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“No. No, I don’t agree with that at all. We’re not kids anymore, E. Our lives are more complicated. Things are better, but they’re more difficult. We’ve got careers. Responsibilities. Of course it’s going to be hard. What matters is how hard we’re willing to fight to overcome all that shit. The more we fight, the more rewarding it will be. I genuinely believe that, and I think you do, too.”
“But that’s just it. I have to use the fight I have in me for other things. I have to fight for my own happy ending.”
Ford plants his hands on the island, flattening his palms as he rocks back on his heels. Rocks forward. He takes several deep breaths, nostrils flaring. I wait and I shake and I wonder how the hell we got here. How we went from flirting at a baby shower to shouting at each other in the kitchen of my rental apartment.
I can honestly say I have never felt worse in my life. But what choice do I have? I know my story can and will end differently from my mother’s. In order for that to happen, though, I have to make different decisions than she did.
I have to stop giving inches and start taking them instead.
“Look. I think we’re both at the end of our ropes right now with everyone being sick. Why don’t you chug this”—straightening, he snaps a Gatorade off the pack and holds it out to me—“and get back into bed. We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.”
He keeps holding out the Gatorade. I look at it, wanting to die.
“I can’t.” I swallow. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to string you and Bryce along. I should’ve never…well. Knowing what I do now—we gave it a chance, and now I see that it was never going to work. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ford. I don’t know what else to say except that I am so, so sorry, but I just can’t be the partner you need. I’m not cut out for motherhood.”
He looks at me. Looks and looks. A single tear slips out of his eye, and the scaffolding inside my chest collapses. I catch a wisp of a thought. If it’s not meant to be, then why does letting him go hurt so bad?
If I’m making the right choice, why does this hurt so bad?
Ford sniffs. Draws his lips into a tight line.
“Okay,” he says, tapping the outside of his fist on the countertop. “Okay.”
And then he turns and leaves. Taking the air in the room and my heart with him.
Ford mentioned a couple times that we felt star-crossed. That fate had somehow conspired to bring us together despite enormous obstacles. In his mind, the term was a romantic one. A positive one.
But the term has a negative meaning, too. Star-crossed lovers are doomed. Headed for disaster. The kind of disaster that had Capulets and Montagues killing each other in the streets.
Ford and I were barreling toward disaster from the start. I just didn’t see it until now.Chapter ThirtyFordMy hands shake as I grip the steering wheel, guiding my truck to a stop at a red light.
Did that really just happen?
Did Eva really just break up with me? A week ago, I told her I loved her.
A week ago, she told me she loved me.
And then she goes and pulls the ripcord out of nowhere.
The guy behind me honks. I blink, realizing the light is green. Fuck this.
Fuck him. I honk back and give him the finger when he zooms past me in the right lane.
I feel numb and keyed up, all at once. There’s a faint ringing in my ears. What I imagine I’d hear if a bomb went off nearby.
I was expecting Eva to be upset when I decided to bring her some sick day supplies on my way home from the office. At that point, I knew she’d had to have missed her deadline. But I had no idea I’d be walking into the line of fire.
The worst part is that I get it. I understand why she feels the way she does. And I feel horrible about it. I let things go way too far. The second Bryce and I walked into that first pizza night, I knew Eva was wiped. I saw it, but I didn’t do a damn thing about it.
The second Eva volunteered to coach Bryce’s team, I knew it was a bad idea. Again, I didn’t do enough. I just let it happen, thinking—hoping—it would work out.
It didn’t.
I should have fucking known better. Eva has definitely rubbed off on me. But I hadn’t realized that I’d rubbed off on her, too. And not in a good way. She saw me running myself into the ground trying to be everything to everyone—trying to be the ultimate success story—and she ended up doing the same thing to herself.
