No Compromise.

She was sitting there in the low glow of the restaurant when he walked in the door seven minutes late. The din and hum of dishes clanking in the kitchen was stifled by the other patrons chatting quietly and leaning in to one another across the small, clothed tables. She had asked him to meet her when she got off of work that night so they could talk. She wasn’t one for ominous meetings and prophetic announcements of issues that would need to be taken up, so he knew this must be something important. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to say no.
When he reached the table he smiled but his eyes held worry in their greeting. She stood up from the table and kissed his cheek. “How are you?” She said steadily as she sat back down.
“Sorry I’m late, the L is running slow as usual,” he said as he received the menu from the waiter.
“I figured that was the problem. I’m ready to order when you are,” she raised her eyebrows quickly and her statement caused his stomach to twist.
They met two years ago at work where he was her assistant. She shook his hand so firmly it made him reevaluate the way he shook hands with others, and in the end he had added an extra tight squeeze before the release because of it. She was dazzling that first day he saw here: self-confident, gorgeous, intelligent, articulate… he had always been amazed at the fact that she chose to love him.
“I’ll have the lemon chicken and a salad with balsamic vinaigrette,” he announced to the waiter. She ordered immediately after him, and the waiter left them.
He felt nervous like he had the first time they kissed. She had the same expectant look in her eyes, like she knew something was coming. And yet this time it was him who felt something was coming.
“So… how was your day?” He asked with effort. For some reason conversation had been more difficult lately. Maybe it was the two year mark; maybe the phenomenon of good conversation had died off when they had crossed July sixth, the anniversary of their first date. Or maybe it was her 35th birthday that had caused it.
They talked about their work, and politics, and even the unusually cool weather the city had had that summer. There were long pauses of verbal silence while their utensils clinked on their plates and their teeth dragged along their forks as they shoveled food to avoid talking.
He signed the bill and placed the pen on the table. He continued to look at the pen while he noticed her shift uncomfortably and take a deep breath out of the corner of his eye.
“I want you to give me a child,” She said in low and steady tones that stopped just before they reached the neighboring tables. She had undoubtedly waited until the end of their meal to gain courage.
He breathed out the air he had been holding while he waited for her to continue; he felt the pang of doom strike his ribs.
“I want us to have a child, Jake. I want you to be the father of my children.” She swallowed hard after this and reached for her glass to gulp some water with the apparent hope that he would speak while her mouth was busied.
“I… Alana, I…” he stuttered, not knowing how to proceed.
They had avoided talking about this for so long. After moving in together only seven months into dating, things became really serious. He knew she wanted children, and the only time she hinted at it, he knocked it down with an, “I never really saw myself having kids.” There had been times when he could tell she wanted to raise the issue again- when they walked by a baby store in the West Village, or the time they met her sister for tea and found out she was pregnant at just twenty-eight. He was pleasantly surprised, however, that it hadn’t come up.
“I know this is something that you’re not sure you want. But I think together we could create someone wonderful,” She paused for a moment, but he couldn’t respond.
“I have thought so hard about this, and I know it’s hard for you to be talking about this, but I can’t wait anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t want children, and I can’t pretend that I’ve got all the years of my life to have them,” again she waited for him to cut in. When he didn’t, she continued, “I’m 35. I want to be a mother, and I want you to do that for me.” She said these words in a rush while she searched his eyes as if to see what he would say before his lips moved. He was stone faced, but the corners of his eyes were wet. There was a time when he would have done anything to make her happy.
“You know I can’t do that.” He said quietly, stealing his eyes away to look at the napkin resting on his lap.
“No, I know you can. I don’t want to force you to do this, I want you to want this too.”
“You know this is not something I want.”
“I think that if you just take some time to think about it and…”
“I have. I have thought about this. I don’t want children. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you… it doesn’t mean I don’t think you’d be a wonderful mother, but simply put, it means that I don’t want to be a father. No ounce of me does. This is something I know.” He was feeling riled inside and couldn’t help but shift away from her. His frustration was now written on his spine.
“I… I just thought we could talk about this, you know? It’s not like we have to decide tonight, I just…” she trailed off.
“I am not changing. I can’t. I’m not being stubborn, I’m being truthful,” he looked at her and knew he had nothing else to say. “I’m going to, uh, get some fresh air, I’ll see you at home.” He set his napkin on the table, slid his chair back, and moved towards the door without a sound.
Just before he walked out the door he looked back at her. She sat there breathing deeply as if to avoid releasing the building heartbreak as she pulled her scarf around her and slid her arms through the sleeves of her jacket. She exhaled hard in what seemed like an attempt to expel the pain in her chest as her eyes reddened and brimmed with liquid fear. His mind reeled as he looked away and stepped out into the cool night. How could they move past this?
Outside he walked quickly. He was angry. How could she do this? Didn’t she understand that he just didn’t want kids? It was nothing against her! But he felt empty inside, knowing he had left her there alone, so upset and confused. He had never said it like that— he had never said he just plainly didn’t want to be a father. At the same time, he had never led her to believe he did want to be, and that is not something that can be compromised. That’s not something that can be changed.
He arrived home and sat on the bed, his shoulders slumping in dejection. He knew what this meant, but how long did he have?
Minutes later she walked in the door with streaked face and white knuckles and a soft whisper instead of a voice. “I don’t know what to do,” she said as she stood in the doorway of the bedroom, her purse touching the floor as her arms fell limply by her side in surrender. Drops fell from her face to the floor without interruption.
“Come here,” he said, clearing his throat. It was hard to breath.
She sat down on the edge of the bed a few inches from him. He reached for her hand and she set hers in his. “Are you sure?” She said softly, without hope.
“I’m so sorry.”
They lay together that night holding each other, crying and loving each other for the last moments they could. They slept on and off through the longest night of their lives, and their faces were puffy and sad when the sun crowded in the next morning. He got up and showered, left her in the bed, wrapped safely in the covers, and then began his search for a new life.
He moved out days later, and he remembers those days as the saddest in his life. It was an insurmountable difference they had faced, and they could do nothing but love each other as they were without change. It was too big an issue for him to give in, it was too innately important for her to give up.