Page 78 of My Favorite Lost Cause
It can’t last, but honeymoons aren’t meant to.
Eventually, when he moves on and I marry someone who wants a family, I will go on a second honeymoon with someone else. My new husband will be kind, nothing like Harvey…but it could never, ever be this good again.
34
CHARLIE
Calls are coming in now, fast and furious. It’s always like this, just before another round of funding begins. It’s mid-July, and I should already be in San Antonio, gearing up. Instead, I’m sending junior VCs out in my place, simply because…
I could tell myself I’m staying for the house—technically it could get demolished any day now, though fuckingAndrewclaims we’re safe for the time being— but evenIam not that blind to my own motivations. I’m staying for the one reason I’ve stayed all along.
I’ll have to leave by the end of August. There’s no choice about that. And it looks bad that I’m not down there now. But days like this, with Maren, come once in a lifetime.
I’m getting these two months with her all to myself. It’ll somehow need to be enough.
We take the bikes out in the afternoon, weaving along the lane that carves its way around the cove. It’s hotter than hell, but the trees overhead provide enough shade.
I love everything about this: the breeze, the motion, the sight of Maren turning back to look at me over her shoulderwith a grin on her face. Her shorts riding up on the bike seat, revealing the lush curve of her ass every time she pedals. I’m probably going to wreck, with the way it distracts me, but it’ll be worth the time I spend in traction. When we’ve gone far enough, I lead her down toward the water and we spread out a blanket, drinking icy lemonade with chicken salad sandwiches for our dinner.
She stretches her long legs in front of her and leans back on her forearms, smiling in drowsy contentment. “I don’t know why everyone doesn’t live here,” she says. “Every single person in Manhattan should be throwing their possessions in a car and moving this way.”
“The need to earn a living might have something to do with it, trust fund princess.”
She laughs. “I guess if everyone from Manhattan moved here, this wouldn’t be what it is anyway, would it? It would be a million high rises and snarled traffic.”
“You make it sound like you don’t like New York, and I always got the impression that you did.”
She shields her eyes from the sun as she glances at me. “I do. I mean, I like parts of it. I think I just need…a break. Like, a handful of times a year, I need something like this. Silence, no people, no traffic, no rules about wearing shoes.”
“Lucky for you, I know a guy who owns this big fucking mansion he has no use for. You’re welcome anytime.”
She rolls toward me. “You really don’t think you’ll ever settle down? I mean, you said you don’t like the puppies, but you clearly do. You don’t think that you’ll eventually feel like that about kids too?”
I stiffen. There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do for Maren, but I can’t give her false hope about this because my stance won’t be changing.
“I know I won’t.” I meet her eye to make sure she’s hearing me. “I know things haven’t been easy for you the past fewmonths. But you really have no idea how much worse it can be when kids come into the picture.”
Her head tilts. “Then tell me. Make me understand it.”
How do you explain the kind of grief my mom felt over my sister? And not just when my sister died, but from the second she got diagnosed? It was bottomless, infinite. It would seem to have hit its lowest point, and then it would get worse.
“My sister really wanted to go to Universal,” I reply. “Harry Potter World. And by the time we went she was so sick it was like—” I stop, clearing my throat. “It was like she was doing it for us. She was so pale, sweating. And my mom was pushing her in a wheelchair and acting like it was the greatest day ever, but that night after Zoe fell asleep, she went into the parking lot, and I followed her because I knew something was wrong. She was on her knees. Begging God for help, saying she’d give up anything if He’d fix this. I’ve never seen desperation like that. And I loved my sister, but in that moment, I wished she’d never been born, just so my mom wouldn’t have to suffer.”
My mom was all smiles and optimism before Zoe got sick, just like Maren is now—trying to find the positive side to every equation. And Zoe’s death stole that away. She still smiled at me, but there was no joy in it. I don’t want that to happen to me. And I sure as hell don’t want to witness it happening to Maren, because I love the way that she sees the world. I love the way she seems to reflect all its light back and make everything brighter.
“You don’t think you could just be happy with the dogs?” I ask.
Her smile is sad. “I don’t think I could.”
It’s a conversation I could have with anyone, but it also feels…like a bit more. As if we’ve both peeked through a door, surveyed what lays behind it, and are now acknowledging it’s best left closed. Though I sort of wanted to enter the room.
Okay, I really, really wanted to enter the room.
“It’s for the best,” she says. “You’d be a terrible father.”
“Worse than you can even imagine. I’ve been hiding my really bad side.”
She grins. “Worse? I’m not sure that’s possible. I already picture you feeding your newborns whiskey and testing their body fat by throwing them into the lake to see if they float.”
