Page 23

I can’t believe what I just overheard. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I finished my phone call with Mercer, relieved to know my life back home is intact, minus the arm of one couch which was eaten by an unattended Hairy. But nothing has caught fire. Whew. I paused outside the bathroom door when I heard three words that will echo in my mind for the rest of my life: I love Sunny. I froze in place, stunned by the words spoken in Anders’ unmistakable baritone.

Now Liam is ripping him a new one and I am a statue. I can’t move.

Anders loves me?

ANDERS LOVES ME.

I’ve watched a lot of medical dramas. I know what comes next. Someone will come in here with a defibrillator and fix whatever is going on with my heart. Either it’s beating so hard and fast that it’s a steady, loud hum, or it has stopped altogether. I need a crash cart. I need some attractive actor-doctor to inject me with a dose of epinephrine. I need to plunge face-first into a heart-shaped box of chocolates. I need a white dress. I need to think this through .

Unfortunately, a critical conversation is still happening on the other side of that door and Anders says four more words that stop me cold: Two-point-five kids.

And there it is.

I’m flatlining.

While I’m caught up deciding how to do my hair for our wedding, Anders says some of the only words he could say that make me realize the wedding won’t happen. He wants a family. Of course he wants a family. I’m surrounded by evidence of that fact. Who wouldn’t want a family when they come from such a happy one? I know I do. It just can’t happen for me.

This isn’t news. I’ve been coping with this life-altering truth since the accident that took my dad also took away my ability to have children. I’ve grieved this. It’s just a sad fact of my life. But it has seriously narrowed down my potential husband pool. Not many men are family-oriented and yet don’t want children.

My only serious boyfriend, Blake, who I dated for three years, broke up with me exactly forty-eight hours after we learned that my body isn’t capable of bearing children. Besides adding injury to almost unbearable grief, it sent a clear message that really messed with my seventeen-year-old head.

It still does, apparently. Because I’m staring at the backside of a bathroom door wondering how I can break this to Anders gently, and angry all over again about my injured body.

Usually I let the information out early in the dating process before either party gets too attached. It weeds out men quickly. In fact, it seems to have weeded out every man up to this point. I’ve had a lot of three week relationships. The problem with Anders is that we haven’t technically dated. I didn’t see this coming, so I didn’t see a need to clue him into my infertility. Like an idiot, I let myself get attached. I got way too close. We’re in too deep, but we can’t keep doing this. I accidentally hoodwinked us both .

What am I going to do?

I walk downstairs, straight out the front door, and plop onto the porch swing. That’s what I do. I park myself on the dusty yellow cushion and stare past the barely budding trees to Lake Harriet. Anders told me the name of the lake when we drove up to the house yesterday. Anders . The muscles of my face draw into a scowl that’s giving me the beginning of a headache. I swipe my phone open and start a text with my mom on autopilot.

SUNNY

I done messed up, A-A-ron

It’s a joke from a silly video that has become part of the family vernacular. My mom sends a laughing emoji in response, then:

MOM

What did you do?

SUNNY

I just overheard Anders telling his family that he loves me

SUNNY

Like, two-point-five kids loves me

SUNNY

He doesn’t know that I know

SUNNY

And I haven’t told him about… you know

I see the three little dots indicating that my mom is typing. They disappear and reappear a few times before this message comes through:

MOM

Do you love Anders ?

SUNNY

I just met him

MOM

So?

SUNNY

How I feel doesn’t matter. He actually said the words. He wants kids.

MOM

You know what I’m going to say

She has been a vocal proponent of adoption since I received the news of my infertility. I get it. If I ever happen to find someone who loves me enough to accept me as-is, that would be the only way I could have children. But I also know how costly and arduous that process can be—despite what my mom always says. It seems easier to make peace with a child-free life than to start down that path—to say nothing of the near-impossibility of finding a family man who is content with adoption. This is a circular conversation we’ve had many, many times.

SUNNY

You don’t need to say it. I know.

MOM

You need to tell him and let him choose

SUNNY

I know what he’s going to choose

MOM

I’m going to tell you something that might shatter your reality: You don’t know everything, you can’t control everything, and yet everything will be okay.

I agreed with her up until the end there. Over the past few weeks, Anders has shown me that I don’t know everything. He’s made it his mission in life to help me see that I can’t control everything. But I don’t know that everything will be okay— not with Anders and me, anyway. While I’m pondering the hopelessness of the situation, three messages come in at once.

ANDERS

You disappeared

MOM

Just tell him. Put it out there. If Anders is the man for you, it will work out. But remember to have fun. You’re on vacation. You can save the hard talk for later if you need to. This one will keep. Love you, kiddo.

ANDERS

We’re getting a late lunch. Come find us when you’re ready

I know I need to fess up to Anders that I overheard and find a way to let him down gently. I do. But maybe my mother is right and it can wait until after our weekend getaway. No need to sully the fun of tiling floors and sleeping on Anders’ bunk bed with talk of my infertility. I’ll tell him on the plane ride home or maybe Monday.

These justifications are running through my mind when I square my shoulders and walk inside, ready to party with the Abrahamsons. I hardly recognize myself. Who is this woman who is putting off until tomorrow what should be done today? It’s like Mercer has taken over my body.

I tuck my phone into the pocket of Anders’ oversized hoodie as I step into the nearly empty kitchen, feeling Imogen’s note that I had stashed there earlier this morning. The memory brings heat to my cheeks. She had written the words “Wil you mary my dad?” in her sweet, childish scrawl. My chest aches at the thought of her eager heart, so willing to love me.

“Hi. Sorry, Mercer was just checking in,” I say to no one except Anders, who is at the sink washing his hands. There’s no sign of anyone else. It’s just me and Anders Beck, the celebrity heartthrob adored by millions who just admitted that he loves me. But he doesn’t know that I know and he is standing right there.

“Everything okay back home?” he asks, with a flash of his dimple. He washes up and down his forearms, scrubbing away the drying thinset. The movement makes the veins in his arms and hands distractingly prominent.

“Yeah,” I mumble. I’m staring at his arms. I know I am, but I also can’t look at him anywhere else and keep my wits about me. His dimple is unsafe. He even has a clump of thinset stuck in his messy hair that’s making me want to run my fingers through it. “Where is… where’s…” My brain is frozen, ogling his hands while he dries them on a red dish towel. Spit it out, Sunny .

He’s smirking in a way that says he knows exactly why I can’t look at him. Or like he knows I have an incriminating communiqué hidden in my pocket. His blue eyes dance like he’s holding in a laugh.

“Where is everyone?” He finishes my question for me, letting me off the hook. “We talked my mom into getting take-out from this pizza place we grew up on. They all left a few minutes ago. I’m surprised you didn’t see them pull out.”

I’m not surprised. My nose was glued to my phone in panic mode. “That’s…” Anders walks around the counter closer to me, and whatever I was going to say leaves my brain. He loves me.

He leans against the counter next to me. “Good?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“You okay?” He bumps me with his elbow. “Sorry you've been working through your whole weekend off. I owe you another vacation.”

That snaps me out of it. “No, you do not. I’m having fun, trust me.” The last thing I need is for this man to make any more effort on my behalf. He’s already too hard to resist. “I love projects like this. It’s relaxing to me. ”

His phone buzzes on the counter and he ignores it. “I hope so. You’re getting the full Abrahamson treatment. Heavy labor and comfort food.”

“Two of my favorite things.” It’s the truth. Very few combinations of activities are more satisfying.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I can tell he’s distracted by his ringing phone.

“You should get that.”

“Nah. It’s Ollie. I’ll call him back.”

“What if it’s an emergency?”

“It’s never an emergency with Oliver. Hey, what did Immy’s note say this morning?”

I can tell he’s trying to deflect and distract me. Little does he know, I invented that tactic. “Want me to talk to him?”

His face makes me think he’s considering it and I’m worried he’ll call my bluff. I’m not talking to Oliver. He’s frightening. Luckily, the buzzing stops and we’re both saved.

“So…” he trails off.

“So?” I’m so awkward around him now that I know he’s in love with me. It was all fun and games when the stakes were lower. Now, there’s pressure I can’t ignore. And it’s not helping anything that Anders looks like he just finished some construction-themed photo shoot. He’s all messy hair, muscles, and sweat from hard labor.

“My brothers are staying the night.” He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

“Good. You guys probably don’t get to see each other often, right?” And I like them. They’re easy to talk to. Liam is smart. I can tell he makes Anders toe the line. And Josh is hilarious. It’s fun to see how the brothers interact.

“I guess.” He seems less than thrilled.

I understand why when our sleeping arrangements are sorted out later that night. After a day of hard labor and heavy food, we’re all ready for sleep. We found Imogen dead asleep on the bottom bunk in Anders’ bedroom-slash-Mariah shrine hours ago. Because Anders slept in Josh and Liam’s room last night, the only place left for him is with me and Imogen. He makes a sad little bed on the carpet, even though I’ve told him repeatedly that I can take the couch, the floor, the bathtub, or anything. I feel so guilty about this arrangement.

“Ready?” He holds a hand to the light switch, waiting for me to make the ascent to the top bunk.

I’ve brushed my teeth and washed all traces of mortar out of my hair, leaving it dripping on my shoulders. The climb up the rickety wooden ladder is the final obstacle of this crazy day. I make my way up the steps and crawl under the comforter and sheets as quickly as I can. “Yep.” I tug the comforter around me as darkness falls over the little room.

My eyes are starting to adjust to the dim nightlight when the bed wobbles precariously. Is Anders climbing the ladder?

“What are you doing?” I hiss, fully aware that his brothers next door will be privy to our full conversation. And I have no interest in Imogen discovering us like this; I don’t care what her note said.

“Coming to hang out with my girl,” his deep voice warms the dark room. There’s an unspoken “obviously” in his tone that makes my toes curl. “I promise I’m not sleeping up here. My mom would kill me. She’s like your mom.”

I suspect the only reason Anders got away with the sleeping arrangement at all is because Tillie and Johan ducked out early to go to bed. “It’s not the sleep part I’m worried about, Anders,” I murmur.

“What do you take me for? I’m not that kinda guy.”

I see the hint of a smile as he falls on top of the comforter beside me, making the bed frame creak and crack, and pinning my left arm under the blankets. There isn’t room up here for both of us. If anything amorous was going to happen tonight, this ramshackle bunk bed would throw a bucket of ice water on that fire fast, to say nothing of Mariah Carey watching over us.

Good.

I can’t handle having him so close when I know rejection is looming on my horizon. I can smell his cologne and feel his heat, and the rise and fall of his chest. He’s also being a perfect gentleman, unless you count climbing into my bed and pinning me to the mattress accidentally.

I can’t take this.

“I’m infertile.” The words pop out of me like machine gun fire, surprising both of us. Oh, how I hate those words. I’d much rather say “I can’t have kids,” but when I’ve used that wording in the past it only prompted more questions about my infertility. I’m so tired of answering those questions. The phrase “I’m infertile” tends to shut that down.

A beat passes. Then another.

I knew he wouldn’t take this news well. I can’t believe those words flew out of my mouth like that. I’m just so overwhelmed by this man. He’s been full steam ahead with me this weekend—this month—and I am… scared. I have to stop whatever is going on here. I can’t be his girl, his girlfriend, the girl he loves, or anything, when he doesn’t have the full truth.

“Anders? Are you awake?” I whisper.

“I’m sorry, Sunny.” He pauses, and his hand finds mine underneath him. He pulls my hand free, pressing it beneath his. This man is like a warm blanket. The weight of his hand feels reassuring, and very friendly . “That’s… probably difficult?”

Is it difficult for me to know that I’ll never be able to have children of my own? That there have been exactly zero men who have stayed interested in me after learning this information? It’s old news for me, but he should’ve known this long before we ended up in the same bunk bed .

“It is—or it was, anyway. I’ve known for a long time, so I’m fine.” This isn’t entirely accurate, but it will shut down further unwanted questioning. “I just thought—I guess I thought you should know.”

He rolls onto his side to face me in the dark, shaking the bed and making a racket. I can’t see his eyes, but I feel them on me and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my palm in a move that is becoming a terrible habit.

“Why did you think I should know?” His deep voice hums against my palm.

Now I’m feeling extra silly because obviously he doesn’t know that I know he loves me. He doesn’t know that I heard him tell his brothers that he two-point-five-kids loves me. I’m just the nanny sharing her highly sensitive medical history at a sleepover. Wonderful. But there is no trace of teasing in his tone, which I appreciate. Too many men have turned to jokes to lighten the mood during this difficult conversation. No matter how much time passes, I’ve never been able to joke about this part of my life. The grief is always there. I’ve made peace with it and live around it.

He’s waiting almost patiently for my answer. He squeezes my hand when I take too long.

“Uh… I overheard a conversation today.” Might as well throw it all out there at once. “I heard you tell your brothers you love me.”

“Oh yeah? You heard all that, huh?” He doesn't sound embarrassed. He’s as nonchalant about our impending doom as ever. “I figured I’d say it before my mom called me out. She could tell.”

“Hold up. Your mom was in the bathroom at the time?” Aaack . Tillie knows Anders loves me, which means Johan probably knows by now. I am going to disappoint the entire family instead of just Anders and his brothers. I should’ve tried harder to stop this from the beginning.

“Yeah. She asked, so I admitted it. She could tell there’s something different about how I feel about you. ”

I groan, pulling away from him. “Anders, we can’t do this.”

“Why not?” he asks with a smile in his voice, tugging me even closer. My head is tucked under his chin now, and he’s rubbing a line up and down my back.

“Did you hear what I just told you?” I let out an exasperated sigh.

“That you’re… infertile?”

“Yes. That. I know that you love me. I think I love you, too, but you’re not thinking about—”

“You love me?”

The surprise in his voice does something to my heart. It squeezes and aches behind my ribs. I picture the father of a little girl who was abandoned by her mother, navigating life alone and yet always surrounded by prying eyes. Always second-guessing the intentions of the people around him, to the point that he is surprised when someone genuinely loves him—even when he is so entirely loveable.

“Of course I love you, Anders.” I pretend to scoff. “It’s not that hard to do.”

Instead of the response I expect, he wraps an arm around me, pulling me impossibly close. He holds me so tight, it eases the ache in my chest. It’s like our hearts want to be physically close to each other. He weaves his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, and I feel his long sigh when his warm, solid chest relaxes against mine. I knew Anders was an excellent kisser, but it turns out that his true gift is hugging. Anders Beck is a world-class, Olympic-caliber hugger. I could stay like this forever. I curl into him.

“I love you.” He says the words on a relieved exhale, making his chest hum against me.

“I knew it!” a tiny voice cheers from the bunk underneath us.

We startle apart. Well, I pull away. Anders is as immovable as a brick wall, draping his heavy arm over my waist and chuckling.

“Yeah, yeah. Go back to sleep, Im.” He uses his Dad Voice on her, which never seems to work .

“I tried to, but you guys are talking so much and I have to hear it.” She yawns.

“You don’t have to hear it. This is a Sunny and Dad talk. Imogen needs to sleep.”

“I can’t. I need Hairy,” she whines.

I squeeze Anders tight waist, silently asking for permission. He nods.

“Hey Im?” My voice seems loud in this small room.

“Yeah?”

“What if your dad sleeps with you instead of Hairy tonight? He’s also big and stinky.”

Imogen giggles. “Yeah, he is.”

“Thanks a lot, girls,” he gripes, even as he moves toward the ladder. He pauses, turning back toward me. He leans down to kiss my forehead, lingering. “I’m thinking about what you said. I promise,” he murmurs against my temple.

“Yeah?” I whisper.

“Yeah. Just didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

“Okay.” I feel the ax dangling over me, even as he says those words that are meant to be reassuring. He wouldn’t be the first guy who had to “think it through” only to reject me in the end. This time is different, though. I’ve never had this conversation with someone when I’m in this deep. Even with Blake in high school, the feelings weren’t this intense. I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight.

I wonder if there are any more of those chocolate balls downstairs?