I remember lying in bed at his condo, him strumming his fingers along my bare side, tickling me, as he gushed about what he wanted for us. “A house close to the beach. A dog—Mom never let me have one. Kids, too. Lots of kids.”

“Lots of kids?” I asked with a laugh, endeared by his excitement for us. No one had ever wanted things with me before, let alone a lifetime together. Hearing Ashe say these things felt impossible yet gorgeously uncomplicated like my loneliness finally reached its expiration date.

“Well, at least two. I hated being an only child. Mom smothered me. She’ll be even worse with grandkids. She talks about it all the time—drives me crazy. It’s best to spread her attention between a few, right?”

“Um, right.”

He eyed me suspiciously. “You want kids, don’t you?”

Fears swarmed me then. I didn’t know if I wanted kids. Love, marriage, baby carriage—I understood the expectation, even the inclination. But me as a mom? I couldn’t see it. Perhaps my rocky childhood blurred what should’ve been a clear vision—me taking the family path over the life path. Then, I didn’t know if that’s what I wanted. But Ashe always knew.

“I want what you want,” I told him.

Ashe-vision crackles and fuzzes out.

“Marina, stay with me.” I’m there again, the road under me and the devastatingly blue skies waving their treetops overhead. My fingers twitch, and I close my hand, surprised to find it empty.

I blink awake slowly. Through my drug-laced exhaustion, I hear a rolling suitcase stop at the foot of the bed. Then, he crawls into the small space beside me.

“I’m here,” Ashe whispers. He snuggles gently into the back of me, kissing my shoulder. “Everything will be okay, Marnie. We’ll adopt. Or get a surrogate. Mom says…”

He goes on, but I can’t listen. Hearing “solutions,” with the agony so sharp and fresh, only makes me feel like a problem, desperate to be solved.

Is it selfish? This need to wallow in my pain a little while longer? To give it the respect it deserves?

For once, I don’t engage him, answer, or even offer a hmm to let him know I’m listening. I’m not ready to be that Marnie yet.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he says, eventually. So, that’s what I do.

Ashe leaves sometime during the night but returns the next morning, oozing with handsome positivity but carrying Starbucks coffees. We’ve discussed supporting locals over big corporations before, but he forgets to listen. Today, I’m too pained to remind him.

“How’s my beautiful girl this morning, eh?” he asks, meeting me bedside, where I sit sideways, my feet grazing the cold floor.