Page 56 of Flirty Thirty

“Effective.”

“Apparently. Next time I need to get you to do something you don’t want, I’ll just be quiet for an eternity and then blurt it out at the most inopportune moment.”

“We need to stop seeing each other.”

“You like my randomness and you know it.”

“No, Cooper.” I sigh and lift my head, begging my tears to stay inside where they belong. “We need to stop seeing each other.”

His playful smile slowly fades. His light eyes darken. His breathing stops and starts back up in a puzzled rhythm.

“What?”

That one word… one word that doesn’t mean anything and yet means everything—the beginning of the end. There’s already so much heartache in that one word that I’m not sure I can continue. I want to laugh and say, “Got ya!” and snuggle my way back onto that strong and loving chest, tangle my fingers with his, kiss away every ounce of sadness and loss that is eating its way through my stomach. I slam my eyes shut and turn away, pretending it is someone else, someone I’m not so in love with, just another someone in a sea of someones who meant so little to me.

“I can’t—”No. I don’t want him to know. Or maybe I don’t want to know how he’d react. I lick my lips and backtrack. “I don’t want kids, Cooper.”

He gives me a funny look, like he doesn’t understand why this is such big news. “I know.”

“I’m never going to… want kids.”

“Maya,” he says, his tone relaxing. “We’re having fun right now. You wanted that, right?”

“Idid—”

“You took a big leap with me. Playing house and giving me a chance.” He takes my hand, and a heavy tear pokes at the corner of my eye as I look down at our interlaced fingers. “Look, I know we want different things right now, but I’m willing to risk my future just for the chance to be with you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Cooper…” I want to draw my hand away, and I dig into the deepest parts of my strength to do it. I’m out of breath when I finally do. “We’re too different, and I can’t keep letting this play out when I know how it’ll end.”

“What makes you so sure it’s gonna end at all?”

“Picture your life with me, okay? Picture it the way that itwillhappen if we stay together.” I level my eyes, make sure that through all the fantasies he sees, all the dreams he has, that he can focus on the reality I’m going to paint for him. “You willneverhave children. Could you really live with that? Because I don’t think I could live with taking that away from you.”

And then I see it—his entire face falling as my words hit him. The pain that flashes in his eyes as the image becomes clear in his mind. The unshed tears of never holding his own baby, never teaching a son to ride a bike, or having date nights with a daughter. It’s only me and him, and while for some people it’s enough, for some people—like me—ithasto be enough. But for him, it willnever be enough. I could never give him what he needs, and I shove from the couch, pad my way across the room and bury my face in my palm, too afraid to feel everything I know he feels with just theideaof no family, when the reality is so very much mine.

“If I painted you a picture of what I saw for us, would it… would it hurt you as much as yours hurt me just now?”

“What?”

He stands, his footfalls heavy as he steps up behind me. He runs his hands down my arms, squeezing my elbows. “If I told you I picture a house with a big backyard, a swing set, a little girl with her mom’s freckles and a little boy with her quick wit… would it hurt you?” His hot breath cascades over the back of my neck. “Maya, please look at me.”

I slowly turn in his arms, knowing that he’ll misinterpret the pain in my eyes for something I don’t want instead of what it is—something I can’t have.

“Are you sure you don’t ever want that?” he asks. “Or even think that you could try to want that?”

I gulp, trying to keep my voice steady, but it’s near impossible. “You said… you said you weren’t trying to change my mind. You told me that was not what this”—I wave my finger between the two of us—“was about.”

The shock of our conversation, the attempt to talk me back up falls from his expression, and hecrumplesin front of me. He reaches out, touching my arms, my hands, my waist… cupping my face and dragging his thumbs across my lips.

“This isn’t happening, is it?” he says. “I feel like we aren’t coming back from this.”

I reach out for him, but draw back, knowing that if I try to cling onto him that I won’t ever let him go.

“Would you be willing to give up kids for me?” I ask, not wanting an answer. Whatever it is wouldn’t change anything. A yes would only triple my guilt over never being able to give him what he wants. A no would break my heart in a million ways.

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