in front of me.
He reaches out, touching my arms, my hands, my waist…
He cups my face and drags his thumbs across my lips.
“This isn’t happening, is it?” he says.
“I feel like we aren’t coming back from this.”
I reach out for him, but draw back, knowing that if I cling onto him I won’t ever let him go.
“Would you be willing to give up kids for me?” I ask, not wanting an answer.
Whatever it is wouldn’t change anything.
A yes would only triple my guilt over never being able to give him what he wants.
A no would break my heart in a million ways.
His silence is just as earth-shattering.
“Then we have to stop this now, please.” I sniff, a sharp pain slicing through the back of my throat from choking back all my tears.
Cooper shakes his head, taking my hand and putting it to his lips.
“I don’t think I can,” he says.
“You have become so much more than just the beautiful woman I saw on the street. So much more than my savvy realtor. So much more than the crazy cat lady.”
We both let out a sad laugh at his words, and he takes my moment of weakness to step into me, hold me close, pattern kisses over my cheeks and across the bridge of my nose.
“I don’t want to let you go.”
It takes every ounce of strength I have to push away, to coax his hands from my skin, to replace his warmth and comfort with something cold and lonely.
I take a step back, my stomach tossing in a whirlwind of heavy, thick tar, my voice a distant cousin that I don’t recognize.
“I won’t have kids,” I say, knowing my words are carefully chosen.
“I’m not going to change my mind, and I don’t want to change yours.”
His eyes break again, his voice cracking and shattering my heart in two.
“This can’t be it. This can’t be how it ends between us.”
I slam my eyes shut, but I can feel him a breath away again, closing the gaps between us and filling it with his comforting body heat.
“Cooper, please just go.” He needs to go.
He needs to leave before I tell him the truth, before I give in and marry him on the spot.
I can’t take a family away from him.
I won’t.
His hands are suddenly, softly on my cheeks; the warmth spreads from his palms and sinks into my skin.
He taps a gentle kiss against my lips, a kiss that doesn’t feel like his many others—the kisses that were persuading and meant to snare me into a moment of weakness.
No, this kiss is warm and loving, kind and understanding, saddened and afraid.
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” he says as our lips part.
“For stupidly assuming everyone wants what I want, for trying to change your mind when I said I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to give up anything just for me.” He puts his forehead against mine, breathing in, inhaling like I’m inhaling, like we don’t want this to end, that we’d both like to bask in it forever.
His eyes open to mine, the dark pools so unbelievably heartbroken and hurt that I nearly tell him to forget everything I’ve said.
“I’m gonna walk away,” he whispers, his voice gruff and broken.
“But it is not because I don’t love you.”
He presses a long, lingering kiss to my forehead, drawing back so suddenly that I don’t see his face before he turns.
He slips into his shoes, not giving me a second glance as he pulls open the front door and steps out into the starry night.
The click of the door as it shuts in place behind him sets off the flurry of tears I’ve kept just under the surface.
I plummet to the floor, grasping at anything warm and soft to press my face into.
Now I’ve lost both things I never wanted, and it’s more devastating than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I didn’t ask him to leave because I didn’t love him, and I wish I would’ve said that before he walked out.