The End Specialist. Drew Magary

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      “But you could commit to me if you hadn’t taken the cure? That makes no sense.”

      “Yes, it does. I could commit to you if we knew our lives were finite. But they aren’t. I have no earthly idea what’s coming next, and it’s not fair to you to promise that from now until the end of time I’ll always be by your side. I can’t promise that, because I don’t know. And you can’t promise that either, because you don’t know.”

      “But that’s what marriage is. It’s two people saying we don’t know what’s going to happen, but we promise we’ll get through it together. Being married means there’s one thing you can always count on.”

      “I don’t know if I want that. I’m sorry. People got married before because they knew, deep down, that there would come a time in their lives when they would become too old, too ugly and too infirm to have anyone care about them except their spouse. You needed someone to change your bedpan in the hospital and help tie your shoes and all of that. That’s all gone now, Sonia. All of that fear is gone. And whatever urge there is for people to find some lifetime companion… I don’t have that anymore. Every guy I know feels the same way. You want something concrete from me? I love you, but I don’t want to get married, and I don’t know if I ever do. I’m pretty sure I won’t.”

      Her eyes tightened, like she was about to swing at a baseball. “I’m pregnant.”

      “What?”

      “I’m pregnant.”

      “How long?”

      “Ten weeks. I just found out this morning.”

      “You spring this on me now?”

      “I’m not afraid to raise our child alone, John. I’m not. I’m a strong woman and I know I can do that. But I’d like you to be there. I’d like to raise him with you as your wife. It wouldn’t be a chore. It would be wonderful. Indelible. It would be fifty times more rewarding than spending the next three decades getting blasted and watching football with your friends or whatever.”

      “I don’t know. I like football quite a bit.”

      “Don’t be a wiseass. Not now.”

      “I’m not being a wiseass. This is just… more seriousness than I want. This is more responsibility than I want.”

      “Don’t you think it’s time you grew up?”

      “No. See, that’s what I dislike. I dislike that, just because I reach a certain age, I’m supposed to hunker down and stop enjoying my life. That I’m supposed to leave all the fun for the younger generation. I’m not buying into that anymore, and no one I know is. This is liberation, Sonia. Honestly, why have this child now? Don’t you want to enjoy your life a little bit more before you weigh yourself down with all this?”

      “It’s not a weight. It’s something I want. I’m not having this child as some sort of self-punishment. Just because I can have a child a hundred years from now doesn’t mean I want to wait that long. I’m still a woman. I still have the urge to be a mother, and to be a wife. I still have that drive. You’re telling me about liberation. I am free. I don’t have to worry about growing old and never finding a man, like every goddamn magazine used to tell me. I have the freedom now to marry whom I want when I want, and to have children when I want. And I want this child today, and I want to raise it with you. Not because I’m some wet blanket. But because I know life is going to be better with the three of us together. I want something in my life that means something. Don’t you see that? It’s not some invisible cultural force driving all this, John. It’s just me, telling you that I love you very much and want to be with you. You tell me that isn’t what you want. But is that really true? Are you really that scared you’ll miss out on partying and hooking up other women down the line? Why did you go out with me this long if that was what you really wanted?”

      “Because I love you.”

      “Then tell me how tomorrow will be any different.”

      I had no answer. Three weeks ago, I helped our firm devise a lucrative new type of prenuptial agreement between a banker and his fiancée. It’s a forty-year marriage. Set in stone. No divorcing allowed without significant penalties. The couple agrees to be together for forty years, with the marriage automatically dissolving at the end of that time period, and assets divided at a previously agreed-upon percentage. The couple could pick up an additional forty-year option at the end if they wished. My boss has even coined a new term for it: “cycle marriage”. He says it could help raise marriage rates back up to where they were a few years ago. The reason clients like it is because it precludes the acrimony that usually accompanies divorce. You’re less likely to claw at each other’s throats if you know there’s already an end set in place. A couple marries, raises a family, then goes their separate ways to enjoy single life once more after the children are grown and well adjusted. It’s a win-win situation, particularly if you’re the lawyer brokering the deal.

      “What about a cycle marriage?” I asked her.

      “That forty-year thing you do for asshole bankers? Are you being serious? That’s moronic.”

      “That’s all I can offer you.”

      She stood up and straightened her skirt. “So this is it. You really don’t want this?”

      “I don’t. There’s too much left in front of me. I love you. I really do. But I don’t have the certainty that you have. I’m not ready.”

      “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m sorry all this has changed your ability to love someone. I can’t stay here.” On went her jacket. “Will you help me raise him? Will you support us?”

      “I will. I promise you that I will be the best father I can be.”

      “Then I guess that’s the best I can hope for.”

      I watched her collect her things and move to the door. She turned to me. She wasn’t crying. But I could see the disappointment. She had plans for us. She had envisioned an entire life for us that she thought was going to become reality one day, and she was so very much looking forward to it all. She thought I would feel the same way. She felt assured of it. She believed in me. But now that she knew the truth, she saw me as a different man, one I don’t think she liked very much.

      “I’ll let you know when the first ultrasound is,” she said. “I’ll pack up my things when you’re at work this week.”

      “I’m sorry, Sonia. I’m sorry I failed you.”

      “Goodbye, John.”

      And she left.

      Date Modified: 10/31/2029, 5:33AM

      I Seek The Grail

      I have a friend who’s going to have a cure party next week in Las Vegas. He’s really doing it up, too. He booked a suite at the Fountain of Youth, so our trip is guaranteed to be either cheesy in a fascinating, outstanding way or cheesy in a horrible, soul-sucking way. There’s no in-between when you go to Vegas, particularly if you’re committed to staying at that monstrosity. Before the trip, my friend had a request.

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