“I got it,” I said as I reached for my phone.
I squinted my eyes, seeing that Summer was calling me at five thirty in the morning, which was something I usually did to her.
“Hello,” I said, my voice hushed as I tiptoed out of the dark bedroom.
“I told her,” Summer said, her voice trembling.
I froze and leaned on the kitchen island, my eyes blinking back the sun rising atop the brownstones in the distance.
“You told Valeria you don’t want kids?” I asked softly.
“Late last night. And—and she told me…” Summer paused with a thickness in her voice, as if she was being strangled by her own emotions. “She told me it was nonnegotiable.” Her words were barely audible amid the tears.
I felt my heart thumping against my chest as my spine grew upright, as if the child had become the adult. It was a strange feeling, a role reversal.
I once read an article about relationships. It stated that some of the best partnerships existed because someone was the rock, and someone was the kite. In my love life, I preferred two kites. But as far as friendships went, Summer and I were a rock and a kite. Summer was my rock: my rational backbone, a logical thinker, the person I could untangle all my warring questions with without her crumbling under my chaotic spiral. I was Summer’s kite: full of wanderlust and consumed by matters of the heart, floating through the clouds, swayed by my surroundings, allowing emotions to tug me toward another corner of the universe without a stable force below. I was the place Summer went to lighten her load, to dream a little, to chase the stars among the harsh light of day.
Suddenly, the rock was calling the kite for advice.
I rushed back into the bedroom, pulling my T-shirt and distressed jeans off the Eames lounge chair in the corner of the room—the chair I had made my clothing pile—much to Asher’s amused dismay.
“I’ll be right over,” I said into the phone as I tugged my jeans over my hips.
“I’m standing outside your boyfriend’s loft.”
I snatched the electronic key off Asher’s console and flew into the elevator.
Seconds later, I opened the front door of the lobby as the sun rose behind a puffy-faced Summer. She was sucking her cheeks in, her eyes red, but momentarily dry. She had clearly just been crying, but didn’t want me to notice. I took her into a hug, feeling her body shake against mine, an exhale of silent cries thumping against my chest.
“Boyfriend’s loft? We don’t use that word,” I said, trying to lighten her load.
“I hate this,” Summer said as her tears fell on my neck.
My heart sank, and I pulled her in closer. The sob of heartbreak is primal and universal, and if you’ve ever been there, just thinking about the moment your heart broke makes your insides heavy, leaving you with a need to clutch your chest, as if to marvel over the fact that you survived. Tears prickled my eyes—the memory of all the little and big heartbreaks punching the scars on my chest—it killed me that my best friend would have a scar like this—one that would take so long to heal, and one that would sting every now and then, even decades later.
“I hate this for you, too,” I whispered.
I hugged her tighter. Summer pulled back, and I slung my arm around her waist, leading her into the building.
A few minutes later, I handed Summer a piping-hot cup of PG Tips tea as we sat under a flowing canopy in Asher’s meditation area.
“What the fuck is this place? I feel like Sting is going to pop out at any moment and teach me how to have long, boring sex sessions.”
Summer was always wonderful at delaying an emotional reaction, and it brought me joy to see her embrace her wicked side before we dug into her heartache.
“Yes, this is the tantric sex area,” a distant voice said.
Summer and I whipped our heads to the door and saw Asher. He looked like he had rolled out of bed in just a pair of athletic shorts. There was a slight smirk on his face, his hair was untamed, and his arms were crossed over his bare torso. Summer gawked at him, taking in his perfect body.
“I woke up and you were nowhere, just wanted to make sure you were alive, since I’ve never seen you wake before nine,” he said with a smile. “Didn’t know you had company, sorry to interrupt.” He gave Summer a shy wave.
“Asher, this is Summer, Summer this is—”
“I know who the fuck he is,” Summer said, rolling her eyes. I hugged her tighter as Asher walked over.
“Sorry, I would get up and shake your hand, but I feel like I’m dying, so…”
Asher nodded as I stared at him wide-eyed. “Sorry,” I mouthed.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked Summer, rather sweetly.
“Yeah, salty snacks and a goddamn time machine,” Summer said.
I raised my eyebrows to Asher. I had told Asher nearly everything he needed to know about my best friend—minus the child dilemma, which wasn’t my story to tell. I spared little detail when it came to Summer’s bluntness. Asher had the sense to smile and nod nicely in Summer’s direction.
“Sorry, I’m having a crap day. Nice abs,” Summer said.
“We’ll be inside in a little while,” I said.
“Take your time.”
He leaned down and kissed me on my cheek as Summer watched, and then he disappeared back down the stairs.
“He’s fucking into you. Why haven’t I seen a photo of you both? Why haven’t you DTR’ed? Also, you better let me pick the bridesmaid outfit—and I’ll have none of this empire-waist bullshit.”
I knew what she was doing. Now would be the moment where Summer would try and distract me from her own pain, just to unravel what was going on inside me. I decided to throw her a bone.
“We’re actually venturing out for the first time tonight, but the goal is to not create a media frenzy. We haven’t defined anything because we don’t feel the need to, and you made me wear an empire-waist bridesmaid dress at your wedding.”
“Oh, nice job, Maggie. Way to bring up my wedding the day my marriage falls apart.”
I stared down Summer, shaking my head.
“Summer. No more fucking around. What happened?”
Summer exhaled, staring out at the cityscape. I watched her hard exterior soften in front of me, her spine folding forward as tears rimmed her darkened eyes.
“I told Valeria that I didn’t want kids, and she called me selfish. She said I was a liar, and that when we met, I presented this whole ‘I see myself with a child’ narrative to her, just so I could be with her for the moment, and that I’m changing my mind just so I can get out of the marriage. I told her I loved her, and I wanted to stay with her, but she really thought this was me wanting a way out of our marriage.”
“Summer, make her understand that you aren’t lying. Talk it out. Explain to her how this wasn’t a decision that came to you slowly, or one you take lightly. It’s one you’ve been wrestling with, and you were terrified to tell her once you’d come to the conclusion, because you didn’t want to lose her.”
“I tried, but she kept cutting me off. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Of course it matters.”
“Maggie, how I came to this conclusion won’t bridge the gap between what Valeria and I want. I don’t want kids, and she wants them—full stop. Marriage is about compromise, and this isn’t a place we can compromise. We’re done. Our marriage is done.”