“And you need to stop using control-alt-delete on a Mac. That’s not how this works.”
“Okay, okay,” she laughs, holding up her hands. Then she sobers. “But seriously. You’ve broken things off with him but you’re still hanging out with him, and you’re not moving toward him either? Help me understand.”
I pause, fingers still. “Because every time we hang out,” I say carefully, “I don’t feel pulled closer. I feel clearer."
I know I sound incredibly selfish. I know I sound ungrateful for a man who is willing to be everything Nyles is to me. Part of me was hoping that if I spent enough time with him, something would eventually spark. But it hasn’t. Now, I’m starting to feel like one of those guys who keeps a woman hanging on with the "let's just see where things go" excuse, knowing full well I’m never going to get there.
I let out a breath. "I know I'm a thug, but I do want love someday. Sometimes I feel like my heart is just collecting evidence—reasons why I should finally open up—and none of them have ever pointed to Nyles. We’re just better as friends. I've known that for a while, now.”
She studies me for a beat, then nods slowly. “Yeah. I think I get that. What made it clear to you? That Nyles isn’t it for you.”
I pick up my coffee and sit on the edge of her desk. “Every time I’m with him, I feel like I’m splitting myself in half. He’s polished, disciplined, perfectly put together, but he never wants to let his guard down and just…be. Not outside his home at least. And I can’t keep shrinking myself to match his expectations.”
She tilts her head, studying me, not arguing…but definitely not convinced.
“Timantha, when we get together with the book club girls, we don’t just talk about books. We act a fool. We let our hair down. We smoke. We talk about fine men with big penises—”
“So you’re saying you can’t be with Nyles because he won’t smoke a blunt with you and let you talk smack around him?” she teases.
“No. But, also yes.” I laugh, then my tone shifts. “I want a man I can be my whole self with all the time. I want spontaneity.”
She cuts in, one eyebrow lifting. “I think you’re confusing spontaneity with adrenaline. You haven’t done anything spontaneous since you bought those tickets to that Canadian romance conference. Be real, Max. You don’t know how to sit still. Your body doesn’t know how to receive calm.”
“Shut up. We’re not talking about me,” I snap. “We’re talking about Nyles.”
Talking about Nyles, but my mind keeps drifting to the man in the profile.
She snorts. “Okay. Continue, Ms. Avoidant.”
My phone dings, and I glance down to see a text from my mother.
“Everything good?” Timantha asks.
“Yeah,” I say, already firing off a quick reply. “My mom needs to get her eyes checked. My sister was supposed to take her and now she’s suddenly unavailable.”
“And let me guess,” Timantha says, unimpressed. “You’re about to pick up the slack for Justine. Again.”
“I’m actually going to see if I can arrange some help for my mom in case I can’t make it either.”
My younger sister and I are ten years apart. She was one of those surprise babies women have after being told pregnancy is no longer an option. And if anyone had dared to call my mother’spregnancy “geriatric,” she would’ve launched a bat at their head. Justine was her miracle. Her blessing. We all treated her that way.
But when my father passed and my mom’s health started slipping, Justine suddenly became inconvenienced. Always busy. Always somewhere else.
We raised her with love. Made space for her. Protected her. Me and Justine have seen our mother bad-ass and boss her way through the unthinkable. Yet, this ungrateful heifer can never seem to show up when our mother needs her.
Timantha gives me a look. “See? I know that’s your mother, but you constantly make it very easy for your sister to take advantage of you.”
I take a slow breath. “I know, Tim. And I fully intend to talk to my sister about it. Just…can we let me avoid that conversation for the time being, too?”
She throws her hands up. “Sorry. Yes. Please continue explaining why you refuse to let yourself fall in love with that fine-ass Black man who lives in your building.”
“Thank you,” I go on, “I’m just saying, all these romance novels show the sunshine woman trying to soften the grumpy man, but what about her? My favorite part is when the beast falls for the beauty exactly as she is. Quirks and all.”
“And you’re saying you didn’t feel like Nyles would accept all your quirks and flaws?”
I shake my head. “Even though he’s the nicest man I’ve met in a long time, I think he’d try to smooth me out the first chance he got. Not maliciously. Not on purpose. Nyles just likes his world neat and tidy…even if keeping it that way means shrinking me to fit.”
“I get that,” she says softly. “And, let’s be real, there is nothing neat and tidy about your little self.”
