Bottled Up

30 | mary had a little fam

"When?"

"Tomorrow," Louise said. "First thing." She crossed her ankles. "I'll also need a list of the guests to let them know that the wedding's off."

Jack's face crumpled. To Louise's alarm, he spun to face the window, his shoulders stiff. His breath was making an odd rattling noise, and it took her a minute to realize what was happening: he was crying.

She blinked. Oh, god.

Shit.

Louise sprung to her feet. She fished around in her pockets for a tissue; she certainly wasn't the sort of person that carried around a cloth hanky, but she figured Jack might forgive her for ruining the environment, just this once.

She found a Pret napkin. Held it out.

"Here," Louise said. "Take this."

Jack didn't look at her as he took it, raising the napkin to his face. Louise pretended to study the view: dotted green trees, Gothic white spires, an elderly couple shuffling beneath a wrought-iron lamppost...

"I love her." Jack's voice sounded thick. "I know I've been a complete arsehole, but I love her. You believe me, don't you?"

"Does it matter?" Louise turned. "I don't mean to be a dick, but she wants kids."

She felt bad saying it, but, well — it needed to be said. Jack crumpled the napkin in his hand, then tipped it into a recycling bin.

"So do I," he said.

"You do?"

"Desperately," Jack said. "I want a whole truckload of them." His mouth curled in what could have been either a smile or a grimace. "But then Arabella told me she didn't want kids, and I've just always..." He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, I've made a career out of trying to save the earth, and children are pollutants. Overpopulation is one of the biggest contributors to global warming. You get that, right?"

Louise thought about this.

Fiddled with the macaroni bracelet around her wrist: a get-well-soon present from Hugh and Vienna when they'd visited her in the hospital.

"I get it," Louise said. "Hell, I even respect it. But you also only get one life, Jack." She turned to face him fully. "I'm not an expert on global warming, or the icebergs melting, or how many trees need to be cut down to make a book, but I've recently become an expert on kids. For some people, they make life worth living. What's the point of fighting to save the planet if you're not happy on it?"

Jack's brow furrowed. "My PR team will have a fit."

"So?" Louise asked. "You're not having kids with them."

He smiled. Just a little. "You're a bad influence, Louise Bentley."

"So I've been told."

They stood in silence for a moment, shoulder-to-shoulder, two figures silhouetted against the large windows. Jack's eyes were trained on the elderly couple, who were sitting on a park bench, staring up at the cathedral; the man's wrinkled hand was resting lightly on the woman's knee.

"Tell me how to win her back," Jack said. "Please."

Louise shrugged. "Just talk to her. Be honest."

"I'm not very good at talking." Jack's eyes were fixed on the window. "I've always been better with science than people. Better with numbers than feelings." His laugh was humourless. "I'm not even sure that I'd make a good father."

He was running a thumb idly over his phone screen, the way that a child might hug a safety blanket, and something about the gesture made Louise soften.