Chapter 3
Brynn
Brad the paramedic was excitedly telling me about the gory details of his day that probably weren't appropriate for a dinner date. Luckily for him, I was having a hard time hearing the actual words coming out of his mouth—I was engaged in an epic debate.
Should I tell him?
God, Brad looks so young.
He is so young.
There's no way he'll be ready to hear this.
But how much longer am I willing to invest in a guy if he can't even talk about kids?
Indecision: it's enough to drive a person crazy.
I tuned in right at the tail end of Brad's spiel. “Anyway, that was my day trying to save some poor dude's life. Pretty crazy turn of events, eh?”
“Yeah, um, sounds like it.”
Brad gave a sturdy shrug. His features were so boyish and young—he was only two years younger than me but could've looked five years younger if not for his sleek, military-style haircut. He wore a high and tight, with the sides of his head shaved, and only a shock of hair at the top.
“Enough about me, though,” he said, wiping a hand through the air. “So now that you're moving on from the Gibsons, what are you going to do?”
“Er? What am I going to do about what?”
“I mean, maybe you'll want to take some time off? Rethink things, maybe?”
“Rethink what things?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“I don't know.” Brad took a gulp of his beer. “Maybe you'd like to go back to being a personal trainer? Or maybe you'd like to go to school and study something else? I mean, you don't really think you'll be a nanny forever, do you?”
Oh. Is that what this is about? What's up with people being judgmental about my job today?
“I probably could be a nanny forever,” I said, and I'll readily admit that I might have sounded a tad bit defensive. “Would that really be a problem for you?”
Brad realized he'd stuck his foot in his mouth. “Hey, I'm not saying it's bad to be a nanny or anything like that.”
Yet everyone seems to want to imply it, I thought to myself.
“And I can tell you're a badass nanny, Brynn. I'm just trying to say that it must get old, taking care of other people's crotch-spawn.”
“It has its ups and downs,” I offered quietly.
A spark glinted in Brad's eyes. “Yeah, I can see that. You get all the joys of being a parent, but at the end of the day, you get to go home to some peace and quiet.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah. It's really great.”
I twirled my fork and took the last bite of my fettuccine Alfredo.
Brad shook his head with awe as I pushed the empty plate aside. “Man, it never fails to impress me how much food a little girl like you can put away.”
“Little girl …?” I muttered, taken aback.
“Look, I didn't mean anything by that either.” Brad rolled his eyes. “Sheesh, Brynn. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around you tonight. What's with you?”
He was losing his patience with me, and the worst part was, I couldn't blame him. He'd only picked at scabs of mine that he couldn't possibly know were there in the first place. He didn't know why I was acting so weird.
But he'll know if you tell him. It's the only hope you've got.
I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “I'm sorry, Brad. I think I'm stressed out because of my job situation,” I said. Which wasn't a lie, it just wasn't exactly the whole truth, either. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. I understand.” He nodded. “How 'bout another round of speed dating, then?”
Speed dating: that was what Brad liked to call his habit of asking me a succession of random questions. And although I thought this game of his was a little cheesy, this time, it was a welcome distraction.
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay, so: favorite sport?”
“That's easy. Cross country. I was something of a track star in high school—”
Brad interrupted, wagging his finger. “No, that doesn't count. I meant team sport.”
“Oh … 'kay. Hockey then, I guess.”
He reared back. “Hockey? No shit? Are you a Boston Brawlers fan?”
Boston Brawlers. Talk about a blast from the past.
“Once upon a time,” I answered. “It's not like I watch their games ever. I just grew up watching hockey to try to fit in with my older brothers.”
“Oh. That's still cool. What's your favorite part about hockey—lemme guess, it's the fights, right?”
“I dunno.” I gave a coy shrug. “The hot guys?”
Brad rolled his eyes. “That's such a chick reason to like a sport.”
I fired back. “Reminder: my first answer was cross country, but you wouldn't accept it because you said it wasn't a team sport. Which is such a bro thing to say, because cross country absolutely is a team sport.”
We bantered back and forth and I started to let myself have a good time. Brad's speed dating was the medicine I needed to stop obsessing over the right time to tell him—at least for now.
After dessert, Brad paid the bill, we hopped in his truck and he drove me back to my apartment.
In the cab of his truck, we kissed, and he asked if he could come up with me.
With a heart nervously skipping in my chest, I told him yes.
***
Pickles greeted us at the door, miiiao.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked Brad, my voice wavering. “Wine? Whiskey?”
“Sure. Whiskey would be great,” he said as he plopped onto my couch.
“Whiskey for two, then,” I said.
I'm not a big fan of liquor, but I figured I'd need the courage.
I poured the two glasses in the kitchen and took a second to breathe and find my center.
My friends have always told me that I should wait before I have 'the talk' with any guy that is even slightly promising. Their theory is that I should let him fall in love with me before I tell him the truth. But I've already experienced that, in a way. And in the end, the years we spent together didn't mean a thing to my ex-husband, Mikey.
So why keep it a secret any longer than I have to? If Brad's the type of guy that's going to bolt, then I can't stop him, he's going to bolt. Better to let him know sooner, before I'm the one who ends up falling in love with someone who can't give me what I need.
And call me old-fashioned, but I won't sleep with someone unless I think we've got a future together. It just screws with my head. Especially after everything I've been through.
I returned to the living room, drinks in hand. I sat next to Brad and gave him his whiskey.
“Cheers,” he said, our tumblers coming together with a clink.
We both took a sip.
“You look gorgeous tonight, by the way,” he said, his voice lusty.
His hand went to my face. He stroked my cheek, readying me for the kiss. But when he leaned forward, I shied away.
Brad chuckled. “You kissed me in the truck, but now you won't? What's wrong, Brynn?”
“I'm just—” I stammered. “I'm sorry. I'm nervous. It's been a long time for me.”
“We can take things slow. Just like we have been.”
“Thank you.” I rested my head against his shoulder.
Brad put his arm around me, and we sat in the comfortable silence, quietly sipping our whiskeys. On the inside, he was probably wondering what the hell he was doing with an obvious nutcase who hadn't given him anything in the two months we'd dated.
I felt so awful, but I just didn't have the strength to tell him yet. It seemed so crazy, so out of left field! But I knew if I didn't tell him, I wasn't being true to myself, and I'd only continue to act weird and flaky.
Eventually, Brad tried to kiss me again.
This time, I didn't pull away. Our lips met, and we shared a long, soft kiss.
But it was only a matter of time before Brad started to kiss me hungrier, deeper, and his hand began to travel down my side. His hand glided over my hip and he traced his fingertips up and down my thighs, always moving closer to my crotch.
“Brad,” I said, gently pushing his arm away. “Wait.”
He tried to hide his growing impatience. “What is it now?”
I twisted a lock of hair around my finger. There really wasn't an easy way to bring it up without sounding crazy.
“I like you, Brad.”
“I like you too,” he said, although his tone seemed to be asking, so what's the problem? This is the part of the night where we fuck.
“God, there's no way easy to do this but to just come out and say it.” I paused. “Brad, how do you feel about kids?”
He nearly spit his whiskey out before howling with laughter. “And here I thought I was moving too fast for you. Kids? Really? That's what's bothering you? Maybe we should pump the brakes a little before we start talking about kids.”
I slithered out from under his arm. “Look, I know it's weird to have a talk about kids this early. And trust me, this isn't my way of telling you that I'm ready to get knocked up after a handful of dates.”
“Whew,” he said, comically tugging at his collar.
“But I'm serious, Brad. Before we waste each other's time, I need an answer. So, do you want to have kids?”
He looked at me as if I were insane. And hey, maybe I was.
“Wow. This is seriously happening? You really need to know right now if I want to have kids someday?”
I nodded.
“Jesus,” he huffed. “I dunno. Yeah, maybe? I guess I do. Why? Do you?”
“I do, but I might not get the chance.”
Brad chuckled. “You're how old? Twenty-seven? Hey, I get it, the clock is starting to tick for you, but you've still got plenty of time, Brynn. Women are having babies later and later these days.”
“That's not what I meant.” I shook my head. “I'm infertile, Brad.”
The jokey smile finally left his face. “You wha'?”
“I'm infertile. That's why I was asking if you want kids someday. Because if you do, there's a good chance I won't be able to give them to you. Most likely, we'd have to adopt, but now I'm really getting ahead of myself …”
“Shit. I'm uh, I'm so sorry, Brynn.” Brad's eyes darted around the room. “You have a diagnosis?”
“Hypothalamic amenorrhea,” I said.
One of the nice things about Brad being a paramedic was that, for once, I didn't have to explain my condition to a guy. He heard it, processed it, and shook his head.
“Well, HA, that's usually temporary, right?”
“That's what they say. But it's been years now, and the doctors aren't sure. They say there's a good chance it won't ever happen.”
He frowned. “Damn. What's the story?”
I sighed. “It's a long story.”
He nodded.
And I was saddled with the realization that I had definitely murdered the mood. Brad didn't want to kiss me or grope me so much after I laid that one on him—what was I thinking? Even if he truly didn't want kids, there was no way anything steamy was happening between us tonight.
I shook my head. “I'm sorry to drop that on you. Dating is kind of a strange, emotional thing for me now. I've been burned in the past because of my condition.”
“Well, I uh, I don't know what to say, Brynn.”
“You don't have to say anything. You can take some time and think about it. I like you, Brad, and that's why I had to tell you before things went any further. I'd feel dishonest if I didn't tell you sooner.”
“Right on.”
Yeah. Right on.
The mood was dead, but Brad stuck it out with me for a little while longer, checking his wristwatch every so often. After twenty minutes on the dot, he finished his drink, stood and announced that he'd had a great night, but he needed to head back home.
I showed him to the door. I had a funny feeling in my heart that this was the last time I'd see Brad again. The crazy part was that I couldn't even be mad at the guy, because a true sleaze would be the type to stick around and say anything just to get laid.
That didn't make it hurt any less, though.
I climbed into bed but my mind just wouldn't let me sleep. With nothing else to do, I pulled out my laptop, and Pickles kept me company while I browsed the agency site for a new nanny job.