Николас Спаркс - The Choice

Yeah, he thought, I’ll do that. The decision made, he gathered his cooler and started back toward his truck. On tap that afternoon were the regular assortment of dogs and cats, but at three, someone was supposed to be bringing in a gecko. He liked treating geckos or any exotic pet; the idea that he knew what he was talking about, which he did, always impressed the owners. He enjoyed their awed expressions: I wonder if he knows the exact anatomy and physiology of every creature on earth. And he pretended that he did. But fact was a bit more prosaic. No, he of course didn’t know the ins and outs of every creature on earth—who could?—but infections were infections and pretty much treated the same way regardless of species; only the medication dose was different, and that he had to verify in a reference book he kept on his desk.

As he got in the car, he found himself thinking about Gabby and wondering whether she’d ever gone surfing or snowboarding. It seemed unlikely, but at the same time, he had the strange feeling that, unlike most of his exes, she would be up for either of those two things, given the opportunity. He wasn’t sure why, and as he started the engine he tried to dismiss the notion, doing his best to convince himself it didn’t matter. Except for the fact that, somehow, it did.

Five

Over the next two weeks, Gabby became an expert in making a covert entry and exit, at least when it came to her house.

She had no other choice. What on earth could she say to Travis? She’d made a fool of herself, and he’d compounded the matter by being so forgiving, which obviously meant that coming and going required a new set of rules, one in which avoidance was Rule #1. Her only saving grace—the only positive thing to come out of the whole experience—was that she’d apologized in his office.

It was getting harder to keep it up, though. At first, all she’d had to do was park her car in the garage, but now that Molly was getting close to her due date, Gabby had to start parking in the driveway so Molly could nest. Which meant that Gabby thenceforth had to come and go when she was certain Travis wasn’t around.

She’d come down on the fifty-year limit, though; now, she figured a couple of months or maybe half a year would suffice. Whatever amount of time seemed long enough for him to forget, or at least diminish the memory of, the way she’d acted. She knew that time had a funny way of dimming the edges of reality until only something blurry remained, and when that happened, she’d go back to a more normal routine. She’d start small—a wave here or there as she got in the car, maybe a wave from her back deck if they happened to see each other—and they’d go on from there. In time, she figured they’d be fine—maybe they’d even share a laugh someday at the way they’d met—but until then, she preferred to live like a spy.

She’d had to learn Travis’s schedule, of course. It wasn’t hard—a quick peek at the clock when he was about to pull out in the morning while she watched from her kitchen. Returning home from work was even easier; he was usually out on the boat or the Jet Ski by the time she arrived, but on the downside, that made the evenings the worst problem of all. Because he was out there, she had to stay in here, no matter how glorious the sunset, and unless she went over to Kevin’s, she’d find herself studying the astronomy book, the one she’d purchased in hopes of impressing Kevin while they did some stargazing. Which, unfortunately, hadn’t happened yet.

She supposed she could have been more grown up about the whole thing, but she had the funny feeling that if she came face-to-face with Travis, she’d find herself remembering instead of listening, and the last thing she wanted was to make an even worse impression than she already had. Besides, she had other things on her mind.

Kevin, for one. Most evenings, he swung by for a little while, and he’d even stayed over last weekend, after his customary round of golf, of course. Kevin adored golf. They’d also gone out to three dinners and two movies and had spent part of Sunday afternoon at the beach, and a couple of days ago, while sitting on the couch, he’d slipped off her shoes while they were sipping wine.

“What are you doing?”

“I figured you’d like your feet rubbed. I’ll bet they’re sore after spending all day standing.”

“I should rinse them off first.”

“I don’t care if they’re clean. And besides, I like to look at your toes. You’ve got cute toes.”

“You don’t have a secret foot fetish, do you?”

“Not at all. Well, I’m crazy about your feet,” he said, beginning to tickle them, and she tugged her foot away, laughing. A moment later, they were kissing passionately, and when he lay beside her afterward, he told her how much he loved her. By the way he was talking, she kind of got the impression that she should consider moving in with him.

Which was good. It was the closest he’d come to talking about their future, but . . .

But what? That’s what it always came down to, wasn’t it? Was living together a step toward the future or just a way to continue the present? Did she really need him to propose? She thought about it. Well . . . yes. But not until he was ready. Which led, of course, to questions that had begun to creep into her thoughts whenever they were together: When would he be ready? Would he ever be ready? And, of course, Why wasn’t he ready to marry her?

Was it wrong to want to get married instead of simply live with him? Lord knows she wasn’t even sure about that anymore. It’s like some people grew up knowing they’d be married by a certain age, and it happened just the way they planned; others knew they wouldn’t for a while and moved in with the ones they loved, and that worked fine, too. Sometimes, she felt she was the only one without a clear plan; for her, marriage had always been a vague idea, something that would just . . . happen. And it would. Right?

Thinking about this stuff gave her a headache. What she really wanted to do was sit outside on the deck with a glass of wine and forget everything for a while. But Travis Parker was on his back deck, flipping through a magazine, and that just wouldn’t do. So she was stuck inside on a Thursday night again.

She wished Kevin weren’t working late so they could do something together. He had a late meeting with a dentist who was opening an office and thus needed all sorts of insurance. That wasn’t so bad—she knew he was dedicated to building the business—but he was heading off with his dad to Myrtle Beach for a convention first thing in the morning, and she wouldn’t have a chance to see him until next Wednesday, which meant she’d have to spend even more time cooped up like a chicken. Kevin’s dad had started one of the largest insurance brokerages in eastern North Carolina, and Kevin was taking on more responsibility with every passing year at their office in Morehead City while his dad edged closer to retirement. Sometimes she wondered what that must have been like—having a career path already charted from the time he could walk—but she supposed there were worse things, especially since the business was successful. Despite the whiff of nepotism, it wasn’t as if Kevin didn’t earn his way; his dad spent fewer than twenty hours a week in the office these days, which usually left Kevin working closer to sixty. With almost thirty employees, management problems were endless, but Kevin had a knack for dealing with people. At least, that’s what a few of them had told her at the company Christmas party both times she’d gone.

Yes, she was proud of him, but it still left her stuck inside on nights like this, which seemed like a waste. Maybe she should just head over to Atlantic Beach, where she could drink a glass of wine and watch the sun go down. For a moment, she considered doing just that. Then she decided against it. It was okay to be alone at home, but the thought of drinking at the beach alone made her feel like a loser. People would think she didn’t have a single friend in the world, which wasn’t true. She had lots of friends. It just happened that none of them was within a hundred miles of here, and the realization didn’t make her feel much better.