The Girlfriend Game by Sierra Hill

Twenty-Four

Kendall

“Are you bringing Zeke as your date to Mom and Dad’s anniversary party?”

I wrinkle my nose, turning to look at Kerry sitting next to me with her feet propped up on the pedicure chair.

We began our monthly girls’ spa day after her second was born, when alcoholic drinks weren’t an option while she was breastfeeding. It gives her much-needed “mommy time.” I happily obliged her with these decadent afternoons spent getting mani/pedis. Over the years, we’ve continued the tradition as often as we can.

I consider her question. Zeke and I have spent a considerable amount of time together these past few weeks, both in and out of bed, but I’m not sure we’re at the meet-the-family stage yet.

It’s been wonderful getting to know him apart from the in-office visits and the online interactions. And the pleasure he’s given me—like this morning on my kitchen counter, for example—has me pressing my thighs together. The memory has me curling my toes. The woman at my feet glances up curiously.

“Ticklish?”

I shrug sheepishly, hoping she doesn’t read on my face what I was just thinking about. Unfortunately, nothing gets by my twin.

“Wow, I mention his name and you get all hot and bothered. He must have some serious BDE to get you blushing like this.”

I furrow my brow, cocking my head to the side in question. “Huh? BDE?”

Kerry blows on her fingers, a newly painted coral color with bedazzled stick-ons covering a few of her nails.

“Big dick energy.” She announces this loudly with no concern over the two elderly women next to us, whose nail techs’ arms must be falling off by now with how hard they’ve worked on their nasty, callused feet.

Thankfully, the women don’t hear her, but the nail technician stifles a laugh as I shake my head in annoyance.

“Jesus, Kerry. Must you be so crass?”

She gives me a howling snort. “I’m just stating facts, honey. I’ve seen pictures online of Zeke in his gray sweatpants. Whether you indulge me in the details of your sexual escapades or not, there’s evidence he is packing and isn’t shy about it.”

I slap a palm over my forehead, dropping my chin in embarrassment. “Eww. Just stop. Please do not Google information about my boyfriend anymore. Or ogle him. It’s just gross.”

Once again, she gapes at me as if I’ve affronted her with my request. But then her face lights up and I know exactly what she’s going to say.

“Boyfriend, huh?” She wiggles her fingers in front of her mouth.

“Forget I said that.”

“You know I wouldn’t have to resort to such stalkery if you’d at least give me some account of your sex life. I tell you everything about me and Brendan’s sex life.”

“I know,” I groan, making a face of disgust. “And I’ve told you before, I’m perfectly fine not knowing anything about it.”

She chuffs at my sisterly insult. It was fun and exciting when we were in our early twenties, and she shared everything with me because I lived vicariously through her. She was doing things I wasn’t at the time. Back then, my goal was getting my PhD, not getting the Big D, as she would say.

Kerry’s frowns in disappointment. “Well, I want to hear about yours. It’s not every day my sister dates a professional basketball player.”

My eyes fly wide, and I wave a hand in the air, aghast at her loud mouth. Zeke and I have kept our budding relationship on the downlow, avoiding the scrutiny and media attention focused our direction. We haven’t shown up together hand-in-hand or made any public appearances together to ensure our privacy.

Kerry slaps her hand over her mouth, muttering a garbled “sorry,” her eyes squinting with apology.

“Getting back to the anniversary party,” I say, redirecting our conversation so it doesn’t veer off to any more uncomfortable topics. “I haven’t asked him yet.”

“What?” she practically screeches. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think we’re there yet. The whole meet-the-parents thing.” I use air quotes and shrug noncommittally. “It feels oddly too weird. Adds too much pressure. And I know our mother and aunties. One of them, if not all, will open their big mouths at some point and ask when we’re going to get married and pop out some kids.”

Kerry stifles a laugh and flings her painted nails in the air. “Nonsense. It’s just a party. He’s just your date. It doesn’t mean you have to change your relationship status online to Married. Yet.” She gives me a pointed look over the champagne glass in her hand. “Plus, I want to meet him. I’ve been very patient throughout this whole process. Need I remind you, if it wasn’t for me, you’d never be dating him in the first place.”

Kerry gives me a smug look, which I reciprocate with glare. She’s right about one thing. If it weren’t for her intervention in my love life, I never would have matched up with Zeke.

Sadly, though, and something I’m scared to admit to even my own sister, is that I’ve fallen for Zeke. It wasn’t difficult to do.

The problem lies in the truth I just uncovered about us. This thing between me and Zeke can’t turn into a long-term relationship. Zeke makes great boyfriend material, but the little tidbit I learned recently about him has made it abundantly clear we aren’t at the same stages of life when it comes down to the desire for a family.

It happened one night last week while we were at a restaurant on Lake Union. It was one of those romantic evenings where the two of us were enjoying a glass of wine, sharing the events of our day, holding hands and sitting close as we watched the boats out on the lake. It was perfect until a family of five sat down at the table next to us.

Within a few minutes, one of their young children began to scream and throw a fit, as will often happen when a child is hungry or tired. The glaring difference, though, is that while I let it slide off my back and didn’t let it bother me, it clearly got under Zeke’s skin.

I saw him grow agitated and frustrated, shutting down until we quickly finished our wine, and he requested the check.

When I asked him what had upset him, he told me. And I knew in that moment, I would have to make a decision.

“Kerry,” I say quietly, afraid to admit the truth. “The reason I’m on the fence about having him meet the family is that I’m not sure we’re going anywhere.”

I suck in a breath, my voice barely a whisper. “Zeke told me he doesn’t think he wants kids.”

Kerry whips her head toward me as if my announcement was a booming explosion. I watch her face as it reads shock, then sadness as she frowns, holding out her hand for me to take. A sisterly show of love, support, and compassion.

She squeezes my fingers gently in hers. “Oh, honey. Men always say that. I think it’s an instinctive protective mechanism. Biologically, they’re born to produce offspring, but are scared of the fatherly element. Even Brendan was freaked out at first when I told him I was pregnant with Cannon. And now look at him. He loves being a father. I’m sure the same holds true with Zeke.”

I give her a glum shake of my head. “I don’t think so. He was so adamant. He has his reasons, which I understand, and there’s nothing I could ever do to change his mind.”

While I won’t divulge those details with my sister, they are valid objections that can’t be easily remedied. Deep-rooted psychological impacts brought on by his own father and his childhood, as well as his career. As his girlfriend, I would never want to be the woman who pushed him in a direction he wasn’t comfortable going.

“I’m sorry, sis. Don’t lose out hope, though. He could come around. Surely, he knows by now how much you want children of your own, right?”

Shame and guilt wash over me and I turn my head to avoid my sister’s perceptive gaze. It makes me a sham to be a walking, talking professional in psychology. I encourage patients to openly share their feelings and truths with their partners and people they care about, because it’s only through honesty that they can grow.

Yet here I am, hiding this very significant detail about myself from Zeke, avoiding the entire conversation of children and their importance to my future.

I shake my head reproachfully. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Kerry’s mouth drops open, but she wisely shuts it again.

“Why not?” she asks softly.

“It hasn’t felt like the right time. And, honestly, I don’t want to sound like a desperate woman. Because I’m not,” I add, smacking a hand on the chair’s armrest for emphasis. “I don’t need him or anyone to fulfill my family goals. But I also don’t want to scare him away. I’ve just wanted to enjoy being with him without this pressure. Does that make sense?”

I peer at her under my lashes, begging her to understand where I’m coming from. Instead, a scowl forms across her face.

“Kenny, I can’t believe you haven’t even mentioned it as a prospect. That’s just…so unlike you.”

I chew on my lip, feeling the weight of her judgment. I cleverly examine my freshly painted nails to avoid her scrutiny.

“If you’d heard how adamant he was about never having kids, you wouldn’t have mentioned it either.”

A deafening silence descends between us, the chatter of the room and the electric sound of nail machines drowning out her judgment and accusation over my decision and my weak excuse of avoidance.

“I know I should break things off before our feelings grow too deep,” I confess, feeling the tears form in the corners of my eyes. “But I can’t find the strength to do it. Zeke’s a really good man. We’ve only been dating a month and there will be plenty of time to bring up this topic down the road. For right now, I’ll play it by ear.”

I extract my hand from hers and place it in my lap, working through the conflicting thoughts and emotions that so many women go through when it comes to making choices about their love lives.

Do I stay with Zeke and see where things go? Do I cut my losses now, knowing that we aren’t compatible if he doesn’t ever want children?

An unfamiliar pain jabs at my heart. It hurts. It feels like regret and loss. The old proverb of one in the hand is worth two in the bush is symbolic of my current situation. Is what I have right now with Zeke more valuable than the possibility of a family in the future?

Kerry wiggles her toes in an admiring fashion and thanks the pedicurist as I sit in quiet contemplation over my decision.

After we pay and slip on our flip-flops, I finally answer the question she asked earlier that started this entire conversation.

“Fine, I’ll invite Zeke to the party. But please,”—I grab hold of her wrist to tug her back, emphasizing my distress—“do not bring this up to Zeke. Okay? Just promise me you will not mention anything about kids or the future. You got me?”

Kerry looks outraged, slipping out of my grasp to climb inside the driver’s seat of her minivan as I round the hood. “Why would I do that?”

I stare at her over the top of my sunglasses. When she’s buckled up behind the wheel, I turn to face her.

“Because you have a tendency to get involved in my love life.”

She scoffs and pulls out of the lot. “Ye of little faith. I promise I won’t say a thing.”

Right. I’ll believe that when I see it.