Page 25 of Resorting to Romance

He makes the instinctual move to place his hand on my back to guide me into the restaurant and I almost let him before I realize what I’m doing and sidestep his gesture. He looks down at his own arm quizzically, as if it popped out to lead me of its own volition.

The hostess grabs two menus and walks us to a table near the back of the second room where it’s secluded and quiet. I’m immediately grateful. I hadn’t considered the potential of bumping into other islanders inside the resort. If Brad and I are seen together, people will talk.

“So,” he says, taking the seat adjacent to mine.

“So,” I echo.

I pull my napkin onto my lap and study the menu, even though it may as well be written in Sanskrit right now. The words blur and I finally give up, setting it to the side of my place setting.

“So,” Brad says, again, mirroring me and laying his menu down. “I know I threw you off showing up unannounced yesterday. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I mean … yes. You did. But I’m here now. You said you had a speech … or words … something more to say?”

My hands begin wringing my napkin under the table and I will them to flatten on my lap, one over the other.

“I …” Brad stares at me. His Adam’s apple bobs. “I can’t really explain what happened … back then. I was young. Stupid. Selfish. Afraid.” Brad purses his lips and scrunches his browin. “There aren’t enough adjectives to describe the foolishness of a man who can’t celebrate … or at least man up when his wife announces she’s pregnant.” Brad looks down into his lap. Then he lifts his chin and our eyes lock. “I wish I could take it all back, Mila. I would, in a heartbeat. If I could go back, I would grab younger me and shake him.”

He’s so familiar. Different, but the same. And the parts of him I fell for are still here, only so much has changed. Irreparably altered by his choice.

I’m unsure what’s keeping me glued to my chair. I could jump up and dash out of the restaurant, straight through the double doors and out into the salty air. My lungs feel tight, this room too small. I’ve neatly shut the door to the past like a linen cabinet after the towels are warm and folded from the dryer. In less than twenty-four hours, Brad has single-handedly yanked the cupboard open, tearing through haphazardly, leaving everything strewn helter-skelter.

There were months, maybe even a year total, when I would have done anything to hear Brad say the words tumbling out of his mouth right now. But at some point, shortly after Noah was born, I made a decision. Any man who couldn’t find it in himself to stay and support his new wife and son didn’t deserve me. And he sure didn’t deserve Noah.

I’d never classify Brad as a mean person. Even the day he left me, the only unkindness between us were his repeated declarations of suspicion—as if I had tricked him by purposely getting pregnant. As if I would ever do something so underhanded. Before that season of our shared life, Brad was always upbeat, adventurous and generous. He and Davis were close and the two of them were known for being the life of the party, but also for being the kind of men you only hoped to spend your life with. And Chloe and I thought we had won the guy-lottery, both dating such unattainable boys in high school, and then going on to marry them just after we graduated college.

Brad meant it when he said he never wanted kids. I’m not surewhat made him so staunch on that point. He had a loving family and a decent childhood. To me, those are the key elements in causing someone to naturally want a family of their own. So, even though we had agreed we wouldn’t have kids—we’d run the inn and travel, unencumbered—I guess I always thought we were somewhat open to the option if it happened to come our way. We weren’t trying, but we weren’t so bitterly opposed to children that we would tear our marriage apart over a pregnancy. Or, so I thought.

I never wanted to rope Brad into something he didn’t feel ready for, and I surely wasn’t going to beg him to stay.

A question has been buzzing in my brain ever since Brad showed up at my inn yesterday. So, I finally take a breath and ask, “What made you wait? You could have come back anytime.” My voice tightens. “You stayed away over seven years. Seven years, Brad.” The tone of accusation makes both of us flinch.

I don’t apologize. He’s the one who left. I have the right to ask. I forgave him. That doesn’t mean he has an open door to return into our lives—or even just into Noah’s. Who am I kidding? If Brad is in Noah’s life, by default he’ll be in mine.

He lets out a long breath before he attempts to explain. “I know this is going to sound ludicrous. It’s like the time we skipped school in tenth grade. And then I talked you into skipping just one more day because the weather was beyond perfect and I wanted time alone with you. After that first day, you were determined to go back and act like nothing had happened. But after a second day passed, and then I convinced you to take one more day to lay on the beach and kayak instead of going into school, it felt awkward and nearly impossible to casually return to all our classes. We did go, of course, but the fear mounted exponentially with each hour we stayed away. The excuses as to why we missed a half a week seemed increasingly flimsy the longer we allowed ourselves to be truant.”

His eyes search mine. “I didn’t realize the magnitude of my decision at first—leaving the two of you like I did. I feltjustified. I honestly believed you had tricked me.”

My face must reflect what I’m about to say because Brad rushes in to say, “I know you didn’t trick me, Mila. I was so lost and foolish … confused and upset. That’s how I felt at first. But the more time I stayed away, the more I thought about you and the fact that we had a child—our child. And then I realized how badly I had messed up by abandoning you to raise Noah alone. I knew I couldn’t just waltz back into your life. So I threw myself into building my business. And, the more time passed, the harder it became to reach out or come back. But I thought about you—and Noah—every day.”

“Brad …” I start, but he keeps talking.

“I know I lost you. I realize that was my own doing. And I never got to know Noah. And that’s my fault too.”

Brad’s face contorts and his eyes glass over with unshed tears. He clears his throat.

“It’s crazy what can trigger a person. About six months ago, a man came into one of my stores to pick up an elliptical. He was dressed in a coaching uniform. Guys like him come in all the time. And they sometimes bring their kids. This wasn’t a first. But the man had his son with him—his seven-year-old son—and they were laughing and talking about baseball while one of my employees rang them up. A thought slammed me as if someone had actually socked me in the gut:That could be me and Noah. I had to go back into the storeroom before I lost it right there in front of the customer and my employees.”

The waitress arrives at our table before I can respond. Not that I know what to say. I don’t have the first clue as to how to navigate any of this.

“Are you ready to order?”

“Uh. Yeah. Yes.” Brad picks up his menu again.

He looks at me.

I hand the waitress my menu. “Just water for me. Thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Brad asks me.

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