I nod slowly, knowing he’s probably right. “I only have four more classes to take, and I can graduate next Spring. I kind of just want to push through and get it over with.”
“What do you want to do after graduation?”
The question stumps me. “The original plan was to become a social worker,” I answer. I would make decent money, there would be job stability, and I would be able to make a true difference in people’s lives. It had everything I had been looking for when I originally enrolled in the program. “But now, I’m not sure.”
He studies me, his gaze steady but gentle, as though he’s considering how lightly to tread. “Why is that?” he asks, leaning closer.
I sigh, the words coming out before I can stop them. “It’s not that I don’t care about the field. It’s important work. But the closer I get to finishing, the more I wonder if it’s actually the right fit for me. It’s hard to explain.”
Henry watches me with a gentle intensity. It’s like he’s giving me space to figure it out without rushing me. “It’s okay not to have it all figured out,” he says, breaking the silence. “You’re still figuring out what you want, and you’re bound to change your mind.”
I nod silently, but uncertainty still hangs above me like adark cloud. “I guess I’ve been so focused on finishing what I started that I didn’t stop to think if it’s still what I actually want.”
Henry leans his head against his arm anchored on the table. He looks distant, almost like my words have triggered something else in him. He’s quiet for a moment before speaking. “You know, I was once in a similar position, trying to figure out if what I thought I wanted was what I really needed.”
My eyes snap to his, surprised by the shift in tone. “Really?” It was hard to imagine Henry as anything other than the put-together man in front of me.
He nods in response, his gaze unfocused, like he’s recalling a painful memory. “When I first started college, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew from a young age that I would be a writer, and I experienced a lot of success early in my career.”
I notice the way his voice trails off and now I find myself leaning in closer.
“But it turned out, the things I thought I wanted were influenced by other people.”
“An ex?” I ask, blurting out the first thing to pop into my head. Henry knew all about my complicated relationship, so I was eager to learn if he had a story to rival my own.
He lets out a short, rueful laugh—not the warm laugh I have come to love these past few weeks. “Am I that transparent?”
“Maybe,” I reply, noticing the edge in his tone. There’s more to the story, but I’m afraid to push him too far. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much.”
“It wasn’t just a relationship; it was more like I trusted someone. I put all of my faith in their version of my future. When it fell apart, they revealed their true colors, and I had to figure out how to stand on my own.”
I can taste the thickness of his words, heavy with unspoken details. “And did you figure it out?” I ask quietly.
He looks at me and his eyes soften. “Yeah. Eventually. But it wasn’t easy. I had to learn how to trust myself again, to listen to what I actually wanted, not just what someone else said I should want.”
I lean back in my chair, absorbing his words. I resonated with what he’s saying—feeling pulled in different directions by what others expect and what I truly need. I had been getting it wrong for most of my life.
“You’re not alone in that,” I offer, flashing him an understanding smile.
Henry returns my smile, and it feels like there’s an unspoken truce between us. We’re both just trying to navigate the wreckage of our past while finding some solid footing in the present. It gives me the courage to be honest with him and myself.
“Henry, I need to confess something. I—” Before I can continue, my phone buzzes on the table, interrupting my momentum.
I glance at the screen, and my heart sinks when I seeNanalight up in bold letters. I used to find comfort in seeing her name light up my screen, but now all I feel is a hard rock at the bottom of my stomach.
Henry must notice the shift in my expression because his brows lift slightly, a blend of curiosity and concern. Before he can say anything, I cut him off. “I should probably take this.” I swallow hard. “You can get going if you need to. Text me about this weekend if you want to do some more location scouting.”
Without another word, I grip my phone in my right hand and head toward the tiny office on the other side of the library. The ringing stops, but I know she’ll call right back. She knows I’ve been hesitant to pick up lately.
Just like clockwork, my phone starts buzzing again whenmy feet cross the threshold of the library’s shared office space. My chest tightens as I take a deep breath.
“Hey, Nana,” I answer, my voice purposefully neutral.
“Emma, sweetheart,” Nana begins. “I hope this isn’t a bad time. I know you’re working.”
“It’s fine,” I respond bluntly. “What is it?”
There’s silence on the other end like she’s trying to assess my mood through the phone. “I need to ask you for a favor.”
