“Oh, uh, just thinking about college,” I stammer, groping for the nearest napkin to shred.
Brandon smiles, delving into a long-winded monologue about all our prospective adventures, including jetting over to Thailand to spend a week at an elephant sanctuary.
“So, after all the excitement of traveling, what’s next for you?” I ask at the first opportunity, convincing myself that I could stomach traveling if it means the two of us settling into a detached home with a sprawling lawn near my parents, or maybe across the street from Crystal and Scott’s future home. Brandon and Scott would get along swimmingly.
The crease between his brows deepens. “Do you mean where to after Indonesia? Probably Peru, or—”
My heart sinks like an anchor. “Oh? Are you not planning to settle back down in Boston?”
“Why would I stay in Boston?” He’s genuinely confused.
“Well, you’re thirty. Don’t you want to settle down soon? Have kids?”
Trevor is giving me his urgent horror-movie eyes again, as if I’ve just asked Brandon to divulge his Social Security number.
Brandon notices my pointed glare at Trevor and glances over his shoulder. Trevor abruptly averts his eyes, suddenly taking a supreme interest in the salt and pepper shakers.
Brandon swings back to me, confused and probably questioning his own sanity. “Uh . . . Probably not. You?”
“I mean, yeah. That’s always been the goal. Marriage and kids in my early thirties.”
I barely have time to register Brandon’s indifferent shrug, because Trevor coughs, half choking on his drink.
Brandon turns, concerned. “That guy is choking.”
“Nah, he’s fine,” I say, waving his worry away with my mangled napkin, which resembles a worn flag that’s been shredded in a gruesome medieval battle.
Brandon isn’t convinced, and I’m not shocked. He’s always had a Good Samaritan complex, which attracted me to him in the first place. One time, we missed our dinner reservation because he insisted on helping a stranded woman on the side of the freeway change her tire, despite not knowing how.
He peers over his shoulder once again. “You okay, buddy? We have a nurse over here.” He points at me, preemptively offering my services.
Trevor hits his chest with his fist like a macho marine. “All good, man. Thanks.”
Satisfied that the stranger in the booth behind us is not having a medical emergency, Brandon turns his attention back to me. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”
Before I can offer a response, a new text comes through.
TREVOR: Meet me in the bathroom NOW.
I let out a tortured sigh, scooting out of the booth. “Be right back. Just going to the restroom.”
“No worries. Take your time,” Brandon says cheerfully, clearly relieved that the topic of children has come to an abrupt end.
Trevor is pacing in the dingy narrow hallway outside the bathrooms, his fingers linked behind his head. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m just having a casual conversation. Why are you freaking out?”
He huffs. “You brought up children.”
I scoff, as if I haven’t already named our three unborn daughters. “Look, I hate small talk. It’s not my vibe. And it’s not like he’s a stranger. He’s an ex. When we broke up, he said maybe things could work out in the future. I’m trying to find out where he’s at.”
Trevor eyes me sideways. “No. It’s way too soon for that conversation. He’s about to hurl himself off the nearest ledge.”
“He invited me on a three-month trip. How is it too soon?” I frown. “I don’t want to just hook up or casually see each other. I’m putting it all out on the table.”
“And then some,” he grumbles, partially distracted by the waitress he’s been seducing all evening. She gives him a flirty smile, thick high ponytail swaying, expertly balancing a tray of pizza. He returns her smile briefly before turning back to me with a scowl. “You’re not seriously going to follow him on that rain forest excursion, are you? I thought you said you hate traveling. And what about work?”
I immediately shut down Trevor’s pessimism. “You know what? You should just go hang with that waitress. You’re distracting me, and I don’t need your unsolicited two cents.”
“My two cents was solicited, actually. Do you not remember begging me to come with you? To make sure you don’t mess this up? To save you from yourself?”
“I appreciate it, but I need to do this my way. I need to know if I’m wasting my time.” Before he can protest, I spin on my heel and march back to the booth.
The glimmer in Brandon’s eyes when he spoke about travel has now dulled. In fact, his expression is generally serious, like it used to be five minutes before exam time. He smiles when I settle across from him, but the joy doesn’t quite reach his eyes. This date has officially taken a turn for the worse.
“I just don’t know if I see myself settling down and having kids, to be honest. I don’t want to waste your time,” he finally confesses.
My stomach bottoms out. While I respect his decision, I’ve always clung to the eventuality of having children. Visions of Brandon and me living a fabulous life in the suburbs all but evaporate. “Really? I mean, I guess I just thought when we broke up the first time that you’d be ready, sometime in the future.”
His face looks pained. A heavy silence fills the space between us as we sip the rest of our respective drinks. In fact, Brandon is chugging his like he’s dying of thirst. Then he twirls his glass, dragging the puddle of condensation around the table in a figure eight. “Sorry, Tara. You’re a great girl. Honestly, the best. I love spending time together. I just . . . I’m not looking to settle down in one place with a family and white picket fence. And if you’re still remotely the same girl you were in college, it wouldn’t be fair of me to give you false hope and lead you on.”
The chaos of mini putters and bar patrons blurs around me as I struggle to recover from his truth bomb. There’s nothing I can do but let out a strained laugh, which sounds reminiscent of an injured whale stranded on the beach.
Another one bites the dust.
Daniel (childhood love)
Tommy (ninth-grade boyfriend)
Jacques (Student Senate boy)
Cody (high school sweetheart)
Jeff (frosh week fling)
Zion (campus bookstore cutie)
Brandon (world traveler—the one that got away)
Linus (Brandon rebound)
Mark (book club intellectual)
Seth (ex-fiancé)
? chapter eleven
IT WAS SO close. He was so close to being perfect.” I pace frantically in the empty space between the living room and the kitchen, replaying the night with Brandon. In the end, we parted ways amicably. He forcefully insisted on paying the bill out of pure pity before leaving me with a lackluster kiss to the forehead.
Trevor cringes at me from the stool at the island. “Stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy. And I think the best course of action here is to put the teddy bear away and go to bed.” Why is he so responsible?
My pacing quickens, as well as my grip on the stuffed teddy bear Brandon bought for me so many Valentine’s Days ago. “Nah. I’d prefer to overanalyze and pinpoint the moment it all went up in flames. For future reference. So I don’t keep messing things up.”
A hint of a smile plays across his lips. “I have been known to put out a flame or two. Anything I can do to help?”
I’m touched by the offer, but at this point, I’ve already dug my own grave halfway to the earth’s core. “Not unless you can turn back time.”
He stands from the stool. “I may have something.”
“Do you have some sort of secret time-traveling wardrobe?” I ask hopefully, following him into the hallway.
“Obviously. Doesn’t everyone?”
I’m puzzled when he stops outside my bedroom door and points to the mess of clothes on the floor. “If you’re about to try to convince me that cleaning is therapeutic, I might punch—”
“Be quiet and put your bathing suit on,” he orders before disappearing into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
“My bathing suit?” I call.
“Yup.”
I blink, dumbfounded. “Is this some weird sexual ploy? Are you trying to hook up with me right now?”
He makes a tsk sound, like the idea is absurd. “God, no.”
I’m too busy freaking the hell out about wearing a swimsuit in front of another human being, let alone a ridiculously attractive human being with the body of a god. Insecurities aside, my curiosity has spiked, so I swallow my pride and throw on my trusty floral one-piece and fluffy bathrobe.
Trevor is waiting at the front door when I emerge, clad in navy-blue swim trunks, a black T-shirt, and . . . army-green Crocs.
It takes all my willpower to resist laughing and pointing like a child, and he can tell, based on his death glare. He’s silently daring me to comment, and of course, I do.