Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(23)
“One of them I don’t want,” I reply. “Childless by choice over here.”
“You really don’t want kids?” The shock on her face doesn’t surprise me. I’m used to it. Why is it so hard to believe there are women in the world who don’t want to act as host for a human who may never fully appreciate their sacrifices, drains their hard-earned money, and forces them to make the difficult choices that men, even as fathers, never seem to face?
“I really don’t.” I shrug. “Kids aren’t for everyone. Society tells us that, and there are a lot of abused, neglected, unloved kids in the world because women caved to antiquated gendered expectations. I like my life.”
“And what about companionship? A husband?”
“I have the best friends in the world for companionship and I get dick whenever I want it.”
She sputters a laugh and shakes her head. “I’ve had plenty of dick. I want a baby.”
“Then have one.”
“You make it sound easy.”
I don’t insult her by saying these days it can be, that she could adopt on her own. Surrogacy. All kinds of ways to become a mom. I know what I want and respect her enough to believe she knows what she wants, too.
“Look, my best friends both have kids and wouldn’t trade them for the world.” I swing back and forth in my chair and tip back. “I see why it works for them, but I also see very clearly why it wouldn’t work for me. Besides, I love being the rich auntie who gets to go home to my nice, quiet expensive apartment after spoiling their kids.”
“I come from a big family and have been the rich auntie for a long time,” she says with a wry smile. “I thought maybe that would be enough, but the closer I got to forty, the more I realized that for me, a family is essential.”
She glances down at the slim hands folded on her glass desk. “I thought I could have that with Maverick.”
“I was sorry to hear about the breakup,” I say, forcing myself not to look away from the raw pain on her face. No need to pretend I don’t know what the whole world seems to be talking about today on every gossip site and social media post.
“You read the announcement, huh?” She huffs out a bitter breath. “‘Mutual’ my ass. If there’s one man I knew would be the best father to my children and a wonderful husband, it was Maverick Bell. I knew that from the beginning. I would never have given that up, but he left me no choice.”
“Did he…” She’s going there, but I’m not sure how personal we should get. How much I should probe. “What happened?”
“He doesn’t want kids.” She rolls her eyes. “Correction. Any more kids. His daughter, Tamia, just graduated from high school, and he doesn’t want to start over with a new family at his age.”
I don’t reply because it sounds completely reasonable to me, but that’s the last thing Zere wants to hear.
“He did tell me from the beginning,” Zere admits, her eyes unfocused and filling with tears. “I knew, but there was this little voice in the back of my head that said I could change his mind. That he’d love me enough to choose me over…”
Over his own happiness?
I don’t say it aloud and neither does she, but it’s loud in the room. Is that love? Expecting him to become someone else for you? Forgo what that person knows will make them happy to be with you? Is that trade ever even?
“Well, enough about my love life.” Zere carefully swipes a rogue tear under her eye. “Or the recent lack thereof. Let’s talk about Chapel’s show.”
“Right.” I blow out a breath of relief, glad we’re changing the subject. “I’m ready to do this and so glad you see the same potential in her that I do.”
“As soon as she stepped on set, I saw what she could be. Her winning the contest just confirmed what I already knew. She’s a star.”
“She is indeed,” I agree.
“You’ve got a great eye for talent, Hendrix, and you’re a hustler.” Her eyes soften, and her expression looks lighter for the first time since the video call began. “We’re gonna do great things together.”
“I think so, too,” I reply with a smile. I clap my hands once. “Where do we start?”
The call, scheduled for thirty minutes, goes an hour. We both have so many ideas we end up brainstorming several approaches. We hang up and I barely have time to look over the list of contacts we prioritized before it’s time to leave for lunch with my Aspire team.
“Sorry I’m late,” I tell them when I rush into Paschal’s. “Got caught up in my last meeting.”
“Girl, you fine,” Nelly Brewer assures me, proffering her cheek for a kiss. “Sit down and take a deep breath.”
I am rather breathless. In addition to losing track of time, I got caught in some of Atlanta’s random-ass traffic in the middle of the day, which only stressed me more.
“You’re actually just in time.” My other partner, Kashawn Phillips, gestures to the table where a basket of corn muffins takes center stage alongside an order of voodoo shrimp to start us off.
“Now y’all know I’m trying to eat fewer fried foods,” I say, reaching for the battered shrimp. “Diabetes runs in my family and I do not need it running over here.”