Dating By Numbers. Jennifer Lohmann

      Beck’s sadness wasn’t only about Marsie, she realized with a flash of insight. “How is marital counseling going?”

      “Neil said he’s stopped growing in our marriage. I told him he would grow if he could ever change his mind about things. Like having a kid. The counselor told me that wasn’t a fair thing to say. That I wasn’t listening to what Neil was saying. That was where our last appointment stopped.”

      “So you’re talking things out,” Marsie said, trying to sound hopeful.

      Beck shrugged. They both stopped even pretending to look through clothes. Her friend’s marriage was more important than any number of cute tops.

      “Is the counseling helpful?” Marsie asked.

      “I don’t know. I can’t tell if knowing these feelings is good, or if I’d rather we pretended things are fine. Like I guess we were doing before.”

      “Oh, Beck.” Marsie’s heart broke at that statement. “I’m sure it hurts. And is hard and scary. But you don’t want to be in a fake marriage. That sounds miserable.”

      “I was happy. We were perfect for each other. God, when we met, we were even using the same shampoo and conditioner. I thought it was a sign.”

      “You want a kid.”

      “I could go back to saying that I don’t want a kid. We could pretend.” Beck’s voice was so flat that it was scary, like she didn’t have any emotions left.

      Or maybe she didn’t want to feel them and so had shoved them deep enough that they gave her ulcers, but didn’t make her cry.

      “What happens when you’re sixty-five, no children. You might regret not having children, but I think you’ll regret not going through the hard stuff to even try more.” As Marsie said the words, she realized they were directed at herself, as much as at her friend. The kid stuff, yes, but also that she could reach sixty-five and still be single and what would really piss her off was that she hadn’t truly tried. That she’d let her fear and a couple horrible dates trap her in that status quo.

      No matter how pleasant the status quo was, if she didn’t want to be there, it was a prison. And her own fears could be as much of a jailer as any guy in jackboots holding a gun.

      “I guess. Trying is so hard right now. We’re miserable. I’d rather be anywhere but my house.”

      “I’m sorry, honey.” Marsie reached over and pulled her friend into a tight hug. “It’ll be okay. Maybe not in the way you want, but it will be okay.”

      When they pulled apart, Beck was blinking away tears. “Thanks. I have to believe that, or I’ll give up.”

      “Yup.” Wasn’t that the truth of life. No matter what life looks like, you have to believe.

      “Let’s go buy your top and look at more. There are always more fish in the sea.” Beck rubbed Marsie’s shoulder and they turned to the cashier, ready to continue their hard day of shopping.

      Maybe, Marsie thought, if she looked like fun, dating would be fun and she’d be able to laugh about it with Jason, like he laughed about it with her.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      JASON POPPED HIS head into Marsie’s office. The intense, focused look he found so fascinating was on her face as she manipulated her mouse and the charts on her screen moved. She looked so smart. She was smart, but when she was staring at her computer like that, her thumbnail resting between her teeth, her reddish blond hair falling in front of her face, and her serious button-down starting to get a wrinkle along her back, she looked like the kind of person who would be smart. Like the kind of person you could ask for advice and she would recite different historical ideas about your question before getting around to her own answers.

      The kind of intelligence that wowed. And, if he were being honest, was a little scary.

      But a little over a year ago, when the company was moving into the building they were in now, Marsie had come into work early and found him swearing in her office. She’d asked for a bookshelf that was supposed to have been in her office when she’d moved in—but the design company had messed that up, along with a million other things. He’d come in early to put together a temporary bookshelf for her until the one she was supposed to have was off back order. And he’d tried to come in early enough so he wouldn’t disturb her while she was working.

      He’d heard she was unpleasant—brisk had been the nicest way someone had put it—and coming in early had not only seemed considerate, but it might also save him from having to deal with her complaints. So when she’d cleared her throat, he’d thought, Oh, shit.

      “Thanks for the bookshelf. I don’t want to get in your way, so I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”

      Her tone had been brisk, maybe even cold. But the offer had been nice, so he’d said yes while wondering where she was going to get it, since the cafeteria downstairs didn’t open for another hour. Amazingly, she’d returned with a cup of coffee for each of them and a sack of warm muffins.