Shooting out of bed like a cannon, I tear open my closet doors. Taking clothes out one by one, I dump what I don’t want until I find a pair of loose yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt to pull over my head.

I don’t bother with shoes. I’m only going across the hall. My poor cat Sable doesn’t know what to make of my approach and scurries out of my way.

For the second time that day, an unexpected man stands on the other side of the door when I open it. His fist is raised as if he’d been about to knock on the door.

“Ears burning?” His questioning eyes appraise me. “You know the saying…” His stare says otherwise. “Never mind.” I shake my head. I’d been about to go to his place and hadn’t exactly spoken his name out loud, so the saying didn’t actually work. “I was just coming to see you.”

That’s when I notice the bag in his hand and what appears to be a cake box resting in his other palm.

“I thought I would bring you birthday dinner. I guessed you wouldn’t want to go out.”

“And ice cream cake?” I ask excitedly.

His grin widens, and I’m at a loss for words. Who is this man, and why can’t he be ten years older?

He heads in the kitchen with the purpose of a man who knows his way around. And he does. Joel and I, both being single, like to share a meal with another person on occasion. Our friendship has grown from there.

I don’t have a table. It’s just me, so I sit on one of the bar stools at the counter between the living room and kitchen. Joel joins me. He takes two bowls out of the bag and hands me one and puts the other in front of him.

“Bangkok curry from Noodles and Company. Your favorite.”

It is, and I thank him as he hands me chopsticks. He’s been trying to teach me to use them. It’s a work in progress.

His blue eyes latch onto mine, and I can see the worry in them. I might as well get this over with.

“Did we—” I begin.

Sable comes over and nuzzles Joel. He strokes her fur as he answers me matter-of-factly.

“Have sex. Yes. And I don’t want you to have any regrets or get weird about it.”

God, he’s young. His earnest eyes are so full of hope, where hope can’t possibly exist. I press on. I really need to know the answer to my question.

“No weirdness. I wanted to know if you used protection.”

Okay, weirdness totally amplified. I feel like roses are blooming on my cheeks with a heat lamp aimed at them.

“Umm…” he murmurs.

Creative curses string together like tree lights in my head.

“You didn’t?” I confirm.

He bites his lower lip and for a second, and I almost lean over and kiss him. What the hell, cougar girl? Get back.

“I didn’t have one on me, and honestly, I didn’t think after you gave me the go signal. But you’re on the pill, right? Because I’m clean. I’ve never gone without except one time in high school, and I get tested regularly. I assume since you’ve only been with one guy…”

“One guy who cheated on me,” I clarify. “But you’re safe there. I’m clean too. I got tested immediately after I found out and six months later, which reminds me I should get tested again. But I’m not on the pill.”

His eyes grow to the size of quarters as he blinks. Irrationally, I want to say a penny for your thoughts, figuring a quarter should cover the cost of them.

“You’re not on the pill?” he asks slowly, as if it’s a foreign concept or maybe a foreign language I’m speaking.

“No, Corey and I had been trying to get pregnant the last few years.”

“What about the morning after pill?”

It takes me a few seconds to put it together. “They have that available over the counter?”

He nods.

My sister and friends are all married with little ones. These last few years, I’ve been focused on getting pregnant, not trying to prevent it.

Suddenly my throat seizes up and I find it hard to choke out the next words. “You know what? It’s not a problem.”

I shake my head and wave away anything he might say. What a fool I am? What am I worried about?

His chopsticks are left in favor of his arms circling around me. “What’s wrong?”

Tears burn my eyes, and I bury my face in his chest. “Nothing.”

“Come on, Olivia. I thought we were better friends than that.”

His words make me think of Corey. I’d thought he was my best friend, and look how that turned out. A sob makes a break for it and leaves my throat.

“Talk to me, babe.”

“Babe?” I repeat. I’ve been darling and sweetheart, but I’ve never been a babe.

A comforting hand strokes down my back. “Just talk to me,” he pleads.

Pulling away, I wipe at my eyes and decide to say it like you rip off a Band-Aid.

“We tried to get pregnant, but I failed. We tried almost everything. So you don’t have to worry. There’s no chance of me getting pregnant.” The admission is gut-wrenching. “This is why we can never be.”

“What?” He looks almost offended.

“What we did last night is great. But you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

“Don’t you?”

I sigh. “You’re twenty-five. You should be dating someone your own age. A girl who can give you babies one day.”

“Babies. Who says I want kids?”

“Whether you think you do or don’t, you’re still young enough to change your mind. I’m thirty-five, and my eggs are aging. If I can’t have kids now, how do you think I can have them if we’re together and you change your mind?”

“So that’s it?”

He’s angry, and I’m sorry for it. My heart breaks. He’s a good guy and everything I wish I’d had ten years ago.

I nod. “There’s a girl at work who’s a year younger than you. She’s really cute. You should come by so I can introduce you.”

The stillness in his body is nerve wracking. “We had sex. You promised no regrets. And now you want to fix me up with someone else.” He ends on a humorless laugh.

“I don’t regret anything,” I lie. “We can still be friends. I just think I need to date guys my own age. I’m not ready to settle down yet. But if I find someone, I want their expectations about our future to be certain. Most men my age or older might already have kids, or they are totally sure they don’t want any.”

Somewhere along the way, we are no longer sitting, but standing facing each other. His height makes me feel small. The way his eyes have gone flat without emotion makes me want to cry.

He gives me a stiff nod. “I should probably get going.”

His back is to me before I can squeak out a protest. “Wait.” He doesn’t stop his stride as I call out, “Your food?”

The door is open when he finally turns enough to say over his shoulder, “Keep it. Happy birthday, Olivia.”

Ungracefully, after the door closes, I fall to my knees and sob.