Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
In some ways, it was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me.
That afternoon, I returned to the house I was renting and flopped onto my couch. I lay there for a while, grateful for the peace and quiet. I’d almost dozed off when my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen, expecting it to be another text from one of my family members, but it was from Evan.
It was a picture of him holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blanket. A series of messages followed.
It’s a boy
Hunter William Brawley, born 6:02 A.M.
7 lbs, 8 oz
Holy fuck, I’m a dad
Help
I grinned and replied.
Me: Congratulations, asshole! How’s Reyna?
Evan: Who?
Me: Your wife? The person who just gave birth?
Evan: Oh her. Yeah she’s fine.
Me: Tell her congrats from me.
Evan: Will do. You in Boston? How did it go with the surgeon?
Me: I’m in Portland. It went fine and I’ll fill you in soon. I’m happy for you.
Evan: Thanks man.
I set my phone aside and crossed my arms over my chest. Holy shit, Evan was a dad. He was the first one of my friends to hit that milestone, and it seemed crazy that I could be that old. As a kid, and by kid, I mean from age one to twenty-nine, I’d never really given much thought to the future—I’d lived for the moment and sought out as many extreme experiences as I could. I’d figured that was all we had control over—the moment we were in. You couldn’t change the past, and you had no fucking clue what the future would bring. For all I knew, I’d be dead by twenty-five, so why not get the tattoo, buy the Porsche, swim with the sharks, dive off the cliff? And I’d thought for sure that was the way I’d go—doing something reckless but fun. Something worth it.
A brain tumor?
Not worth it.
But what could I do?
You know what you could do. Fight it. Push back. Refuse to go quietly. Stand up and say, “Not like this, universe. No fucking way.”
I frowned. And if it wasn’t enough?
Then you make the most of the time you have. Mend the relationships that matter. Live fully. Love hard.
There was no one I wanted to love harder than Maren if my time was short. But suddenly I had other regrets—I’d never been to Bali. Never seen my artwork in a gallery. Never done anything to really make my grandfather proud.
I’d never get married, be a father, raise a family. It wasn’t something I’d ever had my heart set on before, but it had never been off the table, either. It was always there, like that shirt in the closet you never wear but you can’t bring yourself to throw out, because maybe someday you’ll want to wear it. If and when you do, it’s there.
I didn’t like the notion that fate was taking away all my maybe somedays.
Eventually, I nodded off, and when I woke up, it was dark. My stomach was growling, and I thought about calling Evan and asking if he wanted to grab something to eat with me, but then I remembered—he had a new baby. Impromptu meet-ups were probably off for a while. In the end, I ordered takeout and spent the evening alone, ignoring my family’s calls and texts, eating Chinese food, watching old movies on Netflix, and wishing Maren was here with me. We’d stretch out on the couch, my arms wrapped around her, her head beneath my chin. One of those vivid memories struck me—dancing with her on the rooftop at the hotel. I could smell her hair, see the lights in the city, feel the breeze on my face, hear her gentle weeping. I closed my eyes and melted into it.
But as intense as the memory was, it couldn’t compare to the real thing. Breaking things off, putting distance between us, refusing to talk to her—none of these things had alleviated the ache of losing her. If anything, it had only gotten worse. I loved her so much I had to do something about it, or I was going to lose my mind. I was full of this raging, pulsing, physical urge. If she’d been here, I would have ravaged her body all night long, worshipped every inch of her skin, made her feel so good she’d never want to leave. I’d have told her over and over again how much she meant to me, how sorry I was for hurting her, how I was going to spend the rest of my days making it up to her. I’d have made promises to her and kept them.
But without giving in, what could I do?
By the time the sun came up, I had an idea.
“What? No.” Beatriz sat back and folded her arms.
“Come on, Bea,” I said angrily, laying my forearm on the table in front of her. “Don’t give me any bullshit.”