It’s all too much, the memory washing over me. I never thought I’d miss anything as much as the children my body can’t have. They’ll always be with me, these fully formed pieces of my imagination, faces I won’t ever touch. But when I think for Rowan and his home, it’s richer and fuller and brighter than the sadness I’ve worn like a cloak for all these years. Maybe it’s time to carry these things in my heart, where they belong, never forgetting, always loving--but moving forward towards a new life and a new love.
My eyes pop open, and I go to touch the little heart I painted, my fingers traveling over the bumpy surface of the oil pants that dried in rugged, uneven lines.
“Maybe there are brighter days ahead,” I say aloud to my empty apartment. I smile, genuine and broad, and something deep inside expands in my chest. And maybe I need a plane ticket to New Mexico.
I whip around and throw on my coat, heading off to do the second impulsive thing I’ve done since the last embryo transfer. And maybe the second impulsive thing I’ve ever done. I march down to the elevator and press the button to open the doors. It’s 9:00 AM on a Tuesday morning, and I’m going to the airport.
My hair is a mess, my shirt is half untucked under my coat, and the last I heard, New York was predicting snow for the next two days. I look down and sift through my purse. When I look up, the elevator doors open, and standing in front of me is Rowan Corbett, or his scary doppelgänger twin. I put my hand to my chest and fall backwards against the hallway wall.
“Rowan, are you--what are you--are you real?” I squeak the last words out, unable to fully form a thought. It looks like he’s gotten his hair cut, but the pieces of it still look out of place. The waves form into cowlicks, a nightmare for any barber. I smile slightly, but my heart is still beating fast. I was about to get on a plane to New Mexico, and here’s Rowan, standing right in front of me.
“You said not to bother you until February.”
My cheeks grow hot, and I think about the last day I saw Rowan. “Did I say the word ‘bother?’”
“It was something like that, wasn’t it? Or maybe that’s what I heard.” He stands outside the doors of the elevator, holding three different envelopes in his hand. He doesn’t have any bags, but I’d guess he’s probably already checked into the Four Seasons or some shit like that. Why wouldn’t he? He’s got more money than the Queen of England. Or, probably he does. I hadn’t checked. His voice is sad and far away, like he’s come to tell me goodbye. My heart starts beating hard, and it seems like the thing I’ve been fearing will come to be. He’s forgotten me--he wants to forget me, to make sure I don’t come after him again.
“What are those?” I nearly melt in embarrassment, because I have no idea what to say or how to react. And I have no idea what in the hell he’s doing here--unless it’s to sweep me off my feet and take me back to New Mexico like he’d promised. Fear hits me when I think about the possibility--there’s work I need to finish in New York, but it’s New Mexico that feels like home now. “Seriously, Rowan, what are you doing here?”
“Don’t act so thrilled to see me.” One corner of his mouth lifts into a sardonic smile, an uncharacteristic expression for his open, honest face.
“I was going to—” I start, but my throat freezes up. “I was going to—” To the airport, just say it.
“You might not want me like I want you, but I came here for one last ditch effort to make you come home with me. And I thought since this is your home, I’d get us one here too. But with that look on your face, I think I might need to turn around and go back to the hotel.” He turns to step back into the elevator, his whole body defeated under a great weight. I stand completely still, frozen, my voice not quite cooperating with me.
“Rowan—wait—” He turns and faces me, his eyes sad but curious. I get it now--he came here expecting me to say no, expecting me to want to stay here for the rest of my life. But I’m not the woman I was when I met him. “I was going to the airport, that’s what I was going to say. I was going to get a cheap plane ticket to New Mexico, ride in the luggage hold if I had to.” I barely croak out the words, as scared as I am.
His face relaxes, the tension starting to leave his body. “And I came here—to ask you—”
“So, yes. Yes to whatever it is you were going to ask me. But New Mexico is home. Or at least I think it is. We don’t need a place here—”