Page 39 of Three Pucking Words
“Honor?” I ask, setting my beer down and sliding to the edge of my chair. Her head drops lower, shielding her face with her hair. “What is it? Is it something I said?”
The girl across from me drags the back of her hand along her cheeks as her sniffles become more aggressive. “I-I’m sorry,” she apologizes, trying to take a deep breath.
I get up and close the distance between us, kneeling in front of her. When she lifts her chin, my heart cracks at her teary, red-rimmed eyes that meet mine. “You don’t need to apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
She clenches her eyelids, trying to stop the tears from flowing. A few more stream down her face and I want nothing more than to swipe them away with my thumbs, but I keep my hands to myself. “I can’t even think about myself as a parent because I don’t know if I’ll ever get to be one,” she tells me, her face reddening as she dries her cheeks with her wrist. “I’d like to think I’d be okay at it, but who knows if that day will ever come?”
I frown, trying to understand what she’s saying. “Why don’t you think you’ll get the chance to be a mom?”
She sniffs back tears, takes a deep breath, and finally opens her eyes. “This is so pathetic. I’m not a crier.”
I hold up my finger. “One second.” I rush into the kitchen where a box of tissues is on the counter and bring them in for her, taking the same spot in front of her no matter how badly my knees are screaming at me to get up. “Here.”
Honor takes a few tissues and dries off her face. She murmurs, “Thanks,” and stares down at Puck. When her shoulders slacken, I can tell the weight of her thoughts are piling on her. “I found out from my doctor today that I might need surgery that would prevent me from having children of my own. And it made me think about what kind of parent I’d be compared tomyparents. I didn’t have the best childhood, but it could have been worse. I definitely didn’t have a role model mother, but I’d figure out how to be a great one to my kid.IfI have one. And hearing how much you love Gemma, it just…” She shrugs limply. “I don’t know. It made me sad.”
Swallowing, I shake my head. “I don’t want you to be sad, Honor. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
Do I ask about her surgery? It seems a little too personal to prod, but I’d like to think we’re friends now. At least, close to it.
“Do you know for sure that you’ll need the surgery?”
Her head moves back and forth after a moment of silence. “No, but it’s the most likely outcome. I have something called PCOS. It’s a reproductive disorder. My case is severe, which makes everything for me more difficult.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Do I hug her? Tell her I’m sorry? None of that would probably matter, because it wouldn’t change anything. It’s like telling someone you’re sorry that someone closed to them died. It won’t bring them back.
Before I can come up with something, she inhales and lets it out, picking up her head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m not here to unload on you.”
“It’s all right,” I reassure her, moving from in front of her to the cushion beside her on the couch. I keep the tissue box between us, allowing her some personal space. “It sounds like you needed to get it off your chest.”
Her cheek turns a darker shade of red. “I swear I don’t normally bawl like that. It’s been on my mind all day, and I haven’t fully processed it yet. The more I think about my age, the more I realize time is running out for me to have kids in the first place.”
I don’t point out that she’s only thirty. “There are other ways to be a parent. I know it’s not the same as having them yourself, but you have options.”
The thought of her having somebody else’s kids doesn’t sit right with me. I sure as fuck don’t have claim over her, but seeing her cry—seeing her heartbroken over this—makes me want to help her.
Protect her.
Make her feelbetter.
“Do you like milkshakes?”
My question has her brows pinching.
“Milkshakes,” I repeat, when she doesn’t answer. “Whenever something is bothering me, I like ice cream. Took me a while to find the best around here, but there’s a small place right down the road that has great malt milkshakes. My dad got me into them when I was a kid.”
Honor continues staring as if I’m offering her crack. “We just ate.”
I stand, patting my stomach. “There’s always room for milkshakes. It’s walking distance, if you’re up for that. We can burn off some calories before replenishing them. My treat, of course.”
“I can buy my own milkshake.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t, honey,” I reply, holding out my hand and waiting for her to accept it.
Her eyes are still glassy as they study my face, but she doesn’t tell me no even though she’s trying to find a reason to.
But I don’t want her to.
Not yet.
