The Lies That Bind(93)

“It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your life…your call,” he says, another very telling response.

“I know that,” I say. “But I still want to know what you think. How do you feel about my decision?”

“Well…I’m sad, of course. Very sad,” he says. “I don’t want you to move. I’d rather you be here. But…” He lets out a deep sigh. “I can see why you would want to go home.”

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. So I ask him a question. “If the baby turns out to be yours…and things somehow work out with us, would you ever consider leaving New York?”

“For Wisconsin?” he says, as if I’ve just suggested a move to the Middle East rather than the middle of the country.

“Yeah. Wisconsin. Or at least Chicago?”

He blows air into his cupped hands, like he’s really contemplating the thought. “I mean…you can never say never…but not right now….Things are going really well for me at work. I’m working on some really cool stuff, with the best partners….It would be a bad career move at this point. Maybe down the road, though.”

    I nod, thinking he may mean what he’s saying, but it’s actually unfathomable to me that Matthew would ever leave New York City and his family for the Midwest and mine. I tell him as much, trying to keep my voice neutral, nonaccusatory.

He gets defensive anyway. “That’s not fair,” he says. “We met here. Our lives are here.”

Your life is here, I think, but that’s not really the point I’m trying to make. “I hear you,” I say, struggling for the words to explain what I’m feeling. That it’s not about Wisconsin. Or when and how or even if we get married. Or whether the baby turns out to be his. It’s simply about wanting to know how much he wants us. If he thinks we’re worth fighting for.

But I can’t find the right words, so I just let him off the hook and say, “Look, Matthew. I don’t blame you for not wanting to move. Now or ever…you’re a New Yorker, through and through, and this really is the greatest city in the world,” I say, thinking of 9/11 and the way everyone has rallied together. Even though I’m leaving, I will always be proud to have been a part of the city, especially during this unfathomable tragedy.

He nods. “Yes,” he says. “It really is.”

“And I also don’t blame you for wanting to put the wedding on hold until we find out who the baby’s father is—”

“Okay. So what do you blame me for?” he asks, cutting me off.

“Nothing,” I say. “You’ve done nothing wrong…but at the same time, our relationship has always been on your terms and your schedule.”

He tries to interrupt again, but I hold up my hand, and ask him to let me finish.

He nods and mumbles sorry.

I clear my throat and speak slowly, choosing my words carefully. “Back in the spring, I was ready to talk about marriage, but you weren’t. So we broke up….Then you wanted to get back together—so we did. And even though I didn’t want to rush things, you were out there buying an engagement ring….Then you proposed, and I wasn’t ready, but we still got engaged.”

    “But wait. That’s not fair,” he says. “You made the decision to break up with me. And you made the decision to say yes to the proposal. I didn’t make you do those things, did I?”

I sigh and ask him to stop being so literal; it’s the kind of thing he usually says to me—and I can tell it catches him off guard. “This isn’t about being fair or unfair,” I continue. “The bottom line is—we always seem to end up on your time line, not mine. And now…here we are again.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning…you aren’t sure about us…so the wedding is on hold.”

“Cecily, I don’t know how many times I have to say this. But it’s not us,” he says. “It’s everything else….If the baby is his, I just don’t know how I’ll feel….What if I can’t bond with it? What if this asshole comes back and wants joint custody? I’ve been mentally preparing to be a father—and now, suddenly, I may be a stepfather, instead….There are just so many unanswered questions—”

“I know,” I say. “I get that. And I agree, now isn’t the right time to get married. And for the record, I also love and appreciate and respect how steady and responsible and honest you are. That you don’t rush into things. That you think everything through and always try to do what’s right, even when it’s hard…”

“But?” he says.

“But…maybe love should be more about a feeling—not blind passion or an attraction that is destined to fade—but an actual feeling.” I put a fist over my heart, then move it to his chest. “A deep-down feeling—right here—that we belong together. No. Matter. What.”

He stares at me, and I can tell it’s starting to sink in. That he understands what I’m trying to say. By the mournful expression on his face, I can also tell that he doesn’t have that feeling about us. And neither do I. He loves me, and he wants to be with me. But with conditions.

    And I love him back, but with reservations and unfulfilled wishes—not in the unbridled way I want to love someone. Maybe that doesn’t exist—it certainly wasn’t real with Grant. But then again, maybe it does. I have to find out.