Then she got into the habit of dropping hints that the apartment was too small and the lease would be up next summer. And wouldn’t it be nice to live in a house? Shit like that.
And then I got home after my Site Assessment and Remediation class this afternoon, and Zoe had turned the living room into something out ofThe Bachelor.No lie. Rose petals on the living room floor. Pillar candles on every surface. Fucking champagne chilling in a bucket of ice.
I stood frozen in the doorway and tried to process what the hell was going on. Not my birthday. Not Valentine’s Day, which I told her early on was a non-starter for me. Not our anniversary, even though she knew my position on that too.
She was sitting at the table in that wrap dress of hers that drives me wild when we’re out together and these strappy shoes that make her calves look like religious idols. I was two seconds away from falling to my knees and eating her out right there.
But the look in her eyes made me hold back.
No, not the look in her eyes. Thetearsin her eyes.
She knew, before she even opened her mouth, how tonight was going to end. I knew before she even opened her mouth too. It felt like a stomach full of gravel.
I make myself look Maggie in the eye. “She asked me to marry her, and I said no.”
Maggie’s eyes bug.
“Shit,” Bear mutters.
I nod because that’s pretty much how I feel. Telling her no was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But saying yes? I just can’t. I can’t pretend to be that guy.
Still, the guy I am feels all the shit. Guilt, defensiveness, shame. “Told me to get out.”
I never thought she’d actually ask. I expected her to believe me. I expected her to accept me as I am.
Still looking at me like I just lit my hair on fire, Maggie asks, “So, what are you going to do?”
“Find another place to live.”
Her mouth falls open the same time Bear double-blinks at me.
“What?”
Bear frowns, looking confused. “You’re not… you’re not gonna buy a ring?”
“No.”I launch to my feet, giving the rocker I abandon whiplash. Now I’m staring at Bear and Maggie with the same bemused look they’re giving me. I drag my hands through my hair, wanting to tear handfuls from the roots. “Hell, no. I’mnotgetting married. Not to Zoe. Not to anyone. I’ve been saying that since I was eleven years old. Why is that so impossible to believe?”
I feel like my whole life has been scripted by—shackled in—the Seven Sacraments. Baptism. Communion. Confession. Confirmation. Marriage. Holy Orders. Last Rites.
Somehow, they’ve all felt like Last Rites. Like the end. Especially marriage.
Maggie’s expression takes on that well meant condescension that all of the women in New Iberia seem to have perfected by the time they hit puberty.
“Guys always say that about getting married. Bear even said that.”
My brother shrugs. “I stopped saying it about ten minutes after I met you.”
Maggie grins. I roll my eyes.
“This conversation is insane,” I mutter.
Maggie looks back at me, still grinning, but her eyes pinched with impatience. “Oh, c’mon, Lark. Don’t you love Zoe? I know you do.”
For the first time since I showed up at Bear’s front door, I feel a stab of loss. “Yeah. I do.” The words come out as dry as dust. But they’re true. I have no doubt of that. But I know something else that’s true. You can love someone and be all wrong for them. I swallow against the grief I know is waiting for me. Waiting for when Bear and Maggie finally put the baby down and shut themselves in their room. “I love her, but I can’t give her what she wants.”
Wearing a look of confusion and hurt, Maggie studies me like she’s never seen me before. “But why not? Why not just do it? Would it really be so bad?”
Sometimes, disasters are accidents. Complete freaks of nature. But most of the time, disasters are one hundred percent foreseeable, preventable, and even anticipated. We still insist on calling them accidents because no one wants to feel responsible for them.
