Page 13 of How to Date a Younger Man
Although I’ve thought about our future many times, we haven’t actually talked about it yet. I’m hoping that changes tonight. And I’m thinking this might be as good a time as any to finally bring it up and move things in the direction they’re naturally heading anyway.
“So, babe, where do you see yourself in, like, five years?” I try to keep my tone as casual as possible. For as confident as I feel in our relationship, I negotiate for a freaking living. I understand how delicately these things need to be handled.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. “Living on my own private island in the middle of the Caribbean, working remotely and eating bonbons.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me too. I haven’t been working my ass off for the past fifteen years to keep spinning my wheels in this rat race forever.”
“Well, in this fantasy, am I with you on this private island?”
“Of course you are. Just you, me, and miles of clear blue water.”
Okay, not what I was expecting.
I take a sip of my water, doing my best to keep my cool. “Brian, you do realize that I’ll be thirty-nine in five years, right?”
“Babe, you’re beautiful. I’ve seen your mom, and honestly, you have nothing to worry about. I’m well aware of what happens to women’s bodies with age.”
“Does that include what happens to our eggs with age?”
He pauses, his eyes wary. “What do your eggs have to do with anything?”
I give him a forced smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe with the whole getting pregnant and having babies thing?”
“Oh.” He sets his fork down and stiffens as he meets my eyes. “I, uh, I never really saw kids in my future.”
Wait, what?
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Trying to calm myself, I take a deep breath. Maybe it’s not as bad as it sounds. Maybe we can work through this. “Okay . . . what does that mean? Like you haven’t thought about it before, but are open to it?”
“No, that means that I don’t want them. I’m sorry, Layne, I guess I thought . . . well, I didn’t think you wanted them either.”
Gulping the last of my champagne, I stare up at the ceiling, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Stupid, Anderson, stupid. Pull yourself the hell together.
I look back at him, my eyes narrow and my voice tight. “What makes you think I didn’t want kids?”
He shrugs. “You’re such a high-powered, no-nonsense, driven woman. I thought if you hadn’t had any by now, it meant you weren’t interested.”
“You can have career ambitions and want a family. It’s not the 1950s.” My voice is stern, and my eyes are still narrowed.
“Well, I know that. I guess I just assumed you had your priorities straight.”
Shocked, I try not to gasp, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “My priorities straight? Are you kidding me? What is wrong with you?”
Brian looks dejectedly down into his plate, and suddenly, I feel the whole night crumbling around me—and our relationship with it. I was wrong. So wrong. How could I be so horribly, terribly wrong about so many things?
“I’m sorry. I’ll never want kids,” he says, his eyes trained on his half-eaten bass.
“Well, I do,” I reply, sitting up straighter and tossing my hair over my shoulder. “I always have.”
“I guess that’s it, then. I’m sorry, Layne, I really am.” He stands, places a hundred-dollar bill on the table, kisses me on the cheek, and walks out of the restaurant.
My mouth falls open and tears well up in my eyes. Suddenly, I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach and slapped across the face at the same time.
Before I fully lose it in public, I flag down our waiter and hand him more than enough money to cover the rest of the bill. He looks confused but sympathetic, asking no questions as I practically sprint out of the restaurant, wiping black mascara tears off my cheeks.
Once in my car, I pull my phone out of my purse and call the first number that comes to mind.
Half an hour later, I’m sitting on my couch, nursing a strong margarita in my comfiest pair of yoga pants, when a knock on the door pulls me out of my self-pitying trance.
My first thought is that it might be Brian, crawling on his hands and knees, begging me to take him back. But I know that won’t be the case. Brian isn’t the begging type. Besides, he made his position perfectly clear. There’s no room to compromise on bringing another human into the world.
As I go to answer the door, I figure it’s probably Kristen. When I called her on the drive home, I insisted she didn’t need to come over, and the best thing for me would be to just drink alone and wallow. Maybe she saw through all that. Maybe she’s worried about me and wants to make sure I don’t drink myself into a coma. Either way, no matter how sure I was half an hour ago that I wanted to be alone, I have to admit that a little company sounds nice right about now.
