second. “Do you still miss Bill?”
“Every day. But not as much as I used to.”
I contemplate telling her about how vividly I saw Patrick, but I know it’ll sound crazy. It probably is crazy. “Was I wrong to say yes to Dan?” I ask her instead. “When there’s still a part of me that’s in love with Patrick?”
“No,” she says firmly. “You’ll always love Patrick. And that’s okay. You just have to keep reminding yourself that he’s not here anymore.”
“But what if he is?” I whisper.
“What?”
I hesitate. “I just don’t think I know how to let him go.”
I use the remainder of the walk home to think. New York is swarming with people, but there’s something about walking down a crowded street that can feel almost peaceful and solitary. I don’t make eye contact or talk to anyone, and by the time I get to our apartment, I feel like I’ve spent the last twenty minutes in a silent bubble.
Dan’s in the kitchen, drinking a glass of red wine, when I walk in the door. “You okay, babe?” he asks. “Susan called and said you seemed upset. She’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I say. I force a smile. “Really. Thanks, sweetheart.”
He sets his glass down on the counter and crosses the room to pull me into a hug. “So? How’s my beautiful bride-to-be? I heard you and Susan got together today and talked wedding planning?”
“A little,” I say, and he smiles at me.
“Hey, I don’t want you to stress out about any of this,” he continues. “There’s no rush. I know some brides go kind of overboard with the details, but I don’t want to add anything to your plate. How can I help?”
“You really are perfect, aren’t you?” I say with a sigh. “But really, don’t worry. I’m not that kind of bride.”
“Well, I took care of dinner tonight, anyhow, so that’s one less thing on your plate,” he says, and I feel terrible. I was supposed to cook. The doorbell rings, as if on cue. “That must be the delivery guy.”
Ten minutes later, Dan has set the dining room table, lit two taper candles, and plated our Chinese takeout to make the whole meal look like a fine dining experience.
“Only you would serve take-out lo mein on fine china,” I say, shaking my head with a smile.
“Healthy vegetarian lo mein,” he clarifies. He pours me a glass of Bordeaux and kisses me on the top of my head. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”
“I have to tell you something,” I say after we’ve taken the first few bites of our food. “I went to the doctor a few days ago.” I watch his face closely. “My ovaries aren’t producing eggs anymore. I—we—won’t be able to have a baby.”
“Kate—” He reaches for me, but I’m not done yet.
“Do you still want to marry me? I mean, I know we haven’t talked about this before, but if this changes things . . .”
He stares at me for a moment as my heart thuds. Then he leans across the table and kisses me. “Of course I want to marry you, Kate.” He pauses and adds, “It’s fine. It’ll just be us. We don’t need to have children to be happy.” He smiles broadly, comfortingly.
But my stomach rolls uncomfortably, and I blink a few times. “We could adopt,” I venture.
He shrugs. “Babe, maybe being parents just isn’t in the cards for us. Stop worrying about it. This isn’t your fault.” Then, before I have a chance to say anything else, he switches tracks entirely. “So did you and Susan make any decisions about wedding venues today?” he asks. “Your sister said she had a whole binder of ideas, and I thought some of the outside locations might be nice for the fall . . .”
I shrug, and as he continues to talk, I tune him out and focus on the wall behind him, trying not to cry.
That night, Dan sleeps peacefully beside me while I stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way Patrick and I used to lie in bed, talking about what we’d name our kids, all the fun things we’d do as a family, and
“Every day. But not as much as I used to.”
I contemplate telling her about how vividly I saw Patrick, but I know it’ll sound crazy. It probably is crazy. “Was I wrong to say yes to Dan?” I ask her instead. “When there’s still a part of me that’s in love with Patrick?”
“No,” she says firmly. “You’ll always love Patrick. And that’s okay. You just have to keep reminding yourself that he’s not here anymore.”
“But what if he is?” I whisper.
“What?”
I hesitate. “I just don’t think I know how to let him go.”
I use the remainder of the walk home to think. New York is swarming with people, but there’s something about walking down a crowded street that can feel almost peaceful and solitary. I don’t make eye contact or talk to anyone, and by the time I get to our apartment, I feel like I’ve spent the last twenty minutes in a silent bubble.
Dan’s in the kitchen, drinking a glass of red wine, when I walk in the door. “You okay, babe?” he asks. “Susan called and said you seemed upset. She’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I say. I force a smile. “Really. Thanks, sweetheart.”
He sets his glass down on the counter and crosses the room to pull me into a hug. “So? How’s my beautiful bride-to-be? I heard you and Susan got together today and talked wedding planning?”
“A little,” I say, and he smiles at me.
“Hey, I don’t want you to stress out about any of this,” he continues. “There’s no rush. I know some brides go kind of overboard with the details, but I don’t want to add anything to your plate. How can I help?”
“You really are perfect, aren’t you?” I say with a sigh. “But really, don’t worry. I’m not that kind of bride.”
“Well, I took care of dinner tonight, anyhow, so that’s one less thing on your plate,” he says, and I feel terrible. I was supposed to cook. The doorbell rings, as if on cue. “That must be the delivery guy.”
Ten minutes later, Dan has set the dining room table, lit two taper candles, and plated our Chinese takeout to make the whole meal look like a fine dining experience.
“Only you would serve take-out lo mein on fine china,” I say, shaking my head with a smile.
“Healthy vegetarian lo mein,” he clarifies. He pours me a glass of Bordeaux and kisses me on the top of my head. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”
“I have to tell you something,” I say after we’ve taken the first few bites of our food. “I went to the doctor a few days ago.” I watch his face closely. “My ovaries aren’t producing eggs anymore. I—we—won’t be able to have a baby.”
“Kate—” He reaches for me, but I’m not done yet.
“Do you still want to marry me? I mean, I know we haven’t talked about this before, but if this changes things . . .”
He stares at me for a moment as my heart thuds. Then he leans across the table and kisses me. “Of course I want to marry you, Kate.” He pauses and adds, “It’s fine. It’ll just be us. We don’t need to have children to be happy.” He smiles broadly, comfortingly.
But my stomach rolls uncomfortably, and I blink a few times. “We could adopt,” I venture.
He shrugs. “Babe, maybe being parents just isn’t in the cards for us. Stop worrying about it. This isn’t your fault.” Then, before I have a chance to say anything else, he switches tracks entirely. “So did you and Susan make any decisions about wedding venues today?” he asks. “Your sister said she had a whole binder of ideas, and I thought some of the outside locations might be nice for the fall . . .”
I shrug, and as he continues to talk, I tune him out and focus on the wall behind him, trying not to cry.
That night, Dan sleeps peacefully beside me while I stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way Patrick and I used to lie in bed, talking about what we’d name our kids, all the fun things we’d do as a family, and
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