Page 21 of Time Stops With You

She shakes her head. “I’m not saying it compares to your situation. We each have our own struggles and yours are certainly different from mine, but I do understand what it feels like to be backed into a corner. I really hope things work out for you. I really do.”

It strikes me then, as I listen to her speak, that Ms. Nardi Davis is rather empathetic. This is very much a rejection of mymarriage proposal and yet I don’t feel attacked or humiliated at all.

Is this what someone in touch with their emotions sounds like?

It’s too bad I don’t have the same strength. My words aren’t coated with mercy or kindness. Only the truth.

“Ms. Davis, I don’t ‘hope’ for things this important. I get them done,” I say as gently as I can. It must still come out harsh because her mouth twists downward.

“I guess I wasn’t clear,” she mumbles to herself and then stares at me head on. “I’m not marrying you, Mr. Cullen.”

I sensed that she was leaning in such a direction, so it comes as no surprise. In fact, I would find her strange and irresponsible if she agreed the first time I asked.

Undeterred, I lean forward. “Can I know what your objections are?”

She barks out a laugh, sees that I don’t laugh along and juts her chin toward me. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

She considers me for a long moment. “First of all, you’re not my type.”

“What is?” I ask, pulling out my phone to jot down notes.

She gawks at me, rolls her eyes and then concedes. “Not you. The opposite of you.”

“Are we talking race? Height? Build?”

“You’re a little too skinny and, if I can be honest here, I hate the beanie.”

I look down at my body. I’ve never been bulky like the gym bros and athletes I went to college with. Radiation treatments didn’t exactly help me gain muscle mass either. But the beanie…

Unconsciously, I run my fingers over the beanie the way I would do to my shorn scalp.

“Second,” Nardi continues, her eyes narrowed, “I don’t date people who speak a completely different language.”

“We’ve been speaking English.”

“I meant, your passion for coding.” She shudders. “Josiah tried to explain a programming project to me once and it was torture. Since you built an entire company around coding, you must be even more…” she flails her arms, searching for a word.

“Entrenched?” I supply.

“Obsessed,” she says instead.

“Ah.”

“We’d have nothing in common.”

“Attraction and having things in common aren’t a prerequisite for marriage.” I check my watch. I’m stunned to find that so much time has passed and yet I’m still enjoying the conversation with Ms. Davis. Tapping the face so the watch screen goes blank, I muse, “There are plenty of other reasons for people to marry.”

“Exactly, and we’re missing the most important one.”

The slight condescension in her face, like a teacher berating a student, amuses me. I play along. “And what is that?”

“Love.”

“Love?” I rub my chin.

“Yes. I won’t marry someone I don’t love.”

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