Page 87 of Unlikely
“Zara.” My voice is full of defeat as I move to stand in front of her, waiting for her gaze to meet mine. “Please just tell me.”
Pained brown eyes stare back at me.
“Tell me what I missed,” I practically beg. “Tell me why you thought you needed to come and do this alone.”
Zara shakes her head as unshed tears fill her eyes. “You didn’t missanything,” she whispers. “It was just too late. By the time I realized I wasn’t okay, it was too late.” She reaches for my hands and intertwines my fingers with hers. “You’ve spent your whole life worrying about everyone else, and I wanted to be the one thing you didn’t have to worry about,” she explains. “The one person who takes care of you instead of needing to be taken care of.”
I let out a soft, humorless laugh as I squeeze her hands. “Do you know how unrealistic that is? To think that there will never come a time when you need me or that I wouldn’t dropeverythingto be what you need?”
“I didn’t want it to be this,” she admits, and I see the shame that’s etching itself into her features. “I didn’t want it to be this, and I didn’t want it to be today.”
She sounds almost frustrated with herself, as if there is ever the perfect time to not be okay. As if it doesn’t make sense to feel the most vulnerable and broken on the day that reminds her of the biggest tragedy in her life.
“If not today, then when?” I challenge. “Because you never speak about it. You never speak about her. You never speak about how sad you are or how you moved states because you couldn’t handle the reminder. You can talk about how hard it was for Raine, how hard it was for Jesse and Leo, and I love how much you worry about them, and I have no doubt they hurt too, but what about you, Zara?” I tug her to me, dropping her hands and gripping her face. Her chin quivers as tears run freely down her cheeks. “What. About. You?”
My question seems to be her undoing as she buries her head in my chest and cries. Big, painful sobs rack her body, and I hold her through every single one. I hold her as she cries for the woman she was, what she lost, and who she is now. I hold her as she cries for her family’s loss and their future. I hold her as she remembers the baby she carried for nine months; the baby she loved and lost.
My hands roam up and down her back as the shaking of her body against mine subsides. The sobs turn to little hiccups, and eventually, she leans back to look at me, her eyes swollen, her nose red, her mouth wet from her tears.
Using the edge of my sleeve, I wipe under her eyes, under her nose, and dry her cheeks. She is beautiful. Even sad and broken, she is still so beautiful. And she’s mine. With every fiber of my being, I know this woman is mine, and I would go to hell and back to keep her.
“I love you.” The three words roll off my tongue with such ease, I say them again, convinced it was a fleeting thought and she didn’t actually hear me.
“I love you,” I repeat, this time taking in the way her eyes widen ever so slightly, and the way the light and life slowly returns them. “I love you, Zara. And not just on the good days. Or the days where you make me feel like I somehow deserve this beautiful life with you.
“Life is hard and complicated, but if you’ll let me, they’re the days I know I’ll love you the most.”
Closing the distance between us, I lower my mouth to hers, tasting nothing but her heartache. “I love you the most today.”
“Clementine,” she breathes against my lips, and I put a finger between us, silencing her.
“I need you to know how I feel way more than I need to hear you say it back.”
I kiss her. Gently.
“You have changed my life.”
I kiss her. Tenderly.
“I found myself because of you.”
I kiss her. Softly.
“My life is infinitely better with you in it.”
I kiss her again, but this time I let my mouth fill in the blanks to all the words I can’t say and all of the many unsaid reasons I do love her. I use the kiss as a reminder of all the little moments we’ve shared over the last few months; how we started, how we changed, and what we are now.
Zara’s hands reach up to cup my cheeks, deepening the kiss. Her mouth moves against mine, and it’s my turn to listen to her unspoken words, to her unspoken feelings. To feel her gratitude and her love. Because it’s there… It’s been there for a while now, blossoming, filling in the empty space between us.
“Tell me about Lola,” I say softly.
I wait, patiently, and when she sits down in front of the beautiful headstone, I have my answer. Lowering myself to the ground, I sit behind her, situating her between my legs. Flowers and balloons surround the headstone, and Zara keeps her hands busy arranging and rearranging them all in a beautiful display. Eventually, she leans back into me and I wrap my arms around her neck and rest my chin on her shoulder.
She slides her fingers through mine as she starts talking. “I didn’t think twice about being a surrogate for Leo and Jesse,” she says. “There was not a single doubt in my mind that it was a perfect plan. A foolproof plan.
“I welcomed the IVF procedures, the morning sickness, the swollen feet, even the weight gain.” My brain conjures up images of Zara at every stage. “There were tough parts, but the excitement of it all outweighed everything.
“And I loved being pregnant that time around,” she says. And even though I can’t see her, I can hear the smile in her voice. “As an adult who didn’t have the same worries a sixteen-year-old girl had, I truly loved it.”