Sorceress, Interrupted - By A. J. Menden Page 0,45
like to revisit. Why had I brought this up to begin with? Probably because when I was with Andrew, I’d kidded myself into thinking that I could be life-changingly happy. “Yeah, there was a guy. A guy who got sick, who I couldn’t save.” I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see the tears that threatened over this little trip down memory lane. “No one could save him.” I took a deep breath and plunged ahead to get through it. “Story of my life: everyone but me dies eventually. He just went quicker. After he was gone, I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to leave. So I hopped the first ship headed here and . . .” I allowed myself a small smile as the memory came back: “I was standing out there, on the deck, and I got my first look as the land came into view. I felt like that weight from the past just lifted off of me. I had the first fresh start ever. It was that promise of a new beginning. That potential made me life-changingly happy.”
I waited for him to speak. He watched me, not commenting.
I sighed. “That was probably the last time. You would think a whole country was big enough to avoid the one person you want, but you’d be wrong.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Nope, you’ve been that happy again. I’ve seen you smile like nothing else could make you happier.”
I cocked my head. “Really? When?”
“When you’re playing with Emily. When she first sees and yells for you.” He laughed. “You get a look like I imagine you had on that boat.”
I was pleased but didn’t want to show it. Instead I said, “Potential. When you get to be as old as I am, potential is endlessly amazing. Children are nothing but pure potential.”
“That’s probably true, but there’s more to it.” Cyrus narrowed his eyes at me in concentration. “It’s motherhood, isn’t it? She probably reminds you of a child you had and who’s now probably old enough to be my great-grandmother. Or maybe with the guy whose death wrecked you?”
I stared at him, surprised both that he had picked up on how badly Andrew’s death had affected me and that he assumed I’d been someone’s mom.
Seeing the look on my face, he turned shame-faced. “Shit. Now I’ve stepped in it, reminding you of that guy and the kids you’ve had who’ve aged and died while you haven’t.”
I shook my head. “You’re way off base, Cyrus. I never had a child.”
He gave me an incredulous look. “Please. After all of these years, you never had a kid? There’s no way you’re the oldest virgin of all time, and there’s no way you could have mastered birth control that well. Especially not back in the dark ages when they were using sheep intestine.”
It was my turn to give him a look of disbelief. “Mastering birth control is pretty easy when you just can’t have children.”
His expression helped soothe my pain. He looked absolutely miserable. “I’m so sorry. I’m . . .” He trailed off. “I’m a stupid asshole.”
I gave him half a smile in acceptance of the apology. “Guys don’t normally think about stuff like that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That you can’t, I mean.”
I shrugged. “It is what it is. By now I’ve dealt with it.” With my usual coping method of repression and displacement. Very healthy. “The universe doesn’t want my unique blend of crazy genetics passed on.” I donned a fake smile. “Besides, can you see me as a mother? Not everyone has the instinct, you know.”
He saw through me. “Oh, I know. My ex is definitely missing that gene. But you’re not.”
I bit my lip but said nothing.
“I think you would have been a good mother,” he continued.
I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see what that meant to me. “Thanks.”
Neither of us seemed to know what to say next. What was there to say? I shook my head ruefully. “God, I won’t blame you if you want to cut all of this short. I won’t even blame you if you avoid me entirely after this glut of information.”
He chuckled. “I don’t want to avoid you.”
“Are you sure? In the space of one night you’ve found out I’ve got scary powers of invulnerability, can’t have children and apparently keep having bad sex, since I didn’t immediately list it in my life-changing happiness category.”
Oh. My. God. Why the hell did I just say that last part? My cheeks were actually