by Jean Oram
“It doesn’t seem like it…”
“Weird.”
“Yeah.”
“Are we okay being friends again?”
“Of course. We always will be.”
Then they’d laugh, and just like that, they’d be nothing more than buddies again.
Easy. Painless.
Amy didn’t foresee a conversation with Dexter going that way.
What was she thinking? This wasn’t going to be a breakup. This was the beginning of forever. No more breakups. Ever.
There was no reason to panic.
Still, she felt like she should panic.
In a burst of spontaneity, she blurted out, “Do you want to come to Belize and learn to scuba dive with me? We could go while Evan’s with his mom. It’ll be fun. We can rent a scooter and see the area and eat from little food stands along the beach. Maybe tent in the dunes. What do you say?”
Dexter inhaled, but didn’t reply, as though unsure what part of her little speech to address first.
“It doesn’t have to cost much,” she continued. “When was the last time you put yourself first? You know, treated yourself to something fun?”
Finally, Dexter spoke slowly and carefully. “You know I love your energy.”
She braced herself for the incoming barrage that would surely start with “but…” Moe was the only person she knew who didn’t use the word energy like a polite insult. Instead, he said it with a touch of awe and approval. Good ol’ Moe.
“But I’ve been thinking,” Dexter said. “We’ve been dating for ten months now.”
Amy held her breath and nodded to show she was listening, was patient. Good qualities in both a wife and a mother.
“And I fear that the potential problems in our relationship aren’t about me or you, but are about us not being a good fit.”
Amy blinked, feeling numb. “I don’t understand.”
He remained silent, simply waited while his words sank in, hurt her, ended her.
“I’m breaking up with you,” he said, when she finally opened her mouth to speak. “It’s not me, it’s you. You’re attractive and I’m completely dazzled by your whimsy and how you just run off after things.” He smiled and swung his arms through the air. Then went quiet, taking her hands in his. “But long-term I’m not going to be exciting enough for you.”
“You want me to settle down? Because I want to settle down.”
“I don’t have any interest in learning how to dive in Belize.” He said it as though his refusal of her earlier invitation was some kind of wholesale relationship deal breaker, some huge illustration of why they couldn’t be together.
“We can be interested in different things,” she said, forcing the words to come out evenly. Surely she could make him see sense. “Being dissimilar is more sustainable than being the same.” There was a sharpness to her tone and he released her hands, then crossed his arms as well as his ankles. “In fact, I think that would make our connection stronger. It’s healthy to have interests outside of a relationship. I thought you liked that I was so independent.”
She stood, angry for letting herself believe that he was different from her exes. That their relationship was going to be different. She had fooled herself, so desperate for his love and that feeling of belonging that she’d overlooked one big thing: he was never going to be the one she came home to.
“Amy.” Dexter pronounced her name so carefully she felt like a six-year-old with her hand caught in the cookie jar after she’d already been told no. “I need someone who isn’t going to run off on adventures. I have a son to think about.”
She spun, facing him, satisfied that he was still sitting so she could tower over him. “You don’t ask the person you love to change who they are. That’s not true love. You want to make me into someone I’m not. And that’s not what I’m looking for. I want a man who makes me a better person, not a man who squelches my personality to fit into some stifling mold just so he can feel safe and secure.”
“I have my son to think about,” Dexter snapped, like an alligator defending its territory.
“And he’s a fun-loving ball of energy. Are you going to stifle him, too? Snuff out his spark?”
Dexter stood, briskly brushing the wrinkles from his pants with one harsh stroke. “It’s been fun dating you, and I love that your parents tell you that you can do and be anything, but that’s not the father I will be for my son. There are limits to everything, Amy. And you and I are adults. It’s time to grow up. It’s time to settle down.”
Amy sat as though her legs had been knocked out from under her.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, his fight already gone. “I’m sorry if I was harsh. I love who you are.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I just… We’re too different. I’m sorry.” He turned and walked away, leaving her wondering how he hadn’t seen that he had everything she wanted, and that she would have been more than happy to fit herself into his life, his world.
Amy returned to Brew Babies in shock. Had that really just happened? Why had she been so certain she was about to get engaged? How had she convinced herself that Dexter was the real deal, and that he understood her and saw her for who she really was?
He hadn’t even tried to let their love bridge everything.
Her love hadn’t been enough; it hadn’t mattered to him.
Maybe it hadn’t even been love.
“So?” Moe asked, as he spotted her moving toward him across the pub. He started forward, a bounce to his step, but after one swift glance he slowed. Instead of meeting her with the bar between them, he came around the end and eased onto the stool beside her.
She glumly plunked her chin in her hands, elbows on the counter. Moe slipped an arm across her shoulders, pulling her into a half hug.
“I’m sorry, Amy.” His voice was full of comfort, like bread pudding made with real cream, fresh out of the oven on a freezing winter’s day.
“I can’t believe I let myself get suckered into a fake dream again.” She heaved a sigh so deep it could have shook the town. “He broke up with me.”
Moe gave her shoulder a squeeze.
“Why can’t I find someone to love me for who I really am?” She looked at him, unafraid to show him the pain she knew was evident in her eyes.
“I love you for who you are.”
“Not like that.”
“All nutty and adventurous?”
She felt glumness descend over her like a storm cloud settling in over the mountains surrounding Blueberry Springs. “What’s wrong with us?”
Moe’s chest expanded and he stared at the bottles lined up on the wall behind the bar. He finally let out the breath. “It beats me. I’m a catch. You’re a catch. I have this fabulous shaggy hair all the women go for, and you have an amazing figure. And on the inside I’m pure steady, reliable husband material. Meanwhile, you’re fun and adventurous. I think the world must be full of stupid people.”
He hunched over the bar, forehead furrowed, then tipped his head her way, a lock of that shaggy hair falling over one eye. It gave him a playful, mischievous, cavalier look.
He flicked his hair back. “Don’t you think?” he asked.
Amy reached over and grasped his face, tipping his head down so she could place a kiss on his forehead.
“What was that for?”
“For being the best friend a woman could ever want when love sucks.” She let her shoulder bump his.
He stood, looking slightly bashful at the heartfelt compliment. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Only if you join me.”
Moe glanced down the bar. It was still just him and the regulars keeping the lights on in the place until happy hour began in earnest and drew in more customers.
He gave a shrug. He typically didn’t drink while on the job, but occasionally made exceptions during celebrations. Or for her.
He went around the bar and began mixing them each a whiskey sour—their traditional someone-got-dumped drink.
>
He passed her one and she lifted it, clinking the glass against his. “To a world full of stupid people.”
“To stupid people.”
They each took a sip.
“So? Now what?” Moe asked, setting his glass down.
Amy shook her head. “How could Dexter not see that I wanted what he has—a family, contentment? He…he didn’t even try to love me for who I am. How can something like that be called love?”
Moe’s frown deepened, once again furrowing his normally smooth forehead.
“A few hours ago I thought this was it. Now there’s another guy I’ll never see again.”
“You could remain friends, you know.”
Amy sent him a dark look. “Please. People don’t stay friends with their exes.”
“I do.”
She wrapped her hand over his, giving it a squeeze. “Yeah, but you’re different.”
“I’m the only ex you’ve stayed friends with, aren’t I?” For all their late-night talks, they rarely shared their romantic histories.
He was watching her, with something in his gaze suggesting that he was coming up with a new conclusion about her. If it had been anyone else, she would have tried to interrupt the thought. But it was Moe, and she knew he’d never think anything but good things about her and the way she led her crazy life.
Amy let go of his hand and grumbled, “I feel like I’m running out of time.”
“To have a family?”
“Yeah.”
He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and swirled his almost-empty glass, watching the ice slide and spin.
“Do you want a family?” she asked.
“Someday.”
She finished her drink, then muttered into her glass, “You’re lucky. You’re a guy. You can have babies when you’re eighty.” She felt let down, and a bit heartbroken now that the shock was wearing off.
“I think I’d like to start sooner than that.”
“Me, too.”
“What about a sperm donor?” Moe had bent over so he could lean against the bar, contemplating her.
She scrunched up her nose. Going it alone felt difficult, as though she’d always be floundering and running around like crazy. She didn’t envision that warm content feeling she had when she held other people’s babies. “I want the nuclear-family option.”
“Million dollar family.”
“Million dollars?”
“One boy, one girl. Nuclear family. Amazing and perfect. I think the million means that it’ll take a million to raise the kids, but I’m not sure.” He called down to a regular, Cole, a young cowboy from Texas who’d come to climb some mountains years ago and forgotten to return home. “Hey, why’s it called a million dollar family?”
“The father is the Million Dollar Man,” chortled the man in reply, readjusting his cowboy hat.
“Helpful smart aleck,” Moe muttered.
“What if I’m still single when I’m thirty?” Amy moaned.
“You have a few years yet.”
“If I want to have a couple of kids I need to be married by then. Expectant mothers are considered to be old by the age of thirty-six, as the risk of health issues increases. If I’m married by thirty, I could have the first baby by thirty-one or -two. Give us a year or so, then have the other one by thirty-four. It could work, but unfortunately, I don’t feel very confident that I’m going to meet and marry someone by then.” She gave a sad sigh. “My luck sucks. I was supposed to be married by now. Dexter wanted me to be different—men always want me to be different. Why can’t I find someone to love me just for who I am? Is that so impossible?”
Moe scooped up her empty glass, tipping it her direction as he often did when he was about to present an idea. “Tell you what.”
“What?” Amy asked, feeling impatient. Moe didn’t often try and perk her up, but rather listened and sympathized. The perfect bartender and best friend. So if he was going to come up with some grand plan about how she could immediately find her Mr. Right, she was out. She had energy, but not that kind of energy.
“If neither of us is married by the time you turn thirty, we marry each other and start a family.”
“A marriage pledge? Are we seriously that pathetic?” She dropped her head in her hands.
“Yup.”
“I thought you said I was hot and wonderful.”
“You are.”
“But I have to depend on my best friend to have sex with me so we can have a baby?”
“I didn’t say anything about sex.”
She looked up at him, finding the room slightly blurry after pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “It’s kind of how babies are made.”
“Nah, we get in vitro. Keep it platonic and without complications.”
Amy thought about it. As a nurse, she probably should’ve thought of that. “Okay.”
“So, a marriage pledge?” Moe asked, eyebrows lifted as if in surprise.
“What? You weren’t serious?” She couldn’t take having her hopes dashed one more time today.
“I am if you are.”
“I am.” They studied each other for a moment. He was serious. Her kind, fun friend was serious. The corners of her lips twitched, despite her mood. “It’s brilliant, actually.”
Moe buffed his fingernails on his shirt as if he had aced her problems, giving her a pleased look that made her giggle.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.
“We’ll have brilliant babies.”
“This could work, actually.”
“You may refer to exhibit A—my brilliance.”
She ignored his chatter, focusing more fully on the idea, her excitement over it building. “You like me for who I am. Love doesn’t have to be involved. It’ll never be a part of this, which makes it beautifully simple.” Even Moe hadn’t been able to love her in that romantic capacity when they’d dated, and he was her best friend, the man who knew every tiny thing about her. Therefore, it was easy to see that she was never going to find love, so she might as well have the next best thing—a man who understood her. She sat a little taller. “We’re awesome friends, and when we used to work the bar together we could tag-team like nobody’s business. We would be fantastic parents!” She leaned over the bar to give him a high five.
His hand smacking hers echoed through the air.
The plan was indeed perfect. “What you’re good at I suck at, and vice versa.”
“What do I suck at?” Moe asked, with a rather wounded-looking frown.
“Being spontaneous and living for adventure.”
“You suck at details,” he countered.
“Making us a perfectly balanced, nutty match.”
Moe’s smile was more goofy leer than genuine as he made an hourglass shape in the air with his hands. “Plus you’re hot and we’d make cute babies.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” she teased, giving him a long, slow look filled with a simmering heat she didn’t have to fake. He was appealing, definitely good-looking, and yet not conceited. He also had a sweet, carefree, yet solidly reliable personality to go with all that appeal. He knew her likes and dislikes, and she could act like she was into him without worry that he’d go all weird or think she wanted to hit the sack ASAP as a result. Quite simply, he was the best kind of man there was and would be the perfect fake husband.
Should she ever need to cash in on the pledge as her backup plan.
“You do a pretty good job of keeping your hands off of me,” he pointed out.
“You just said I’m hot and yet…” She ran her hands down her sides, recreating the hourglass shape he’d sketched in the air. “…I don’t see you mauling me.”
He leaned over the bar, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he whispered, “Because I’m a gentleman. You don’t usually date those, and have forgotten how they behave.”
She patted her mouth, giving a fake yawn. “Bor-ring.”
He chuckled and began fixing a r
efill for Cole, who was still seated at the end of the bar. “You didn’t seem to find our forays into the bedroom boring.”
Amy let out a bark of laughter at the unexpected comment. “True.” Her face was heating from the scorching memories suddenly flooding through her mind. Their relationships had been good in the friends-with-benefits department, but they’d never really been able to make that into something more, something that lasted beyond a few weeks. “Screw love,” she announced, slapping a palm on the bar. “We’ve got a marriage pledge.” She snagged Moe’s hand as he put down the bottle of whiskey, and gave it a shake. “If neither of us are married by the time I hit thirty, we marry each other and have babies.”
He pumped her hand once. “Deal.”
Amy grinned, feeling as though the pressure she’d felt for the past six months had suddenly lifted. Marrying Moe was the perfect fail-safe plan.
She stood on the crossbar of her stool and tipped herself over the barrier between them to place yet another kiss on Moe’s forehead. “Thank you, my shaggy-haired friend.”
“If we get married you’re going to have to start landing those lips on mine again, you know.” He tapped his mouth as though she’d forgotten where his lips were located.
She gave him a teasing smile. “You couldn’t handle the heat.”
“My prediction is that you’re going to sabotage every relationship from now until your thirtieth birthday just so you can have babies with me—the old-fashioned way.” He lowered his voice to a low, seductive drawl. “Just you wait and see, Amy Carrick. Just you wait and see.”
1
Three years later
Were all brides this nervous? Amy didn’t think so. Then again, they probably weren’t as nervous because it was unlikely that they were about to marry their best friend. A friend who wasn’t marrying her for love, but because he felt bad about her inability to land and keep a man.
Moe’s well-meaning marriage pledge had seemed like a brilliant idea up until this very moment. Now Amy felt plagued by selfishness and doubt. What if she was locking Moe into something that would prevent him from running off into the sunset when his Mrs. Right came along?