Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“No problem.” He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially. “It’s not mine. I just use it when I travel.”
“Is that supposed to be your version of frugal?” I laugh. “‘I don’t own the forty-million-dollar plane. I just charter it a few times a month.’”
“We all make sacrifices,” he returns, grinning and apparently unbothered by my jab.
“Speaking of sacrifices,” Kashawn says. “I need to make some right now and work through these briefs before we land in Colorado.”
“Of course.” Maverick gestures expansively around the luxuriously appointed cabin. “Let me or one of the attendants know if you need or want anything.”
“All I want,” Nelly says, pulling out a purple-and-gold sleep mask emblazoned with FUCK OFF, “is a little nap before we land or I won’t be any good. Baby was up all night, and I knew Beth would have her solo today so I held it down.”
“Awww,” I commiserate. “That’s a good mommy. Rest while you can.”
“You be getting that no-kids sleep,” Nelly sighs.
“Honey, I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” I joke.
Rolling her eyes, Nelly slips the sleep mask down and slumps into her buttery soft leather seat. “Wake me when we get to the weed.”
“No kids for you?” Maverick asks, his voice lower, softer, and impossibly sexier with the effort of not disturbing Nelly’s sleep and Kashawn’s concentration.
“Nah.” I rest my hands flat on the table in front of me. “I know most people don’t get it, but I’m just not cut out for motherhood.”
He nods his head toward the empty seat beside me. “May I?”
The quiet enclosing us pulls tight, packed with heat as our eyes lock. I force myself to glance away before I get lost in that searching look. I could tell him that I’m working. I could ask him to sit somewhere else so I can focus.
But I won’t.
“You can sit anywhere you want, right?” I ask, tapping on my iPad. “It’s your plane.”
“Technically, it’s not.” He settles into the seat beside me. “So you don’t ever want kids?”
I roll my eyes and force my shoulders back, relaxing into the soft cushion. “Kids aren’t for everyone.”
“I have one and I agree with you,” he says with a laugh. “I’m in the ‘one is enough’ club.”
He sobers, the smile dying on his lips as he slants a glance at me.
“Zere and I could never see eye to eye on that.”
I turn my head to study him, expecting his expression to be a wall, but it’s more of an open door.
“Do you ever regret it?” I ask. “Like do you think it would have been worth it to compromise?”
“I haven’t regretted it one day. My father tells me he would have done anything to be with my mother, so maybe that’s how I know Zere and I weren’t supposed to be. I wouldn’t have been able to walk away. I didn’t feel that way. I have a beautiful daughter I’m proud of and would die for, and that’s it. I didn’t want any more.”
“I respect that. My two closest friends are the best moms, and I get why that’s right for them.” I let my gaze drift to the tarmac just beyond the window. “I knew pretty early on that I didn’t want that. When I was really young, I used to say I wanted kids because that’s what the world tells you. That’s what everyone expects, and you don’t always know how to be different at that age. You just fall in line. You’re still a child yourself when they shove a baby doll in your hands and say pretend you’re the mommy. Even that young they telegraph that this is what you’re supposed to do.”
I run my finger along the cool edge of my iPad and smile dryly.
“But by the time I got to college, I knew I didn’t want that. People always ask why I don’t want kids, like it’s not enough to just know you don’t. I don’t ask anyone to defend their decision to have children. So why should I have to defend my decision not to?”
“You shouldn’t have to,” he says.
“No, but the world is constantly demanding that why. There are women like me who are mothering in our own ways, but have never carried a child or been a parent. We’re teachers and mentors and social workers and godmothers. We find ways to pour love into the world, to shape the world for good without bearing a child. It’s not about our wombs. It’s about our hearts and how we share them. That is bodily agency—me getting to decide what I do with my body in this life.”
“That’s…” Maverick’s stare doesn’t waver from mine. “Wow, that’s beautiful, Hendrix. I hadn’t thought of it like that, but now I will.”
“Most people don’t think of it that way. Certainly not most men.” I shrug and scoff. “I had a boyfriend once, someone I got pretty serious with in my twenties. He said he understood where I was coming from, that I didn’t want kids, but deep down he thought he could change me. When it came down to it, he thought I would cave and choose being with him over being who I believe I’m supposed to be. That’s not love.”