by J. Saman
“He didn’t even wish me a happy birthday. He totally freaking forgot,” I sob into her shoulder. “Oh,” I start again pulling back, wiping my face, “and in the middle of all this shit, I saw Levi and Chrissy pawing at each other in the elevator.”
Amara scrunches her nose. “Ew, really? Why her?”
“Probably because she’s the hospital bicycle and she’s easy, and why not?”
“Oh love bug.” She pulls me back into her, giving me a good squeeze. “I’m off at seven, so we’re going to go out with a few of the girls. We’ll drink lots of margaritas and eat fattening Mexican food.” Her tone is maternal as she searches my eyes.
I laugh, wiping at my face. “Okay.”
“Good, now go and rock your shift, then go home and take it easy for a while. You deserve it. I’ll scoop you up around seven-thirty.”
I smile “I freaking love you.”
She nods, batting her eyelashes at me and tilting her head. “I know. I’m awesome.”
I pull away from her and open the locker room door right into a smiling Chrissy. I swear today is going from bad to worse.
“Hi, ladies,” she coos, making me want to bitch slap her. Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh. Chrissy is actually very sweet. Amara and I just nod, pushing past her. I can’t talk to her right now. I can’t hear her irritatingly high-pitched, candy-coated voice.
She’s not doing anything wrong, but still. Doesn’t mean I want to be around her either.
The rest of my shift goes quickly, mainly because Sue lets me work on a trauma with her, which is exciting and requires all my brain function. Walking back out into the frigid afternoon, I got out two hours later than I was supposed to. Turning right to head home, my phone vibrates in my pocket, so I pull it out to see a text message that stops me short.
Tom: I had more to say to you before you so ungraciously hung up on me. Please call me when you get this.
I take a deep breath and press his number. It clicks twice before I hear a long ring followed by another.
“I see you got my text.” Nice, very nice way to pick up the phone.
“I did. What else did you need to say to me?” If he wants to keep playing this game, I can do that too.
He sighs the way he always does when he’s frustrated by something. Right now, it’s me who’s frustrating him. “I have something rather important to speak to you about, but I don’t want to do it while we’re having a row, because I don’t know if it’s something you’ll be cross or happy about.”
“Okay,” I draw out the word. This does not sound promising.
“Lara, love,” he takes a deep breath. “They’re extending my contract for another eight months to a year…if not indefinite.” What. The. Fuck? My head is throbbing as blood rushes in my ears and my vision blurs for a moment. That’s how absolutely enraged I am.
“What do you mean, Tom? Are we talking about this, or is it a done deal?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Well, I can’t say no to them, Lara. This is my job. So, of course it’s a done deal.”
“Just like that, Tom? Without even discussing it with me?” Was he always this selfish when it came to his job? Yes. Yes, he was.
I hear him huff his breath into the phone. “What would you have me do? Run off on my job? Tell them no?” Maybe, yeah. Maybe I would have. Of course I can’t do that.
“So what are you asking me then? If it’s done, then what is there to talk about?”
“I’m sorry. I realize you’re upset about this, but is it really the worst thing in the world? We can get married here. Maybe start a family. Eventually, if you want to go back to the States we can, but they want me here, and this is where I want to be too.”
And it all becomes clear. He wants to be there. Not here. Get married? Start a family? It’s like my whole life is being decided for me and I’m just supposed to smile and go along for the ride. “What about my job? My work?”
Another sigh. “Lara, we can figure out how you can take up here as a nurse if you even fancy that. You don’t have to work, love. I don’t relish that thought anyway.” And there it is.
Lara say hello to your trapped future.
“What about my Masters’ as a nurse practitioner? What about everything I’ve worked for over the last three years?” My voice is so weak right now. He’s completely deflated me. I’m standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of my hospital and I don’t think I could move if someone paid me to.
I’m so completely crushed.
Beyond devastated.
“I don’t know what to tell you, dove. Maybe when…if,” he corrects, “we come back, you can take it back up then.” Take it back up? Like it’s a hobby. Just something I dabble in.
“Do you even care about what I want?” I manage to ask past the huge lump in my throat.
“Of course I do, darling, but this is my job. Our future. I want you with me. I want to get married and start a family. Once you get adjusted to life here, you’ll realize that you want that too.”
I shake my head, barely able to process how we got to this place in only two weeks. How things went from being so perfect to so wrong. “No Tom.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. And then I realize I don’t want to stop them this time. I want him to know that that’s not what I want. “I won’t, because I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that at the age of twenty-six, which I turned today, mind you, that I do not want to give up on a career that I love. I don’t want to get married and have babies and lose sight of who I am because of my husband’s job. I have no desire to move to England, to move away from my family, indefinitely. I don’t want any of this. None of it. At all.”
He’s quiet for so long, I have to pull the phone away to look at the screen to make sure he’s still there. “What are you saying, Lara? You won’t even entertain the option? You won’t even try for me? For us? You just give up the second things aren’t exactly what you want?”
“It sounds to me like you’re getting everything you want and I get nothing I want. You’re asking me to give up everything I am for you. Is that really what you want for me? Do you think I’ll be happy like that?” I ask incredulously, because right now, I don’t think I know who this man is. He’s not the loving, supportive, considerate Tom I fell in love with.
This is a patriarchal, domineering asshole.
“I think you would be happy eventually if you gave it a go.” Eventually. And he’s fine with that?
“You didn’t just find out about this, did you?” I ask, recognition and understanding rearing down on me. He’s only been there two weeks. There is no way they suddenly sprang this on him that fast.
More silence. “It was discussed the week before I left.” I knew it, but my being right doesn’t make me feel better. It just makes me feel worse. Betrayed.
“So you put a ring on my finger without telling me any of this? You left me thinking that this was still a temporary move, only for us to have this conversation over the phone?” I’m shaking my head, my free hand on my hip as my head drops down to my chest, looking at the concrete beneath my feet.
Tom knocked the wind out of me.
“Lara…I…I’m sorry,” he sighs into the phone. “It wasn’t a done deal when I left, and in truth, I didn’t think you’d be this brassed off about it. When I put that ring on your finger, as you say, I thought it meant forever and that you’d want that with me. Am I wrong, Lara? Because I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”
I’m shaking, and it has nothing to do with the cold air that surrounds me. “Then don’t do it, Tom,” I whisper, but I know it’s pointless. He’s already done it, and my life was an afterthought. He sees me barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen being Suzy Homemaker. And there is nothing wrong with that image, except that’s not all that I want from my life. At least not yet.
“Lara…hold on a sec.” I hear a rubbing sound, like he put his hand over the receiver, because now I hear muffled voices in t
he background. More rubbing and then he returns. “I have to go. Can we chat about this later? Please.” His voice is pleading, but I don’t know what else there is to talk about.
We’re at an impasse.
A bridge that cannot be traversed.
“Okay,” I say, and then hang up. I’m just not strong enough to say goodbye to him yet.
30
I make it home, though I have no recollection of walking here. I feel betrayed. That seems to be the prominent emotion for me right now. Betrayal.
Betrayed by him not talking to me about this before he left, when he knew it was likely he wouldn’t be returning. Betrayed because everything I’ve worked for, built my life towards, was cast aside as unimportant.
I was an afterthought.
He acted like I should have been jumping for joy at the prospect of us getting married and having babies. And maybe that’s not his fault. I accepted his ring. I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no either, and that’s on me.
I should have.
I shouldn’t have allowed him to leave thinking we were engaged and that I planned to wear his ring, because I didn’t and I haven’t.
I’m such a hypocrite. I just did the same thing he did to me. I’ve lied and withheld under the bullshit guise of waiting to tell him in person, when the truth is that I was scared. Scared of what saying no to Tom actually means. Scared to let myself love the man I’ve never stopped loving, because I was terrified he’d hurt me again.
I love Tom, but to what degree? Apparently not in the forever way, or that ring would be on my hand.
All Tom did was expect his fiancée to move with him. That’s also not his fault. The women in his world are ruled by their men.
He comes from that sort of life.
His mother never worked, just went to lunches and other social things while the nanny raised her children. That may have worked for them, but it’s not who I am. I want to work and have children one day. I want it all, and I don’t see why I have to sacrifice that.
The simple fact is, I cannot work as a nurse practitioner in England. I doubt I can even work as a nurse. I looked into it. It’s ridiculously hard to transfer my licensing over. I don’t have a visa, either. He didn’t even seem to really entertain that idea anyway.
He flat out said that he doesn’t want me to work.
I throw off my coat, tossing it into the coat closet without hanging it up. Tearing off my scrubs, I plant face first onto my bed. I’m not crying, which is sort of surprising. I’m more angry and annoyed, than tearful—whether I have a right to be or not. Screw that. I do still have a right to be pissed.
And maybe that’s telling.
I’m tempted to pull the ring out of my nightstand, where it has lived these last two weeks, and send it to him. Just be done with all of it. But part of me is secretly hoping he’ll realize he can do his job in New York, or find a new one and come home.
He won’t. I know Tom well enough to know this about him. He’s happy there, back home with his family, doing the job he wants. He may say he doesn’t want to lose me, but I’m willing to bet he’ll pick his job over me.
If this is not the sign I’ve been looking for, I don’t know what is.
I drag myself out of bed after lying here for what feels like days, but since it’s not even fully dark out, I know it wasn’t that long. I strip off my bra and panties, heading for the shower in hopes that it will wash away the worst birthday on record.
Twenty-six sucks ass so far.
I’m drying my hair when I hear the buzzer for the door. I turn off the dryer, sprint for the intercom and hit the two-way talk button, unable to see on the camera who’s at the door. “Yes?” I ask.
“I have a delivery for Lara Gould,” a disinterested male voice says.
Oh.
“Sure. Come on up.” I press the button to unlock the two downstairs doors before I scurry back to my room and throw my robe on. I’m only wearing a tank top and short shorts. No bra. Definitely not answering the door like that.
I open the door to see a huge arrangement of balloons in pink and purple. Only my mother would send me this. “Are you Lara Gould?” The guy, who looks like he’s twelve, asks.
“Yes,” I say, trying to hide my annoyance. I opened the damn door, didn’t I? He hands me the balloons and leaves without another word.
The attached card shows they are from my parents.
Happy birthday to our baby. We love you, Mom and Dad.
I send them a text to thank them. I’m just not up for talking to my mother about all of this yet. A call is not required, since I already talked to her at the asshole crack of dawn and had to suffer through her annual happy birthday songfest.
I finish blow-drying my hair when my phone rings. It’s Tom. Freaking finally.
“Hi,” I start, realizing it’s now awkward talking to him. I hate that it feels like this. I hate that ending it is the right thing to do. Truthfully, I’m not always the best with that. I’m far too emotionally indecisive lately.
“I’m sorry I had to run before. I’m home now, though.” Home. Interesting word choice. “Have you thought more about it?” I hear the hope in his voice.
“Tom,” I start and then stop. Taking a deep breath, I say the words that I should have said when he got down on his knee in that hotel room. “I love you. I do. But not enough to give up my entire life.” My voice trembles as I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, unable to stand anymore. “We want different things. You want a wife and a family, and while I want those things someday, I don’t want them now,” I cringe, taking a deep breath. This is so hard to tell him. So hard to even admit to myself. “I certainly don’t want to throw away a career that I love before I’ve even had a chance to start it,” I finish strongly, but I’m shaking and my head drops into my hand in defeat.
“So that’s it then, is it?” His voice is as shaky as mine. “I thought you loved me. Fancied us being together always.” Damn, the accusation stings.
Tears start to roll down my cheeks as I lower my face to my free hand, leaning forward, elbow on knee. “I’m not ready for all of this, Tom,” I confess, feeling my stomach roll. “This is not the always I had envisioned. Moving to England permanently is not it for me. I do love you, but not the way you deserve. Not enough to sacrifice my life for yours.”
We’re both silent after that.
I guess there just isn’t a lot to say.
Except goodbye.
“You can’t move back here?” I ask, even though I know I shouldn’t. Even though I know he can’t.
“No. I really can’t, love. I’ve signed the contract, and this is where I want to be.”
He signed the contract. I don’t know why that surprises me, or even hurts as much as it does. I knew he said yes to them before talking to me about it, but just hearing it confirmed again is enough for me to know that this is over.
“Then yes, Tom. I think this is it for us,” I tell him reluctantly, swallowing down the hard lump that’s taken up residence in my throat. My tears are falling hard. There’s no stopping them. They’re sliding down my cheeks in rivers. My stomach feels like a vice is squeezing it, along with my heart.
Fuck, this hurts.
“Christ, Lara. I don’t want this to be it.” He sounds so broken and I hate that I’m the cause of his pain. Hate it.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I sob, shaking into my hand. “I just can’t do it, Tom. I can’t. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I do.”
“Can you come here? So we can at least talk about it in person? Maybe once you got here things would be different. You’d see that it isn’t so bad.”
I’m shaking my head even though he can’t see me. “I can’t move there indefinitely. A year maybe, but after that…” I trail off with a sigh, because I know even that won’t work anymore. I don’t want that the way I did before. “It’s just too much, Tom.”
“We could come back someday maybe, and visit whenever you want. Don’t do t
his. Please,” he begs and I sob out. I’m shaking and crying, and feeling like my insides will erupt at any second. Despite this, I know for a fact that if I say yes to him now, it will only be to hurt him later.
“Think about it from my perspective for a minute. You’re asking me to move to England, where I don’t know anyone. You work ridiculously long hours. We’d never see each other. I can’t work there, so I’d be essentially throwing away the last three years of my life. Throwing away my degree. I’d be miserable and lonely, Tom, and I’d make us miserable too.”
He’s quiet again, but I hear him sniffle a few times. “I love you too much to make you miserable,” is his whispered response. I’m not entirely sure what it means. I think it means he’s resigned to choosing his job over me, and I’m resigned to choosing everything over him.
“I know, and I love you too much to make us miserable.”
Like I said. Impasse.
“I am miserable, though. Being without you? I’m miserable,” he pleads, and I sob again, rocking back and forth on the edge of my bed before sliding down to the ground and curling up into a ball. “This is my dream job, Lara. Heading up things here? It’s my dream, but so are you.”
“I’m not asking you to choose me over your job, Tom. I’d never do that to you. I think either way one of us would end up resenting the other, and I don’t want that. I couldn’t stand that. Your dream is there and mine’s here, and we’re stuck somewhere in between.”
“I’m going to love you forever. You do know that.”
“I love you too,” I tell him. Even though this hurts like a son of a bitch, I know I’ll get over it. I’ll move on and I’ll be whole. This won’t break me. “I love you,” I repeat.
Losing Levi broke me. It crushed my soul, and for the longest time I didn’t think I could ever love anyone again. I proved that wrong with Tom. I did love him. I do love him, but in this moment I realize just how right Levi was when he said that I’d never love Tom as much as I love him.