Page 60 of Living at 40

She nods to agree, and I pack up a few things. I can work from home later, but first, I need to take care of this woman.

23

[Autumn]

I don’t know why I drove all the way to Indianapolis. I mean, I know why I drove here. I know what happened, but I don’t know why I drove here. I could have just called Logan, but I needed to see his face. I needed to see his devastation if he was devastated. I was being ridiculous, and I knew that, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I had to see him.

After following his SUV to his townhome, his place isn’t what I’d expect him to live in. For a man who designs buildings, the skinny-looking rowhouse doesn’t say home to me. It’s quaint but obviously a modern rendition of something old and metropolis. I park on the street while he pulls into his singular driveway. I don’t have a bag or even my purse, just a tote where I dropped an entire box of tampons, my cell phone, and my wallet. I’m dressed like a homeless person in an overcoat despite the heat of mid-August and flip-flops. I’m wearing a pair of shorts that have seen better days and a Crossroads Café T-shirt.

I’d called in sick, which I’ve never done in the five years I’ve owned the place.

Logan waits for me as I walk up his short drive, and then he wraps his arm over my shoulder, tucking me into his side as he leads me up the front steps and into his place. The inside is nice but stark, bright but dull at the same time. It doesn’t look lived in, and I briefly wonder where are the signs he and Lorna spend time here.

After dropping his keys on the kitchen island, he leads me directly to his couch, and we sit facing one another. He takes both my hands with his.

“Okay, let’s back up. What happened?”

“I got my period.” It’s that simple.

“Okay.” He releases one of my hands and nervously scratches at the stubble under his chin. “How are you feeling? What are you thinking?”

“Honestly, I’m thinking Ben was right. What was I thinking? I can’t sleep with random men and hope to get pregnant. I don’t want to sleep with a list of men, and the more I think about getting pregnant, the more I realize I don’t want to do it alone.”

I want a child, but I want someone by my side as well. I’m thirty-six. I’m not too old. It could still happen. It’s just taking me longer than most. A late bloomer, my mother would say, although I matured early, developed young, and feel like I’ve been having sex with the wrong men forever. Before me sits the right man or at least a man I’ll measure every other man up against from this point forward.

“Thank fuck,” Logan snaps, surprising me. “I don’t want you sleeping with random men either.” His expression sharpens. “If you still want to have a baby, though, you can do it. You can do anything you set your mind to. You can raise a child on your own, but you won’t be alone. You’ll have Ben and Anna.” We meet eyes, knowing I’ll only have Ben for so long. Plus, Ben is my brother. He isn’t who I want by my side. “And I’ll give you all the support you need.”

The sentiment is sweet, but I don’t know what he means. His thumb strokes my knuckles, distracting me, and I recall every touch, every caress, every kiss of the past weeks.

“What changed your mind?” he cautiously asks. “About the random men and your list.”

“You,” I whisper, swallowing around the concern he won’t like my answer. “I know that’s not what we promised. That wasn’t the deal, but I can’t be with anyone else right now. I don’t know that I ever want to be with anyone else. There was never a list, Logan, but if there had been, there would only be one name on it.”

Logan’s eyes slowly widen, and I’m freaking out that I’ve gone too far. I’ve arrived at his work like a stalker, dressed like a deranged one at that. And now, I’ve admitted my feelings for him. Feelings we weren’t allowed to factor into the equation. I’ve complicated matters that were never intended to be complicated, and Logan continues to stare at me.

Slowly, he lifts a hand and curls it behind my neck. His fingers squeeze, tightening even.

“I’m sorry if it’s not what you want to hear. I understand it’s—”

A fierce kiss cuts me short and nearly forces me backward on his couch. His fingers delve into my hair, gripping a chunk, loosening strands from the messy bun on my head. His tongue invades my mouth. He tastes like absence, and I’ve missed him so much. He also tastes like everything I’d ever want, and I don’t know why I didn’t tell him how I felt before he left.

“No random men,” he mutters against my mouth, and our teeth bump. “No list. Only me.”

Slowly, I smile against his mouth pressed over mine but not kissing me. The demand seeps into me, and I swallow the thought, drinking it in like a magic elixir.

“Only you,” I repeat against his lips.

“We’ll just try again, and again, and again.” He kisses me once more, softening it only a little. “I’ll give you all the babies you want.”

We continue to make out on his couch, falling back against it. Logan has a hand up my shirt, holding his palm against my warm belly. One of his thick thighs is between my legs as his body partially covers mine, and we continue to kiss like love-starved teens until I remember my condition.

I have my period.

“We can’t . . . do that,” I mutter as his thigh nudges upward, adding tension to an area that both aches for him and doesn’t want him anywhere near me. “But I want to be clear this isn’t only about sex. This isn’t about making babies. At least, not for me.”

“Why not?” His pause should make me question everything, but I steamroll ahead.

“I can’t ask you to make a baby with me.”