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I continue, “I've always wanted what they had. A marriage that's strong, and healthy, and good. I don't need fancy things. I don't care about a fancy car. And I don't need the nicest house on the block. I need safe and secure and happy and reliable. That's all I want. That's my dream.”
“I'm confused,” he says, his voice a little rough. I love when his voice gets rough. It makes me feel things deep inside of me. Sexy things. Intense things. Hot, weighted, deep things.
“I want to be a mom, Nick.” I swallow hard at the emotion I feel swelling in my throat. “I want to be a mom for my babies like my mom was for me. Because she was the best.” My voice cracks on the last part and I can feel his dark gaze on me, but I can’t look at him as I press on. “I want a man who's going to be a good father. I don't want a man who's so obsessed with his job that he can't make it to his kid’s soccer game or Christmas concert or holiday dinner. That doesn't appeal to me. The things that come with the big fancy pay check don't appeal to me.”
When I stop, he seems to sense there’s more because he urges, “Go on.”
“If I have to give up time with my family to have all those fancy things and the big career, then that's not what I want. That's not what I want for my kids. And I won't settle for anything less than a beautiful family for my kids—for myself. So, I don't want to go to school for a big fancy job. I just want to meet a good man that's going to work with me to give our family all that.”
“I see.”
“Maybe that's old fashioned. And you can judge,” I put my hand up between us. “If you need to, you can judge, that’s on you. But it won't change what I want.”
He's silent for a minute, processing, I think. I wonder if I've just become unattractive to him, because I don't yearn for a career. I yearn for a family. I yearn for old-fashioned beauty. And I don't care if that is so far away from the feminist view of the world today, because it’s what I want deep in my heart.
I don't want to be powerful. I want to be peaceful.
I already know what he does for work, so I ask, “Have you always wanted to be in marketing?”
“Yeah,” he answers simply.
He never gives me much. Sometimes conversations with Nick feel like I'm pulling teeth. It's not fair. I give him so much and he gives me so little in return.
“Nick,” I call, frustrated. “I'm trying to have a conversation with you.”
His eyes slide to me, his brows knitting. “We are talking, Sadie.”
“No, I'm talking. You're giving me a few words.”
“You want more?” He grins, like he knows he’s ticking me off.
I huff, “Of course.”
“I've always wanted to go into marketing. I'm good at reading people. Good at judging what they're into—what they want.” That’s a lot of words for Nick, so I’m surprised when he continues. “I'm good at what I do. But I also work a lot right now.”
I can't help the crushing disappointment that slams down on my heart. He seems to see it because he reaches over to drop a large hand on my thigh, squeezing gently.
Gently, he tells me, “I work a lot because I don't have anything else in my life, Sadie. If I had someone in my life—if I had a family, I probably wouldn't work so much.” My eyes jump to his and my breath snags in my chest. “I definitely wouldn't miss soccer games and Christmas concerts.” His voice lowers to a pitch that nearly melts me from the inside out. “I would never miss Holiday dinners.”
He holds my eyes for a beat, and I know they are filled with hope.
This is so insane that I can feel this kind of hope for a man I've known for less than two weeks.
I'm insane.
Anybody looking in on my life right now would commit me to the nearest psychiatric hospital, and they would have every right. Seriously, I would get it.
I would think the same way if I were the one standing on the outside looking in.
But I'm the oneinthis. I'm the one feeling this, and this doesn't feel fake. It feels real. It feels like fate.
I feel like this man was made for me, and I was made for him.
Just like I believe Mom was made for Dad.
I want this. I want Nick, and this life I have painted in my mind of a dream so beautiful I never want to let it go.
“Does it bother you that I don't want to have a career?” I ask hesitantly.
