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I smile up at her, hopeful this could turn my way.
“But I won’t marry you. I need to be my own person. I need to have my own name, my own business, my own money, my own home—”
“You can have all those things and be married!”
“Then what’s the point?”
“The point is I love you, and I want you to be my wife!” I’m yelling, and this is not how I wanted my proposal to the woman I love to go.
I don’t move the second time she approaches me. She places one hand on my chest and searches my eyes. “If you are asking for a life together, for a partnership, for fidelity and loyalty—those are all things I can give you and things I want from you in return.”
“Then you’ll marry me?”
“No, Bren. We can give each other those things without marriage.”
“Why are you so opposed to the idea?”
“I don’t judge married people if that’s what they want. But to me, signing a piece of paper sounds cold and clinical, like I’m signing myself over like—like a piece of property. I don’t want our love to turn into a contract. I’d rather be with you because I love you than because some contract is forcing me to stay. And I guess I need that reassurance too—that you’ll be with me because you choose to be, every single day of your life, not because you have no way out. I’ve always known I’ll never get married, Bren. This isn’t some stupid whim out of nowhere.”
I take Sofia into my arms once again, wrapping them tight around her slim body. A tear rolls down my cheek because I can’t let go of my vision for us. My life was planned out long ago: a successful band, marriage, kids—all of it. I’ve always been in control of my life and manifested everything I ever wanted into being. A perfect life. That’s what I want, and Sofia wants no part in it if it’s my way.
I hold her tight for a long moment. The song changes over three times despite the fact that we’re barely swaying anymore. I squeeze her tight in my arms, not wanting to let her go because once I do, I’ll have lost her forever. I finally find my voice. “I’m sorry, Sofia,” I croak out. “But this is it for us if you aren’t willing to get married someday.”
She drops my hand and steps away from me. Her eyes well with tears, the tip of her nose red, breaking something deep in my chest. She wraps her arms around her middle like she is holding herself from falling apart. “Is this an ultimatum?” she asks.
“I didn’t intend it to be, but yes. If we aren’t working toward the same future, what’s the point?”
“I thought the point was being in love,” she says accusingly.
“I wish that were enough.”
“Bren...” she breaths out.
“Andreas will drive you home.”
TWENTY-TWO
Sofia
So much can happen in three minutes: a first kiss, an orgasm, a sad goodbye at the airport. Three minutes to decide to let someone into your life, and three minutes to watch them walk out.
Three minutes for your entire life to change.
The longest three minutes of my life comes two days after Bren and I broke up. I stand over my sink, watching the seconds tick on the timer as my foot taps the linoleum tile.
Three minutes for two pink lines to appear out of nowhere and upturn my life forever.
When the timer rings, I grab both tests revealing a total of four pink lines. Two independent tests showing me the same result: I am so fucked.
After realizing how badly I’d hurt Bren, I swore to myself I wouldn’t contact him and risk opening up a fresh wound, but he has to know I’m pregnant. The phone rings twice before I’m sent to voice mail. I can’t blame him.
“Bren, it’s Sofia. I’m sorry to bother you, but we have to talk. It’s important. Call me back when you get a chance.”
Pregnancy news is best said in person—or so I think. I need to see him. When he doesn’t call me back that day, I try him the next and then the next day. On the fourth day, his number is no longer in service. I try Andreas’s number next—also no longer in service.
I resort to the band’s social media account and send a direct message:This is Sofia trying to reach Bren. It’s important. Please have him call me back.
The message goes unread.
