Page 226 of The Single Dads Club
“He was diagnosed when I was twelve, and for three years I watched my mother at his bedside day and night.”
She paused, but I still said nothing, waiting for her to give me some signal that it was all right for me to talk. For now, this was her time and it was long overdue, so I nodded encouragingly, despite the urge to drag her into my arms and comfort her.
“So, for those three years, it was like I was losing both of my parents at once, you know? My mother’s attention was elsewhere, my father was slowly losing the ability to do the things we used to do together like go fishing or fix cars. Then, when he died…” Her voice broke, and I waited as she cleared her throat and started again.
“When he died, it was like both my parents had gone. Even now, so many years later, my mom can barely function without him. And while I was in the cheetah enclosure, I was thinking about that sort of loss, you know? When cheetahs’ companions die, they languish and die, too. And ever since my father died, I’ve been afraid that that is sort of the fate of people who fall in love. You get left behind eventually and it’s not like I can ask you not to die, you know?”
A slow tear trickled down her cheek and I took a step forward, then grasped her hand and squeezed it.
She let me hold her hand, and continued. “I know it must have seemed crazy to you with things going so well and me just slipping away all the time. It’s just that I can feel myself falling for you and I can’t bear to lose you, you know? And as we get closer, it’s only going to get worse and when you leave…” Another tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away hastily.
“I just don’t want to lose myself the way she—my mom—did.”
“You didn’t do that when your father died,” I offered.
She met my gaze wearily. “I did, though. I was a mess for an entire year.”
“But now?” I shook my head. “You’re not. You can’t live your life running from grief just like I can’t promise to never die. But if you avoid things that make you happy for fear of losing them, then you’ll never be truly happy to begin with.”
“I know.” She nodded. “It’s just really hard for me. To be near you and know that anything could happen. And when we didn’t have the baby, I just thought, well, I thought I’d lost something all over again. Even though I never had anything to lose. It felt like—”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I said. “But there will be other chances.”
“Maybe not,” she said, and the silent tears became a gasping sob.
“Bren…”
“I’m thirty,” she choked, refusing to be consoled. “And with the unpredictable cycles—”
I hushed her, then looped my arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the couch. When we were settled, she rested her head on my shoulder and I stroked her hair, silent and waiting for her to find her voice again.
“What if I can’t have children?” she whispered.
“You won’t know until the tests come in, but even if you can’t? There are options. Lots and lots of options. This isn’t the end.”
“But I’d be letting you down,” she choked, and I tucked my hand under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet mine.
“The only way you’d ever let me down is if you run away from everything we could share without even trying to explore how beautiful it could be. I don’t need to have a baby. I don’t need to have anything except for you. You know that?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t.”
“I want you in my life. I want to spend every day with you, and what I said when I proposed? I meant it. You’re the best, most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Then ask me again.”
“What?”
“Ask me again.” She sniffled.
I laughed. “I don’t have your ring with me.” It was in my bedroom, tucked away in a box at the top of my closet.
“I don’t care. Just ask me.”
So I did. Bending onto one knee in the middle of the room, I took her left hand, stroking her naked ring finger. “Bren, I love every inch of you and I never want to leave your side for as long as I live. Become my wife, baby?”
She nodded, still sniffling, then took my hand. “Yes, of course. I want nothing more than to marry you.”
Grinning like an idiot, I swept my hand through Bren’s hair, pulling her toward me for a soft, heart-stopping kiss. Then, trailing kisses along her jaw, I paused near the shell of her ear and whispered, “From here on out, in sickness and in health, we live every day in the present. What may come, may come.”
