After a bracing breath, I say, “You know, you were partly right about one thing.” I thread my fingers through his and look down at our joined hands. “I do run away from commitment and responsibility out of habit. While there are some practical things you and I will need to discuss before we ever stand in a church like this one and say vows before God and everyone, the biggest thing holding me back is plain old fear.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Maura. I’ll never hurt you. You’ll never regret—”
I look up and place my finger against his lips. “Shh. Listen to me for a second. I’m not afraid of any of that.” Gulping spasmodically, I suddenly worry I can’t say it without breaking down. But I have to say it, no matter what.
“I already feel like less than a whole person,” I say, my chin wrinkling and the corners of my mouth tugging downward. “I always have, like I’m not justifying my existence on this planet. I’m just taking up space.”
I pause to clear my throat, trying to loosen the tightness threatening to choke me. “It terrifies me to think I could become your wife and spend my days being an even bigger waste. Like, at least now, I’m a contributing member of society. I have a job, where I help people, and I pay taxes. You know?” My eyes fill and overflow. I look down at my lap.
He cups his huge hand on the back of my neck.
“What will be my purpose?” I wail nearly incoherently what I’ve been thinking so often all week. “What will be the point of me? To be on some stupid NFL Hottest Wives and Girlfriends List?” I stop short when it hits me I wouldn’t even qualify, considering my competition.
“Those lists are bullshit.” He cringes at himself and says toward the cross at the front of the sanctuary, “Oops. Sorry, Jesus.” Returning his attention to me, he moves his hand from my neck to my upper arm and pulls me tighter to his side. “I see us doing all kinds of great things together.
I twist at the waist and look fully into his eyes. “I don’t, though. And that scares me. I see you traveling all the time and me sitting in an empty house, watching movies. Or next to the pool with Torzi, reading stupid celebrity gossip magazines.”
“Torzi can’t read. And what about your job? You’ll still have that to keep you plenty busy.”
Gloria’s face flashes through my mind, but I shake her away in time to hear the following nugget fall from Jet’s mouth: “Then you’ll be the mother of our children, which will definitely be a full-time job.”
I choke-hiccup on a sob and break down again, covering my face.
“Oh, no. What’s the matter?” He wraps me in a full-on hug, crushing my arms between us.
I push away so I can look at him. This difficult revelation requires eye contact. “Jet, I… I’m not sure I want kids.”
His swallow is both visible and audible. “None? Ever?”
Shaking my head, I answer, “No.” Then louder, “I don’t know. Maybe not. The responsibility freaks me out.”
“It should. Most people take it too lightly.”
“It’s more than that, though. I get panicky thinking about it. The whole thing. Pregnancy, childbirth, parenting. Alone.” My breathing speeds up in direct proportion with my racing thoughts and tumbling words.
He hugs me again. “Hey. Shhh. We don’t have to talk about any of that right now.”
“It’s important to you, though. You love kids and want your own someday. You made that clear on our first date. So it’s only fair that I’m upfront with you about this, because”—I choke but manage—“I know it’s a deal-breaker if I don’t want them.”
His hands encircle my upper arms. Gently, he pushes me away and searches my face. “Deal-breakers are for first dates and casual acquaintances. I’m so past the point of deal-breakers with you, it’s not even funny.”
“You are?”
He nods and half-smiles. “Oh, yeah. You’d have to tell me you’ve decided to become a Raiders fan. Still probably not a deal-breaker.”
“Gosh. Well. You never have to worry about that.”
“See? You’re stuck with me.” He swipes a straggling tear from my face with the back of his hand. “They’re going to wonder what I did to you when we show up at that reception.”
I straighten and gasp. “Oh, crap! The reception!” Standing, I pull on his hand. “We have to go. Poor Colin. I’ve abandoned him. But I couldn’t find him after he went through the receiving line.”
“He told me he was going home,” Jet tells me, standing and stretching. “Said he enjoyed the ‘good weep’ he got from the ceremony, but mentioned something about his ‘pipe and slippers.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
I crack up. “Yes. That’s his way of saying he’s spending the night in.”
He offers me his crooked elbow in the middle of the aisle. “Then shall we?”
Threading my arm through his, I say, “Yeah,” but I hold him in place when he tries to walk toward the sanctuary’s exit.
Bemusement brightening his eyes, he backtracks and asks, “What are you doing?” Bending at the knees to bring his eyes level with mine, he swipes his thumbs along my lower lids, then rubs the mascara residue with the sides of his index fingers. “There. All better.”
Rising on my tiptoes, I brush my lips against his. “I’d love to marry you someday. I think.”
“I’m here when you’re ready. You’re worth waiting for.” He wraps his arms around my back and gathers me against him, lifting me off the ground as he lowers his mouth onto mine.
Twenty-Six
Scandal
Early September isn’t technically autumn and doesn’t even feel like it here in Kansas City, but we trick ourselves into believing the mornings are cooler, the sun is a bit mellower, and the days are slightly shorter, all hallmarks of the best time of year. Because football
