Luke

I wasn’t going to leave it until Emma’s deadline was up. Now I knew where we were going, it seemed unfair to string things out. Emma had the day off tomorrow, so I was going to tell her this evening. I’d texted her earlier in the day to suggest we talk when she got home from work, and she’d replied saying she’d be home at eight. I’d also called Haven and asked if I could spend a few days with them while I got myself sorted out.

My heart was thundering in my chest. All the pieces were in place—I just needed to pull the trigger. I wasn’t sure if I’d be met with tears or anger. She’d been so unpredictable recently. Part of me thought that I was giving her the conclusion she was expecting, and that she would simply want me to leave. Then the other part of me feared for my man parts. I didn’t want to be Bobbitted.

I’d packed a suitcase of things I’d need over the next few days, and I was just putting it behind the door in the spare room when I heard Emma’s keys in the lock. This was it. I had to say it quickly, get it out and then see where we went from there.

I moved into the kitchen and pulled out two glasses from the cupboard. I’d bought a bottle of her favorite wine. Was that insensitive? Would she think I was going to propose? Shit, maybe I hadn’t thought this through. I didn’t know what the right thing was. I didn’t want her to be upset. I didn’t want her to hate me. I wanted her to see that although I loved her, I just didn’t want to marry her.

“Hey,” she said softly as she came into the kitchen, taking off her coat. Her eyes went to the wine and the corners of her mouth twitched. Shit, she thought it was good news. Her eyes flicked to mine and she stilled. I passed her a glass of wine.

“How was work?” I asked.

“Fine. Someone threw up on me. You?”

My stomach was churning and I was conscious of my bones, as if my nervousness had penetrated right to my skeleton. “Okay,” I said. She took her glass and collapsed on my sofa. I sat opposite her on the coffee table. I had to do this now, or I would lose my nerve. “I’ve thought about what you said.” Her eyes were a mixture of fear and excitement, her knuckles white with her grip on the glass. “I’ve thought of little else since you brought it up, and it’s not going to work out for us.” The churning in my stomach was near overwhelming as I searched her face for a reaction. She was very still. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Do you need more time?” she asked in a quiet voice. It wasn’t what I’d expected her to say. “I mean, I shouldn’t have given you that deadline. If you’re not ready, I can give you more time.” Her words came more quickly and tears were forming in her eyes.

I leaned forward and took her hand. “You were right to push me. I’d not thought about it, and I should have done. I should have understood how you felt about our future together and I didn’t. I’m sorry.” I’d been selfish. I’d wanted to freeze time and live in that exact moment for the rest of my life, because if that were possible then I didn’t have to lose anything or anyone.

After my parents died, for months, I’d kept imagining the last time I’d seen them, the last time I’d hugged them, the last time I’d told them I loved them. I wanted to remember those moments as perfect. I did it so often that the pictures in my head had become distorted, and I couldn’t separate out what really happened from what I had invented. In my own life, I’d clung to everything around me, afraid to lose anything, not questioning whether or not I really wanted those things.

It was time to grow up and move on.

“And you don’t want to marry me?” she asked, her voice wobbling on the word “me”. Shit, how did I make this better?

I took her hand and squeezed it. “I love you. You are amazing. You’re bright and kind and all the things any guy would be lucky to have in a wife.” Her tears spilled over and down her cheeks.

“But not enough for you?”

“I just don’t want to get married. Not yet, maybe not ever. I don’t see myself with kids. You do and that’s fine. I want that for you but—”

“I’ll wait. I can give you a year and see if you feel differently.” She sounded so sad, and I hated that I caused it.

I shook my head. It would be easy at this point to agree to an extra year. It would keep everything just the same. But I couldn’t do that to her. I wanted her to have the future she imagined for herself, and I would never be able to give her that.

“I won’t do that to you,” I said as I squeezed her hand. “I can’t.”

“I don’t mind. I’ll wait. I shouldn’t have pushed—I knew you weren’t ready. Please Luke, don’t leave me.”

A month ago, I never would have thought that we’d have this conversation. I thought we were happy. We had a relationship I enjoyed because we gave each other so much freedom. And I loved her. I really did. But now she was offering me this extra time, which I knew I couldn’t take because it wasn’t fair on her. But ultimately, I didn’t want it. I wanted to move on. The churning in my stomach was no longer about the impact this conversation was having on me but what it was doing to Emma. I was ready for a different future.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t think anything will change for me. I’m sorry,” I said.

She took a sharp intake of breath and narrowed her eyes. “Is there someone else?”

“Of course not.” How could she think that? “I’ve never cheated on you or anyone.”

“Not with Ash?”

My stomach twisted. Did she think there was something between us? My feelings about Ash and Richard had confused me, but I hadn’t reached a conclusion about why. “Not anyone.”

She nodded. “So you’re going to move out.”

“I’m going to stay with Haven.”

“Right,” she said, her throat tight. “I’ll speak to my dad about getting the money together to buy you out.”

“You know where I am. I’ll let you know if I find a place.”

She started to cry again. I just wanted to take her in my arms and make everything better. I moved toward her and she pulled farther away.

“I’m sorry,” I said, again. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, I’ll call Kelly. You should go now. I really loved you, Luke.”

I closed my eyes. “I know and I love you. I really want you to be happy.”

I stood, headed to the guest bedroom and collected my case.

Thank God the following day was Friday. My brain was close to a meltdown with all the adjustments and contemplations it had been doing recently. I didn’t often go drinking with colleagues, but tonight was an exception. I needed to block things out. Alcohol was the perfect treatment. I could dive into those relaxed soporific sensations and let myself drown for a bit. I could use it to block out the guilt and unease, the anxiety over what was next.

Emma’s reaction to our breakup had been heartbreaking. Somehow I felt guilty that she wasn’t angrier with me. She had every reason to be. Unwittingly, I’d led her to believe that we could be something more. I should have been more sensitive to her.

“Shots!” Mark, one of the other lawyers, shouted as he placed a tray of vodka in front of the group of us gathered in Chancery Bar. I couldn’t remember if this would be my fourth or fifth shot, but things were becoming pleasantly hazy.

“Oh, just to warn you, Wendy found out you’re single,” Mark whispered.

I shuddered. Wendy, our office manager, flirted with most of the lawyers who were single and a number of them had “experienced” her. I wasn’t about to be another one of those guys. She wasn’t my type.

“You not interested?” Mark asked. “She’s sexy.”

I shook my head. “Never a good idea to shit on your own doorstep.”

That seemed to make sense to Mark, and he didn’t push it. I scanned the faces in the bar. What was my type? Emma and I had been introduced to each other at a party. She was pretty and funny and smart. I wasn’t sure I had a physical type.