Page 92 of From Maybe to Baby

"The kids made you cards," I say between kisses that feel like closing doors.

"Don't."

"Jace drew you as a hockey princess."

"Please..."

"Lukas saved his best goal for?—"

She silences me with another kiss, harder now. Trying to erase words with touch. Trying to forget promises with passion. Trying to make this physical enough to drown out any emotion.

But even as clothes start disappearing, even as the line between staying and leaving blurs, we both know.

This isn't love anymore.

This is goodbye.

She pulls back first. Always the one brave enough to end things. Always the one ready to run.

"I can't."

"You can. You're choosing not to."

"That's not fair."

"Neither is Paris."

She stands, straightens her clothes, rebuilds her walls brick by careful brick. "I should..."

"Go?"

"I'm not...it's not..." She grabs her bag. "I'll call the kids tomorrow."

“Please don’t,” I say as kindly as I can.

“Tell them I'm sorry.”

How? How do you make the kids understand that not everyone stays, even when you want them to?

You don't.

13

ALEXA

I'm supposedto be writing about Paris. About Fashion Week and wine tours and child-free luxury resorts. Instead, I'm sitting in my hotel room at two a.m., researching San Francisco school districts like some kind of... mom.

Jonas has no idea.

The spreadsheet on my laptop would make Ryan have an aneurysm:

- District rankings

- Test scores

- Student-teacher ratios

- Distance from hockey practice

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