I had been accepted into graduate school. Cara asked what came after. I talked about research, Europe, and maybe another degree.
She stood by the sink, gripping a dish towel.
« When do you picture us having children? » she asked.
I laughed nervously and shrugged.
« Not for years, » I said. « There’s too much I want to do first. »
I accused her of turning one conversation into a deadline.
Cara went quiet.
What seemed to me like a stupid argument about our future was, for Cara, something much more frightening. I didn’t understand that at the time.
I thought she was angry about waiting. I accused her of turning one conversation into a deadline.
She said I never listened.
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