He perks up. “Which reminds me! I’m going to take you there tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Hmm.”
“By the way,” he says, pointing at my phone, “someone tried to reach you while we were watching the episode. Who was it?”
I hesitate for a split second. “My ex, Mike.”
“The wannabe rock star? What does he want?”
“Just to talk.”
“About what?” He scoffs. “He dumped you, remember? He doesn’t deserve your time.”
I choose my words carefully. “I won’t give him more than an hour. I could meet him in a public place?—”
“Laura,” Antoine cuts me off.
His voice is sharp though not unkind. He pauses to choose his words, and while he’s working on it, I catch myself hoping he’ll tell me that I’m a married woman now. Madame Bellay.His wife.
“You’re too much of a yes person,” he finally says. “Quit that. You can’t please everyone, and nor should you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LAURA
Iopen my mouth to argue but then close it again. He’s right. Except for two or three acts of moderate rebellion, my entire life has been a yes. It’s my default setting.
Was I born that way? Did my parents raise me to be like this? I don’t know. But the idea of upsetting someone, be it a loved one or a colleague at work that I don’t even like, is simply unbearable to me. I’m aware of that. Denise has been telling me to get a grip for years. And Aunt Mei always says I should be more selfish—except when she wants me to do something for her.
I slump in my seat. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Glad to see you recognize the problem,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’s the first step to recovery.”
“Not sure a recovery is possible in my case.”
He leans forward, his expression curious. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because of how out of control my affliction is.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Can you give me an example?”
The one that comes to mind makes me look away, feeling a little silly.
“Come on,” he insists. “Spit it out.”
True to form, I do.“OK. Here goes. Sometimes, when you use AI to research a topic, it gives you this perfect, well-documented answer with links and references.”
“Yes…” He narrows his eyes. “And?”
“When that happens, I always write a raving thank-you note back.”
Antoine’s face splits into a grin. “Seriously?”
“Wait, it gets worse,” I warn. “As I type the praise, I imagine the AI replying that it’s happy it could help, and I get all excited.”
