Page 2 of You Met Me There

He was handsome with shaggy blond hair and those icy blue eyes that I can’t seem to ever escape. We texted for the few weeks he was in town, and we spent time together almost every day. I fell in love with him quickly, so fast that I got addicted to the feeling, and losing him seemed like it would be the end of me. It sounds crazy now, but it was the start of something beautiful. My parents didn’t know about him—no one did. Everyone shared the town, the tourists, the backwoods life there. But I wanted something for myself. I wanted him to be mine, and only mine. My chest ached and fear riddled my mind at the thought of my parents keeping me from him. So of course, I ran. His parents took me back to Florida with them, and my family had no idea.

Sometimes I imagine escaping the hold he has on me now. But then I chase the opposite dream, the one of him holding me close, and I fall back into his arms the very same night.

He loves me—I know he does—and I love him.

But it isn’t enough. Not anymore.

We want different things, and I know for certain I’ll never get what I truly want when I’m with him. And it’s not just a phase. I don’t have baby fever once a month or when things are going really well between us. I want a kid every second of every day. Any time I see a toddler laughing with their mother, my heart aches. What would it be like to have someone love you unconditionally like a child loves their mom?

There’s no worse form of torture than watching others have the life you want while you’re held back from ever pursuing it—your purpose. The thing that drives you.

Mine is to be a mom. I feel it in my bones.

The closing of the front door echoes from the bottom of the staircase, and my heart leaps at the sound. The knowledge that he’s returned home would normally cause me to crash down the stairs like a madwoman and hug him so fiercely he’d ask, “was I gone that long?” I’d laugh and kiss him, and he’d kiss me back.

But today the thundering of my heart in my chest means I didn’t pack quickly enough.

“Natalie?” Luke’s deep voice bounces off the walls as his feet hit the stairs and quickly start to climb. My hands ball into fists, and I step away from the suitcase, grabbing my purse and my camera bag from the bed. “Natalie, are you here? Nat?”

Luke runs into the bedroom, his eyes scanning the space frantically before they land on me across the room. I stand guard in front of the tall wooden dresser, clutching my belongings.

He looks like a mess. His blond hair hangs over his eyebrows, tousled like he’s been pulling at it during the drive here. He’s dressed nicely in a light blue button-down dress shirt and tan slacks, and—in his rush to find me—he didn’t kick off his expensive navy suede shoes at the door. I know he came right from a meeting at the office, but it was shorter than I expected.

Luke takes a slow step toward me around the suitcase, his hands gently reaching out. “Natalie,” he says again. “I’ve been calling your phone.”

I lift my chin, gripping my purse—an expensive gift from Luke I couldn’t care less about—and my sentimental leather camera bag—which I would sell the whole damn house for if it came to a hostage situation—between both hands.

“I know,” I say through my teeth, folding my arms across my chest, hugging my bags like they’re armor. “I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Luke’s eyes turn down, growing dark below the crease of his brow. When he speaks, the usual assuredness of his voice is doused in what might be regret. Despair?

“Why can’t we just get past this?”

“Get past this? I can’t just get past this, Luke.” My voice rises with frustration and desperation, hurt and anger all mingled into one phrase. “This is something that I want, and you won’t even consider it. Not even for a second.”

“And I wish”—he brings his fist to his lips and bites on his white knuckles—“I wish I could give you everything you want. I know how much this means to you, but I just can’t commit to it. Not right now.”

“Then when?” I practically shout. “When can you commit to having a family with me? When can you tell me that it’s the best time to have children? Creating a family isn’t like scheduling a work dinner on the calendar, Luke.” I spit his name.

“I know that.” He shakes his head, his eyes sorrowful, and somehow he’s standing only mere feet from me. Already I can feel the heat of him, sense his skin sliding across mine before he even lifts a finger to my bare arm. The love I have for my husband is intoxicating.

And yet, I want more.

Luke will never want to have children. He told me early on in our relationship—before we were married—that he didn’t want to start a family. Unfortunately, I thought he’d change his mind. I thought our love was strong enough to do that. I thought he’d want to make a beautiful little person with me—someone who was equally both me and him. I’ve loved creating a life with Luke, but I want to create more.

Seven years of marriage later and I have yet to persuade him. The only problem, besides the fact that he doesn’t want kids and I so desperately do, is that now I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have that life. At least not with him.

He takes another step, and I lower my eyes to the floor. His eyes get me every time. If I don’t look at them maybe I’ll be able to remain strong in my resolve to leave. Luke’s fancy shoes, a darker blue than the eyes I’m escaping, step into view, and his warm hands gently caress my arms, just like I knew they would. Shivers run down my spine and I tense.

“Don’t do this, Nat,” he whispers. He wraps a warm hand around my waist and pulls me close, resting his other hand on the back of my neck under my shoulder-length hair, tugging me softly until I rest my cheek against his chest. I’m going to miss this. “Don’t leave me. We have everything here except that one thing. Please don’t throw it all away. I love you.” His firm voice breaks at the end.

I grip the side of his shirt in my fist and feel the solid form of his body underneath. A thick, warm tear escapes my eye, rolling down my cheek and onto his shirt. I imagine him having to change before going back to work now that my mascara has left its inky mark.

“I have to,” I reply. He holds me tighter and takes a deep breath. Luke isn’t one to get mad or express his emotions, so I ready myself for anything, whatever he might say next.

He releases a silent exhale, his chest sinking against my cheek. “Then you should go. If you want time or space … then, those I can give you.” His hand absentmindedly rubs at the knot that’s formed in the back of my neck. His breath on my hair is soft as he speaks over my head, his mouth resting against my hair.

I begin to sob quietly, failing to hold all the emotions in. “I don’t want to leave, but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t stop this desire. This want to be a mother. I want to take what I feel is the next step in our marriage, and you don’t. I can’t … I can’t live like this anymore. Always wanting something more. Always feeling empty.”