“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just can’t risk it.”
“But…”
“The answer is no, Nick. I won’t change my mind.”
He looks stricken. He collapses into a chair across from me. “Okay…”
There’s a lump in my throat. He’s right. It’s a lot to give up. And he’s always wanted to have kids so badly. It’s not right to ask this of him.
“Listen…” I reach for his hand, and he gives it to me reluctantly. “I love you, but I understand if you want to… If this is too much for you. I would understand. We don’t have to be together if you don’t want to be anymore.”
Nick jerks his head back. “What are you talking about? You think I want to break up?”
“I’m just saying. I would understand.”
He squeezes my hand firmly in his. “Look, I’m not thrilled about this. Obviously. But I love you. And there’s nothing that would make me not want to be with you anymore.”
We sit there together in the kitchen for a long time, holding hands and contemplating what the rest of our lives will be like together. I have no idea at that moment how bad things are going to get.
Four Years Earlier
I hate the ceiling of our bedroom.
We had it painted when we moved in, but it’s covered in cracks. Whoever painted it did a terrible job. The cracks are all over the place, forming spiderweb patterns in the white plaster. It needs to be redone, but let’s face it, that’s the least of our problems. It doesn’t even make the top twenty.
“Rosie?”
I didn’t even realize the sound of the shower had turned off. I shut my eyes, feeling that familiar wave of fatigue wash over me. I slept all night, but I’m still exhausted. When the alarm went off ten minutes ago, I woke up to shut it off, but I felt far from ready to get out of bed.
“Rosie?”
Nick is out of the shower. His dark blond hair looks even darker from the water, and he has a towel wrapped around his waist, revealing a pretty nice upper body. He looks really good. Every bit as handsome as the day I fell in love with him. Maybe more—he’s grown up from that sixteen-year-old boy.
I don’t want to think about what he must see when he looks at me now.
“Hey, Rosie,” he says. “I got the bench set up in the shower for you if you want to go in.”
He grabs my walker and brings it to the side of the bed. I never got pregnant again, but it didn’t matter. My legs got weaker anyway, even faster than Dr. Heller predicted. I went from a cane to crutches, and now I use a walker most of the time. At my appointment last week, Dr. Heller wrote a prescription for a wheelchair.
I’m still working at the restaurant, but it’s gotten very difficult. I’m struggling. It’s not just that I’m having difficulty walking and getting around. My brain is muddled. I mix up orders and forget what I’m doing in the middle of doing it. It’s embarrassing.
“Rosie? Do you need help sitting up?”
I stare at him. I have to get up and get to the restaurant. To my job that I love, that I dreamed of all my life. Except I just… don’t want to. The idea of getting out of bed, taking a shower, getting dressed… even running a comb through my hair is so exhausting. I can’t even contemplate it.
“I’m not getting up,” I say.
He frowns. “Are you sick?”
He’s so damn nice about everything. So willing to help me with every little thing. I used to love that about him. I never realized until recently how annoying it could be.
“Yes, I’m sick.”
He sits down on the edge of the bed. He reaches for my forehead and I swat him away. “What’s wrong?”
“I have multiple sclerosis.”
He rolls his eyes. “Come on. Get up. There are going to be customers waiting outside.”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want to work at the restaurant anymore.”
He tries again to reach for me, but I shrug him off. “Is this about the kitchen being accessible? Because I told you, I called a contractor and got a quote—”
“I’m not going back to that restaurant,” I say through my teeth. “Not now. Not ever.”
“But—”
“I’m not going, Nick.”
He gets up off the bed. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“There are other people who do the cooking. You can handle it.”
He presses his lips together. “Fine. I’ll take care of it today. You can have one sick day.”