Free The Book of Jane by Anne Dayton Page A

in my head. Despite the warm night air, a chill runs down my spine.
    â€œWhat are you saying?” I ask, mouth gaping in shock.
    â€œYou’re great. But I just don’t think it’s going to work out for us,” he says, looking down.
    â€œWhat?!” I nearly yell, stunned. “You don’t want to marry me?” This has to be some kind of cruel joke.
    â€œI wish I could,” he says, pushing the stubborn lock of hair back behind his ear again. It is time for him to get it cut. I make a mental note to mention that later on. How would he ever remember things like that without me? He’s always so wrapped up in his writing he forgets about practical things. “But I just don’t think we’re right for each other.”
    â€œWhy not?” I ask. “We’re perfect for each other. Everybody says so.”
    â€œNo, we’re not,” he says. “Jane, you’re beautiful, and talented, and successful, and funny. But—” He breaks off. “We just don’t stand a chance for long-term happiness.”
    I can’t even bring myself to say anything. I wait, openmouthed, for him to go on.
    â€œYou’re so wrapped up in your career, and—”
    â€œThis is about my job?” I swallow hard. I will not cry.
    â€œNo, it’s not just about your job,” he says slowly. “It’s about your way of life. It’s about—”
    â€œI can quit,” I say. “Who cares about stupid old Matt Sherwin anyway? Someone else can deal with him, and—”
    â€œJane, you’re not listening. It’s this whole life,” he says, gesturing around. A bus honks, and I turn around to see a man peeing on a tree behind us. The deep rumble of the subway below us sounds like the earth is grumbling. The thick hot evening air, which only moments before felt full of promise, now just feels oppressive. “I can write anywhere, and now that the book is going so well, I am seriously thinking about settling down, and—”
    â€œWith me,” I say, gasping for air. “You’re supposed to settle down with me.” This can’t be happening. “I can work fewer hours. I’ll cut back.”
    â€œIt’s not just hours, Jane. It’s—I want something else entirely. I want a nice quiet life somewhere where I can just write all day, and where it doesn’t cost a fortune to rent a tiny apartment just to live in squalor, and where life moves slower, and…Jane, I want a family. I want kids, lots of them, and a wife who wants to take care of them—”
    â€œI’d take care of our children!” I say, enraged. I bite my lip. I will not cry. I will not cry, but my nose begins to sting as I try to fight the tears back. This can’t be happening.
    â€œJane.” He looks into my eyes. “Would you really give this all up?” he asks.
    I look around slowly. The soft music from a radio fills the park with a low mellifluous sound. I look down Broadway. I can just barely see the sign for the Strand, my favorite bookstore in the world. And a few blocks below it is my church. Our church. I think about all that it has meant to me, keeping me grounded in the big city. I look uptown. The soft glow of the lights of the skyscrapers fills the streets with a cheerful radiance.
    I worked so hard to get to where I am. And the campaign with World Aid is going so well, and I am really starting to feel like I’m doing something that matters. Could I really just quit?
    I look up at Ty. He’s looking straight ahead, staring at nothing, his deliciously handsome profile still. He’s everything I’ve always wanted. The subway rumbles beneath us again, and this time I smile.
    I love this city. New York is my home. I’m living the life I’ve always wanted, that I worked so hard for. The city is a hard place to live, but we’re called to be in the world. I have always felt like