“Like what?”
“Accounting for startup companies?” he muses. “Or a smaller bank branch? Anything to get you away from that asshole.”
“What asshole?” Josh, my brother who also happens to be Everett’s best friend, joins us with a veggie platter balanced in his hands. A loud crunch rattles the air as he bites into a fresh carrot.
“My boss,” I answer.
Josh sets down the platter on a nearby table and pulls a fresh beer from one of the coolers by our feet. “I’ve been telling you, you need to quit.”
“I know, I know,” I reluctantly agree. “I guess I’ll start fine-tuning my résumé.” And get over the dread that comes along with interviews and rejections and more interviews.
“A friend of mine works for a nonprofit company,” Josh tells me, a trail of hope following his tidbit of information. “I think he mentioned they offer community resources or something like that, and they have a finance department that’s growing. I can set up a meeting with him if you want.”
“Hmm,” I hum with a nod. It’s a tempting offer. And a change I don’t know if I’m ready for. A burst of pros and cons list off in my brain. While quitting my job sounds like a dream at this point, I’m not sure if I’m ready to quit. I like the work I do, and I get along with my coworkers. Benefits are pretty decent, like a ten percent match with the company 401k and other retirement fund options that could set me up for my later years. But then I’d be stuck under the wing of a boss I hate. Unless he quits or happens to fall into some heavy machinery on the way to work. Idon’t know how to explain all of this to my brother or Everett, or if they’d even understand, so I simply say, “I’ve already put a lot into this company. I’m just paying my dues.”
“Those dues seem a bit hefty,” Everett says.
My brow shoots up in agreement, and I offer silence with a long pull of the cool beer in my hand. While both of their offers remain a fickle thought in my head, I don’t respond with anything more than silence and my still-hesitant answer. So, when my form of a non-answer comes with my fingers picking at the label on my beer bottle, they both thankfully take it as an opportunity to change the subject.
“Well,” Everett adds. “You’re still young, and it’s not like you have a family. I guess it’s good to see where this goes while you can.”
Josh scoffs. “You don’t need to worry about that for alongtime.”
I turn to him, a little insulted by his sarcasm. “What does that mean?”
“Why are you offended? It’s not like you plan on settling down anytime soon,” he argues.
“You don’t know that.” Actually it seems he does. Right on the nose in fact. The dubious look on his face matches the lack of conviction in my voice.
“Are you seeing someone?” Not really an inquiry of my personal life but rather a question to prove his point.
My eyes immediately scan the pool, catching a passing glimpse of emerald flitting in the water. “No.”
He pokes his hand in my direction, a silent gesture saying “I told ya so” while adding, “Like I’ve said before. Never settling down.”
What was it? Gang up on Andrew week? Was my birthday week a universal reminder to poke fun of the fact that I’m single, and I’m destined to die alone as well? And when didevery person I know form this opinion of me? I never thought I gave off this picky, commitment-phobe energy when it came to my dating life. I thought I was more easygoing than that. While those thoughts ruminate in my head, it shows on my face. A twist and turn of confusion and uncertainty.
“Come on,” my brother argues, obviously catching on to my unsettled discomfort. “What was it that you said about the last girl you dated? That her preference for chicken strips and french fries over actual adult food is why you broke it off?”
“Dated” wasn’t really accurate. It was actually an acquaintance—friend being too strong of a word—I knew from my part-time job at Yogurtland when I was seventeen. I ran into her in line at the grocery store checkout and thought it would be fun to catch up. I guess it was a date? Or chatting it up with a hometown friend? Something to ease the sting of realizing I really didn’t stray too far from home after graduating high school. But after a second dinner when I realized she ordered chicken strips for the second time in a row, and she boldly stated that she never thought she’d date a guy she knew when she was a teenager, contemplating all the time wasted finding someone when I was here all along, I stopped talking to her.
“What grown adult or anyone over the age of twelve doesn’t even try shrimp tacos?” I ask in my defense. Though it feels out of place when I didn’t categorize the interaction as a date to begin with.
“Or scallops,” Josh adds with a smirk.
“Exactly.” I pause, finishing the rest of my beer before adding, “Plus, that was over a year ago. What’s your point?”
“Just that you have to be a little open-minded to meet someone. That’s what a relationship is. Compromise and be a little vulnerable.”
The thought of it nearly raises the hairs on my neck. I’ve never been open and vulnerable with anyone. Compromise iseasy, practical. Letting someone in, that’s scary. Maybe the commitment issues everyone has branded on me are a little accurate. I’ve been using my deviant standards as a shield to avoid a real relationship based on actual feelings. And I don’t know which scares me more—that or realizing how vulnerability and commitment go hand in hand.
The hot air suddenly feels unbearable. The beer in my hand was helping alleviate some of the stifling heat, but I need something stronger, more effective. I set my drink down and walk to the edge of the water, whipping my shirt over my head. I catch the attention of Grace while she wades in the shallow end, and I wonder how easy compromise would be with her. How simple and effortless it’s already been so far. How whenever I push, all she’s done is shove, and I let her win without a second thought because I never want to say no to her. And being vulnerable? Well, she’s already peeled back the corners with barely any effort. Maybe it isn’t as hard as I make it out to be. Especially when it comes to Grace.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Grace
Under the Septemberheat of Southern California, I ask myself why my best friend chose one of the hottest days of the year to throw an outdoor party. Though, with her sparkling pool, I can hardly dispute a poolside barbecue. The second I walked into Teeny’s backyard, it seemed to call my name. Longing whispers chanting, “Grace! The water feels amazing! Jump in!” But after surrendering to a quick dip that did little to satisfy the mid-afternoon heat, I was pulled out by Teeny and Sadie for the usual birthday festivities. A cake was cut and a birthday song was sung. Even a few poorly played pop songs performed through the amp of a karaoke machine next to the lavish photobooth setup. But alas, the itinerary has led to the more relaxed portion of the party. With Sadie huddled over the photobooth with all of her friends and the hot grill now merely keeping the glowing coals warm, Teeny and I have returned to the pool with little forcing us out. And after a day of overexposure to the sun, it seems to be the perfect remedy.
