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“What?” I breathe out.
“Look, I know we’ve both changed a lot. I know nothing is the same as it was when we were young, but I’m not letting you go without a fight this time. We can get to know each other, we can create new memories together. Think of it like a one-night-stand that turns into something more?”
I laugh at his explanation, but it looks like the best way of approach in our situation.
“I can’t believe you brought me here for this.”
“Why? Didn't you like it?”
I bite my lip to hide my smile. “I don’t know, a little bit old-fashioned.”
He narrows his eyes. “Don’t belittle my fantasies.”
I laugh. It’s a surprise how laughing is easy with him.
“So, are you willing to give us a chance for a future together?”
“A future?”
He nods. “Living together, a family, all that stuff.”
“I have to tell you something,” I start. He must notice the change in my voice, his smile drops, and he becomes more serious. I continue when he nods, “I can’t have children.”
He frowns. “Nikki, I will never push you for anything.”
I shake my head. “It’s not about me being ready or anything. I just can’t. It’s impossible after being shot. I can never be pregnant.”
“Do you want to?” he murmurs.
I frown, not understanding what he means.
“I mean, do you want to be a mother?”
“It doesn’t matter what I want anymore. I just can’t be a mother.”
He reaches to hold my hand on the table. “You can. If you want to be a mother, we can adopt.”
I’ve never thought about this before, and the possibility of something I thought that was stolen from me is overwhelming.
“Isn’t it too early to talk about those things?”
“Yes, yes, you’re right. I just want you to know I’m all in, for the long ride.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He frowns, questions in his eyes.
With a small smile, I explain my answer. “Okay, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
Epilogue
3 months later
I take a moment to look at the mess of a house I once lived in. The garden that was my sanctuary every time I could sneak out has become even more of a lost cause. The place, if you call this shithole a place, doesn’t look like someone can live in here. If this town is a diseased human, this house is the organ it has to be amputated first.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the garden, trying to pass the bushes without cutting myself. I don’t feel like knocking on the door yet, so I just look at the house. The windows are still covered with newspapers. I try to open one, but it’s locked as it used to be. I walk around to the window that was my room and try it. With effort, it opens, but not as easily as I used to do it. Time hardens the windows, too.
As I walk back to the front door, I encourage myself to knock on the door. I hit my fist three times and wait for it to open. Seconds pass slowly, but the door doesn’t open. I didn’t expect it to, to be honest.
