“It worked out okay,” I say, reaching out to touch his chest, somehow needing to not let go of whatever is tactile between us. He nods and nuzzles into me, seeming to have had the same exact thought.
After another few minutes of just breathing together, he finally pulls back. “So, what happens now?” he says.
“Well, I told Celia and Donna I’d go for a drink with them once they were done with the day.”
He shakes his head. “Much as I do want to trap you in this room for the remainder of your time in London,” he says, miming a small bite to my shoulder before pulling back, “I meant ... what happens now with you and me?”
His voice is casual, but his eyes are full of questions. This is the part that writing never could top (along with, obviously, the sex andnakedness). He’s not a person who can be fully viewed without all the shades and layers on top of his words. He’snervous. Even after all this, after everything we’ve said, he’s still waiting for a confirmation. On the surface, Eli would strike anyone as someone you’d have to be careful getting involved with. But below, it’s clear that I’m going to have to be careful forhim.
“Whatever it is, we’ll make it work,” I say calmly, taking his hand in mind, tangling us together. “You’ll be here for however long you need, and I’ll be in New York, and we’ll talk and it’ll be fine.”
“That’s it?” he says skeptically. “You’re just fine with someone far away and distracted and probably stressed out? You don’t think that’s overly optimistic?”
I kiss the tip of his nose. “You love every version of me, yeah?” I ask, and I love seeing the way he blushes all the way from his cheeks to his chest. I love getting this vantage point.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
“Okay, well I feel the same way. I loved you when I only got to talk to you once a week in different time zones through a work document. I think we can make London to New York work with texting, video calls, and regular phone calls. We’ll talk it through, and we’ll make it work.”
“What about sexting?” he says with a smirk, nibbling on my earlobe again and making me sigh.
“Yeah, I think that can be arranged too,” I say, as he rolls back on top of me and fully ends the conversation.
I stumble out of the hotel a few hours later to meet Donna and Celia for drinks. I don’t think either I or Eli wanted to leave our little single-room sanctuary, but he needed to get back to his mom and I didn’t want to cancel on the people who are the reason I’m on this trip in the first place. We make a plan to meet back up at the hotel after we’re both done, and it already isn’t soon enough.
But I’m also looking forward to seeing Donna and Celia again. It was invigorating to watch them work this morning. I’m really grateful to be a small piece of their success.
I spot them when I arrive, already nestled at a table in the sleek bar where we’d agreed to meet up. We all order a round of drinks and convivially chat about everything and nothing.
When the drinks are set on the table, Celia raises her glass. “To you, Nora,” she says, and we all cheers. “I’m so happy you came out for the event yesterday. It was really special to introduce you to everyone and get to show you around.”
“Aw, thanks, Celia,” I say, touched. “It’s been a real pleasure to get to see you both in action.”
“I’m so glad you feel that way,” Donna says, leaning forward. “Because actually, one of the reasons we wanted to take you out tonight is that I have a proposition for you. We’re leaning heavily into adding additional forms of storytelling, and we want to start doing more podcasting that complements the pieces we already have. We’d really love for you to do more with us. We want you to not only have your column but also do weekly call-ins and advice podcasting. And then that in turn can become more content through transcripts and social posts. It wouldn’t be anonymous in the way that your column is, but I think this is a huge opportunity to grow your brand and really expand what you’re doing. What do you think?”
I’m completely thrown off. They’re both looking at me so expectantly, as though they’ve just given me a huge present and they expect me to jump up with excitement. And of course, because I’m me, I can’t say something disappointing.
“That’s really a very cool idea,” I reply, trying to say anything while the thought swirls in my mind.
“Oh, I’msoglad you think so!” Celia says, clapping her hands together. “When Donna mentioned it to me, I thought it was brilliant. So here’s how it would work ...”
I hear her launching into logistics and ideas. They all do sound like great concepts. If the column is doing well, whynotexpand it? Whynotmake the personality jump off the page with a real person? Whynotcreate a live space for that kind comments section to come to life?
But all I feel while listening to them is the unique growing sense in my gut that this is just not for me. I love my life as it is. I love working with people one on one and seeing them grow and improve. I love my simple predictable schedule. My column is amazing, and I can’t imagine my week without it. But it’s a side project. It’s the supplement to my work, not the piece I’m hoping to grow larger.
I expect the anxiety to set in—that specific people-pleasing fear of how to possibly make the people around you happy, even though your wants are diametrically opposed to theirs.
But for some reason, today I don’t feel it. For some reason, this doesn’t feel as hard for me as I suspect it would’ve at another time. All I can think of is Eli nudging me, telling me tonever surrender, even though this time it’s not accidentally advice against himself. I think of Tom calmly telling my mother no. And I think of myself, taking Ari’s advice and making the kind of unimaginable leaps toward my own happiness I couldn’t have fathomed a few months ago.
I know what I need to say. And while I hate disappointing these fantastic women, I have to do what’s right for me.
“That’s such an incredible plan, ladies,” I say, steeling myself. “But I just don’t have the bandwidth for that. I don’t want to have to compromise for my patients. My schedule is quite full the way that it is, and if I was going to do this with you I wouldn’t want to only be partially in. I really hope we can keep the column, because I adore doing it. And I of course wouldn’t mind if you had another therapist doing the podcast and relating it back in some way—because it definitely could be a really great resource for people. I just don’t think I’m the right person to execute it right now.”
I can see the way they both deflate a little bit. I can’t pretend that there isn’t a small piece of me that wants to shout,Just kidding! I’lldo it!But they’re both incredibly gracious. They wave it off, and the night keeps going with ease. We chat about their work and their lives in London. They get my advice for where to go on their next jaunts to New York. I learn all about Donna’s kids and what it’s been like since the last one left the house for university.
The night is easy, and I squeeze them both extra tight when we leave a few hours later.
I walk back to my hotel, the mildly crisp air of a London summer evening glowing along with the lamps that dot the street. When I get back, I crawl into bed with my book.
