Page 89 of Grown-Up Second Chance

Which, of course, was exactly what Larry had done. It was the kind of man he was.

“When I finally confronted him,” I said. “He yelled at me for going through his papers. I told him the envelope was stuck in with our medical records. It had my name on it!”

I sucked in air.

“Then he told me he’d never seen it.” My short laugh held only bitterness. “When that didn’t fly, he finally told me when he found out about the test results, he’d felt a sense of relief. He’d never wanted children. That’s what he told me. He’d never wanted them.”

I was deflated, just as I’d been when Larry made the statement the first time.

Joe didn’t speak, instead holding my hand steadily.

“The marriage never really recovered from that,” I said. “Although it limped along for another fifteen years. I’d meant my vows when I said them. Besides, it was too late for me to have children with someone else. I finally divorced him two years ago. My finances took a hit because I had to pay him off, but it was worth every penny.” I straightened up and looked Joe in the eye. “It’s over. It’s in the past. Yes, it’s part of who I am. I doubt I’ll ever trust any man totally again, but that’s no problem. I’m happy being single.” I withdrew my hand from his.

“I can understand why you feel that way,” he said. “But you trusted me a long time ago. Surely, you could learn to do so again.”

Could I? I wasn’t sure. What I’d said was true. I wasn’t sure I could trust any man. I barely trusted my sisters. I shook my head, then tried to lighten the mood.

“We could always have a romp in the hay now and again—no strings attached. All you have to do is bend your rules a little.”

Joe shook his head. “Not in my wheelhouse. Sorry.”

My hurt teenage self reared its head again. Did he think I was too old for sex? Not pretty enough? Too overweight? My skin and hair no longer bright enough to attract a man?

But I bit back my words. They were cruel, not only to Joe, but to me.

He was consistent; I had to give him that.

But he must have known what I was thinking.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I find you attractive. But I want the whole package, not just part of it.” He finished the last of his burger.

“What does that mean? The whole package?”

“It means more than the sex part. It has to mean love and commitment to each other. For life. Or else it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

There was almost bitterness in his voice. Until I knew what that was about, I was unsure about anything. It all seemed so big. I was nowhere near ready for a lifetime commitment. Not yet.

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure that’s in my wheelhouse,” I said softly. I looked at the half-eaten mess on my plate. “I’m not hungry anymore,” I said.

“Then I’ll get the check. I’m paying, remember. I asked you out.”

“Yes. Thank you. I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

I could feel his gaze on me as I walked to the back of the bar. Once I closed the door behind me, I stared into the mirror. My face, in spite of the makeup I’d slathered on before I left, looked as gray as my hair. Telling the story had devastated me all over again. I don’t think I’d ever really get over the pain of that moment, no matter how many hours of therapy I had.

Our parents had taught us how to be part of a family. Having kids had seemed a natural extension of that. The day—the moment—I learned that wasn’t going to happen, I became unmoored from what I thought was a fundamental truth: I was destined to be a mother.

My therapist told me I needed to shape a new vision of my future. She’d said it would take time, but I would get there. Instead of moving forward, though, the universe had decided to throw me a curve ball.

Hey, wouldn’t you like to go back to what might have been? Here’s a taste! Look! The man even has kids you could pretend were yours!

Right. One of those kids had already told me politely to get lost.

I ran some color over my lips and glared at the face in the mirror while mentally reciting the mantras my therapist had given me: I am not a victim. I am in control of my own life.

My head held high, I left the room and joined Joe by the front door.

“How do you feel about fishing?” he asked as we walked toward his car.

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