A Gift of Three(18)

“Look at me, Maura,” I said, wanting to read her gaze—wanting to know what was coming, and how much it was going to hurt.

Her eyes met mine.

I folded my arms across my chest, my throat dry.

“Field, I’m not coming tonight,” she stated.

I nodded slowly.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she continued, her voice high and tight. “You’re the most incredible boyfriend. Really, you are, and I’ll always, always love you.”

I felt like someone had just punched me in the stomach.

“But,” she continued, now looking at the floor, “I can’t be with you anymore. It’s been creeping up on me the last year, and I’ve realized I’m more than ready for kids. But in spite of how long it’s been, I don’t feel our relationship is ready for them…We’ve been stable the last two years, but I don’t know what next year will look like. Now, I’m sure you’d say you’d have them with me, settle down and marry me, if I asked you to—but I also know it would only be to make me happy.” Her voice broke, becoming raspy and hollow. I wanted to take her in my arms, hating to see the obvious pain whipping across her face, but I couldn’t move. The sick jolt I had felt when I’d first understood what was coming had spread through my body, seizing up my muscles, so I could only stand and stare, waiting for her to deliver the final blows.

“We’re not forever, Field. I think we both know that by now. We don’t have the kind of steady, abiding love your parents have, or other couples I see in The Shade. I know you care for me deeply, but you don’t look at me the way Ben looks at River. I know you love me, and you’d do anything to make me happy—but I want more. And I… I want you to have more. We both deserve that. I’m doing this because I know you never will. You would never do anything to hurt me—so I’m going to have to hurt you instead.”

As the words left her, she bent double, her arms wrapped around her body as she sank onto the bed. “Please believe me when I say this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But I know it’s the right thing.”

I stood frozen, still not moving from my position by the door.

How can this be the right thing?

I could see her pain, and I could feel my own. If a permanent breakup was going to be this heartbreaking, then I just didn’t understand why she felt it was the right thing to do.

“I want all the things you want—children, to settle down. I just thought we were taking our time, because we had time… lots of time, to do all that we wanted to do.”

Maura shook her head.

“It doesn’t work like that,” she whispered. “When you’re with the person…the one you’re meant to be with, all the lifetimes in the world just don’t seem enough.”

We were silent for a long moment, Maura with her head in her hands, not wanting to look at me, me leaning on the doorframe, feeling completely powerless and reeling from her words.

I thought about the conversation I’d had with my mother, years ago. I remembered feeling reassured by the idea that Maura and I were just ‘slow burners’. Our love for one another would grow over time, not the arrow that pierced straight through the heart, but the potion that slowly suffused the body—gentler, but no less valid. Not a lesser love. But clearly it hadn’t been enough. That was what hurt the most. That I must have been hurting Maura all along. How long had she known that what we had wasn’t real?

“You should have said something earlier,” I managed. “I could have done something…made you feel more loved.”

She turned to me, her face tear-stained, but with a gentle smile on her face.

“It doesn’t work like that,” she replied softly. “If it did, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

I nodded, swallowing. I didn’t think I could say anymore. Her eyes reflected my own sorrow and pain, but there was also a look of resolve and determination. And perhaps more harrowing was the look of relief.

“Thank you for being honest,” I said, with difficulty. I desperately needed to get out of that room, get out of the house—perhaps out of The Shade as a whole, just for a while. We both needed space and time to grieve.

“I’ll always love you, Field,” she said, noticing my shift in energy, indicating that I was about to leave.

“I’ll always love you too,” I replied quietly.

In the next moment, I had gone.

I walked in the direction of my parents’ house, dragging in lungfuls of air. My entire body felt taut and heavy. I was hardly aware that one foot was stepping in front of the other. The last thing I felt like doing was celebrating the birth of a child at the fire star, but right now it seemed like the best option—my absence would be missed by my parents and my brothers. It would be easier to attend, and not have to explain anything. I wouldn’t even know where to start.