That’s one thing I promised myself I’d never be. I remember my mother emerging from the bedroom at the back of our small apartment, a robe hastily tied over her nakedness. A near-stranger walked out after her, zipping his pants, tucking in his shirt, counting off bills for her waiting hand.
“But none of the positions I’m in the running for are in the places you’ll probably go,” I say firmly. “There’s one in New York, and I had a great interview today with Richter Sports. I think they may offer me a job with their Chicago office.”
A cloud darkens his expression.
“Chicago!” He levels a glare at me, the blue of his eyes going almost black. “The odds of me being drafted by Chicago are next to zero, Iris. How could you even consider it?”
“I considered it because it’s a great opportunity.” I step away from him altogether, escaping the anger vibrating off his body. “One I should take before I have a family and obligations. This is the time for us to risk and explore, and figure things out.”
“What’s there to figure out?” he demands. “I love you. You love me.”
I just blink at him. We’ve said those words, yes, but this relationship isn’t the filter for all my decisions, just like it can’t be the filter for all of his. Why can’t he see that both things are true? That I can love him, but not be ready for this? Not be ready to hitch my entire future to him? That I’m not sure, and that I shouldn’t have to be yet.
“We’re having a baby. We should be together,” he continues, apparently not concerned by my silence. “And you and my child will go with me to the city that drafts me. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
“What about my dreams?” I watch his face for any sign that he would mourn my ambitions at all. That my hopes mean more to him than getting his way. “I don’t want the last four years of college, all my hard work, to go to waste.” I lick my lips nervously. “Let’s just weigh our options, Caleb. We have options.
“You don’t mean abortion?” Caleb goes still, and his eyes ice over. “Don’t even think about it.”
Would I? The space between theoretical and actual makes you consider things you never thought you would.
“No.” I shrug. “Not really. I don’t know, Caleb. This is just a lot.”
“I know.” He walks me to the bed, sitting down and pulling me onto his lap. “But this only accelerates the plan. You know I want to be with you, want to marry you. I want you with me when I’m drafted, and I want us to have a family. I’ve known this for a long time.”
How? How do you know?
The question rattles in my brain, my uncertainty butting up against his confidence. I care about Caleb. He wouldn’t have been my first, wouldn’t have gotten past the walls I used to protect myself if I didn’t care. But forever? Marriage? Children? Somehow, even as I stare into his dark blue eyes and lean into the gentle stroke of his hand in my hair, I have trouble seeing the rest of my life with him. And I shouldn’t have to see it right now.
“Caleb, I can have this baby even if we aren’t married. Even if we live in different states for a while. People do long-distance relationships all the time.”
“Are you not happy in our relationship?” Hurt creases his expression into a frown. “Am I missing something?”
I leave his lap to pace in front of the bed, fixing my eyes on the thin, cheap carpet. “It’s not that. I . . . we’re young. We have a lot of life ahead. We don’t have to chain ourselves—”
“Chain?” He expels the word on an outraged breath. “A lot of girls wouldn’t see marrying me as a punishment or a prison.”
“A lot of girls would see this baby as an opportunity, Caleb.” I look up to meet his eyes frankly. “I don’t. When and if I marry someone, I don’t want to feel trapped into it.”