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I liked the way he said that. So many people askwhat’s wrong, and I hated that.What’s wrongsounded like an accusation, and a judgy one at that. As though whatever your private thoughts were, they weren’t what they should be. Those thoughts werewrong, whatever that meant. Plus there was only one answer anyone was willing to give. (That being nothing, which was likefinein that it was always a lie.) I liked that his question required a deeper answer thannothing, like he actually wanted to know what I was thinking. No judgment.
“I know it’s ridiculous, to wake up one morning and decide to climb a mountain,” I said, because I felt the need to explain myself, to get out ahead of this, somehow. If I called myself ridiculous, there would be no need for him to do it.
“Why do you say that?” He sounded genuinely curious, like it hadn’t occurred to him that me climbing a mountain was a silly proposition.
“It’s such a cliché. Thirty-something gets a divorce, doesn’t have kids, job is good but not challenging. Everything is fine, but you get that itchy feeling, like a craving for something you can’t put your finger on. So you do something crazy, something you wouldn’t do if you weren’t having a midlife crisis.”
He tilted his head and studied me. “You’re speaking in third person.”
“That’s because I’m speaking hypothetically.”
“It’s not hypothetical. It’s personal. You want to climb Hart Mountain and you think it’s ridiculous. Tell me why.”
“Because it’s just a mountain!” I blew out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not going to magically change me in some way. It’s not going to fix whatever is missing in my life, and, really, why should I want more? I have so much already. Shouldn’t this be enough for me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting more.”
“What if what you want is too much?”
“Third person again?” His hand brushed my shoulder. “Tell me what you want, Nora.”
I was quiet for a moment, looking at the mountain because it was easier than looking at him. “I want a baby. More than anything, that’s what I want. To be a mom.”
Michael retreated instantly.
I snorted. Men were so predictable. God forbid a woman be aware of her biological clock. Must be nice to be able to pretend mortality wasn’t real. “Not from you, silly. Just…in general. I want to be a mom.”
I blew out a sigh. “When I was married…wait, wait, wait. That’s all I ever heard. The timing was always wrong. I’m tired of waiting. I’m thirty-five. If I wait much longer, I might not be able to have kids at all. Do you know what my gynecologist said yesterday? A pregnancy at my age is called geriatric. Geriatric!” My voice rose, my indignation as fresh as if I was still being poked and prodded on the inside.
“Huh,” he said. He rubbed his chest, like something ached there.
I didn’t fail to notice how much distance he had put between us. He was practically falling out of the swing.
“Calm down. I’m not asking you to be the father. I’m not asking anyone to be the father, legally speaking.” I hesitated, looking at the mountain again. As though it could give me courage. “I think…I think I’m going to try to do it on my own. That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. I haven’t told anyone, not even Suzie. I don’t want them to try to talk me out of it.”
“Why would they do that?” He scootched closer to me, having apparently decided his sperm was safe.
“Because having kids is hard. It’s hard enough when there are two parents to split the work, but as a single parent? Super hard. And I haven’t really ever done anything hard in my life. I mean, marriage was hard, but I failed at that, so it’s not exactly a shining example.”
He looked at me as though a missing puzzle piece had just clicked into place. “Oh. That’s why you want to climb Hart Mountain.”
“That’s why I want to climb Hart Mountain,” I agreed. “You probably think that’s stupid. Climbing a mountain won’t prove I’ll be a good mom. But I don’t know. I need to know that I can do hard things, and right now, I don’t know that.” I peered at him in the yellowish light cast by the overhead lanterns. “Do you think I’m being ridiculous?”
He laughed. “Actually, yes. But not because you want to climb a mountain. I think it’s ridiculous that you’re trying to talk yourself out of it. You’re putting way too much thought into this. For the record, I think you’ll be a great mom, because you care. That’s the important part. You don’t need to climb a mountain to prove that. Hell, you don’t need to prove that to anyone.”
“I need to prove it to myself,” I said quietly.
His smile was rueful. “I guess I know a little something about that. So, okay. We’ll climb Hart Mountain.” He took a long swallow of iced tea. “You know what? This is going to be great. I mean, sure, climbing a mountain is a worthwhile endeavor because persistence, pushing your limits, testing yourself, all that good stuff. But it’s also fuckingfun.”
“Fun.” The word felt strange in my mouth.
“Yeah, Nora. Fun. You know what that is, don’t you?”
I looked at the mountain, its dark shape beautiful but menacing against the star-filled sky. “It’s possible we have different ideas of what that word means.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked softly.
The words were casual, but there was a teasing note in his voice, an unspoken dare. I turned to look at him. We were sitting on the porch swing and at some point while I was assessing the mountain, he had moved even closer.
