Chapter 18
Samantha
My first marriage proposal was pretty terrible.
Brent only proposed because he thought he’d impregnated his one-night stand. He was a relatively good guy, so I lucked out there, but it was hardly the story little girls dream about.
And now my boyfriend’s dad just proposed to me.
Why does my life always take these bizarre twists and turns? Why can’t any of them ever be something that might be delightful and cute?
“I’m so very sorry about my dad.” Richard looks as chagrined as I feel.
He and his father came in the same car, but thanks to a last-minute call, his father’s staying in Waterford for a meeting with some startup company he’s been talking to for a while.
That means we have an entire thirty-minute car ride, longer if I drive responsibly around the hedges, to talk about the ring.
And my uterus.
I click my key fob, it chirps, and I open the driver’s side door.
“Want me to drive?” Richard’s offer is a kind one. He’s heard me rant about the tiny roads and inflated speed limits.
I toss him the keys as I circle to the passenger side. “Thanks.”
“We may have to get you a faster car so that I don’t mind taking over for you,” he quips, and then he freezes. “Sorry, I know things are already super weird with my dad and all that.” He groans. “I’m sorry for making it worse.”
I get in the car, staring at the hedge I parked against. “It’s fine,” I say, “but we do need to talk.”
“That doesn’t sound great,” Richard says. “No one ever says, ‘we need to talk,’ if they’re delighted to do something. They just gush about how happy they are.”
I can’t argue. “It’s not about your dad, though.” I wince. I’ve had the benefit of several months of thinking about how I should break this news to him. Even so, I haven’t come up with a ‘right way,’ and I’m still not really sure what I want him to say when I tell him.
Actually, now I’m lying to myself.
I know what I want him to say.
I want him to tell me that it doesn’t matter. I want him to pull over the car after I tell him about my lie, and I want him to kiss me, and I want him to tell me that his family legacy, all his wealth, and his lifelong desires for children all pale next to his love for me.
But what person in their right mind would say that? He hasn’t even said he loves me yet, which makes his dad’s ring-trick even stranger and more inappropriate.
But Richard doesn’t start the car.
He turns in his tiny seat, and he reaches for me, and then he drops his hands, my key dangling from his right one, in his lap.
“This is all so—I’m so mad at my dad. I should’ve told you that I loved you a month ago.
Maybe two, but I didn’t want to scare you.
” He finally looks at me. “But then I waited so long, that I wanted to tell you in a special way. I wanted it to mean something. Now I’ve waited even longer, and when Dad said I was insane to be dating an American, and I screamed in his face that I loved an American, he kind of had to get on board.
But then he knew this big thing I hadn’t even told you yet.
” He takes my hand with his, dropping the keys in the cupholder.
“I love you, Samantha Stiber. I love your smile. I love your walk. I love watching you ride horses. I love the grace of your hands on the reins, or the feel of your hand in mine.” He squeezes my fingers.
“And above all else, I love how you make me want to be more than I am, have more than I ever dreamed, and spend more time here in Ireland, or wherever you are, because I only want to be with you. I’ll move to America if I have to, to stay by your side. ”
It’s a big declaration, and now I feel even worse.
“I love you, too,” I say. “And I don’t have the right words to tell you just how much, but I don’t really have the right to, because I’ve been keeping something from you.” I look down. “Something big.”
He doesn’t release my hand. He doesn’t move away, or even push. He just waits, calmly and quietly, like nothing I say could ever faze him.
I didn’t think it was possible, but I actually love him more for how he’s reacting.
“You’ll probably remember when I told you I didn’t want kids.” I inhale slowly. “The thing is, it’s a lot more than that, and that was actually a lie. I adore kids, even the really terrible, bratty ones. I like the whiny ones. I like the chubby ones. I like the ones who pick their nose.”
He’s beaming. “That may be the best lie anyone has ever told. I’m—”
“Wait.” A single tear rolls down my cheek, and I pull my hand out of his grasp. “Because the lie wasn’t about whether I liked kids. It’s that I love kids, but I—” I shake my head. I can’t say it, even now.
“What?” He looks truly concerned now.
“I’ve had miscarriages,” I finally say. “And not one or two. I’ve had nine miscarriages, where the pregnancy was confirmed, and then didn’t—” I choke. Now it’s not just one tear. I’m sobbing in my own car’s passenger seat, with Richard looking utterly beside himself next to me.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I can afford the best doctors.”
I shake my head. “I paid for all the doctors. I’m a nurse practitioner, remember?
” I finally turn to face him. “I’m not fertile, and I tried to ignore that for fourteen years.
I tried, and I tried, and I tried, and every single time it killed me a little bit more inside.
I love myself enough now not to ever put myself through that again, not for me, not for my own dreams, and not for anyone else.
” My voice has gotten small. So very, very small.
“Richard, I love you so much that the thought of telling you all this, it—” My voice cracks.
“But I can’t.” I’m shaking my head again, tears falling freely onto my lap.
“Even for you, I can’t do it again. Because every single time, I would pray, and I would beg God and I would plead with him, offering him anything and everything I had if only my baby would live, and every single time, when the baby died, I hated God, and then I hated myself, and I can’t do it.
I just can’t, not ever again.” I drop my face in my hands, and I cry, and I wait.
I wait for him to tell me it’s alright.
I wait for him to tell me that he still loves me.
I wait for him to tell me that, of course, he would never want that for me.
I wait for him to tell me that I’m enough, and that his legacy isn’t nearly as important as me, and that we don’t need to have children.
But he doesn’t say any of that.
The one thing I’ve learned about Richard in the time we’ve spent together is that he cares a great deal about having a family.
I watch him watching Natalie and Vanessa.
I see him noticing other children. I know how badly he wants to be a father.
I do believe that he loves me. I don’t think any of that was a lie.
But if someone told me years ago that it was Brent’s fault that I couldn’t have kids? I’d have divorced him much, much sooner, because the amount of desperate need I have for a family wasn’t matched by the love I felt for Brent.
Clearly, the love Richard feels for me is outpaced by the desire in his heart for the family he’s always wanted, and I can’t even blame him for that. It’s not his fault. He’s always been very upfront about what he wants. Natalie dumped him for it, for heaven’s sake.
And now, as we drive to Lismore Castle in silence, I realize we’re going to break up for the very same reason.
“I will call you,” he says. “It’s a lot to process, but I love you.” He forces a smile as he exits my car in the front drive of his massive castle.
I circle around woodenly to take the driver’s seat, and then I start for home without thinking about what I’m doing. I know my way home. I can get there, even in this bizarre stupor that seems to have taken over my body.
When I reach Fortwilliam, it’s almost ten at night.
It’s a ridiculous time to find myself bawling like a baby, but at least in the dark, no one’s likely to see me.
I practically sprint to the barn, and then I keep right on going until I’ve reached the cottage.
Natalie’s there, covered with paint, and I don’t even care.
She wraps her arms around me without saying a word.
Natalie clearly already knows that I told him the truth, and that it didn’t go well.
In typical Natalie fashion, she just rubs one hand on my back and lets me cry.
There’s a reason I came to her. Even though no one does more and pushes harder and fights more fiercely for things, when I’m hurting, she just lets me hurt.
Vanessa would have insisted on trying to fix it, and I’m not there yet.
When I finally straighten, Natalie looks me dead in the eye and says, “My pregnancies aren’t that bad. I can carry a baby for you.”
And, good heavens, that sets me off again.
“I know you’re upset, and I know this is a lot to think about, but I do mean it.” She grabs me and pulls me tight against her chest. “It would be my privilege to carry your child.”
I’m hiccupping now, and my insane crying turns into manic laughter. “You’d be carrying your ex-boyfriend’s baby.” I’m not sure why, but for some reason it strikes me as the funniest thing I have ever heard in my life. “You and Richard would be having a baby after all.”
She starts laughing then, but you can see she’s sad about it. She’s sad for me. Her heart’s breaking with me. She puts her arm around me, and she squeezes. “I wouldn’t be having Richard’s baby. I’d be having my best friend’s baby, and it would be my pleasure.”
“I would never ask you to do that,” I say, our laughter dying in that moment. “Never.”
“I would do it without hesitation.”
I’m crying again, but silently this time. “I know you would, and that’s why I love you so much, but Natalie, this is just my life. God didn’t bless me with kids, and that’s just what my lot has been.”
“Science allows a lot of things these days.” But then her head tilts, and her voice drops to a whisper. “But Sam, I am so sorry that he didn’t tell you that he doesn’t care.”
“He doesn’t have that option,” I say. “He’s not exactly a regular guy.”
But deep down, I’m at least as sad as she is.