There’s another stretch of silence, and then: “You see Penny? She okay?” Jack asks Margie, and my heart turns over in my chest. So our argument was exactly what he was referring to.I’m just determined to do better next time.
“She’s great. Why wouldn’t she be? She’ll be here soon if you want to stick around.” The consummate actor, pretending I wasn’t bawling on her sofa the other night. I flinch. I love Margie and her protectiveness, but I don’t want him thinking he didn’t matter.
Jack nods, an abrupt, jerking motion. “Great. You’re right. Why wouldn’t she be okay?” He stands there for a moment in silence, as if he wants to say something more, before clapping his hands on his thighs. “I’ve got to get going.”
I bite at my nail, listening to him make his goodbyes, wishing I could pop out of the bedroom. To tell him that I’m willing to work on me, that Ihavebeen working on me, and that that really does make me different from Anna. That maybe I’m willing to forgive the things he said if he really is sorry. If he can convince me he didn’t mean it. But that’s not true, so I don’t.
Because he gave me a real deal-breaker.
Because he hurt me, and I’m scared.
Because he hasn’t indicated he even wants me back, anyway.
The door closing behind him does nothing to quell the tornado he’s whipped up inside me.
Margie’s apartment reminds me of a pocket gallery in the MoMA: big, modern, abstract art on the walls, a brass-and-glass coffee table, and bookcases. It’s nice, but I’ve never missed the cozy warmth of my apartment more.
I unblocked Jack on my phone a few days ago, but even still, there are no more calls and no messages from Demon. And that sucks. Because in spite of the shitty things he said, I miss him. I miss everything about him.
Margie looks up from her book. She’s pointed out that I do a lot of sighing lately. “What’s going on?” she asks. “Lay it on me.”
“Nothing.” I sigh. “Just psychoanalyzing myself. Continuation of therapy.”
“Always fun. What’d you come up with? Hope it’s Freudian. What a perv.”
I lean back in the armchair and play with my phone. “I’m realizing I looked for deal-breakers with guys because my mom has drummed it into my head that being left by a man is the worst thing that can ever happen.”
Margie laughs. “Of course that’s not true. There’s tons of worse things in the world. But really, I think your problem just boils down to a fear of…love.”
“You fucking convert. Everything islovewith you now. You said Avery’s problem was that he was in love with the idea of being in love.”
Margie sets her book down. “I’m serious.”
“He didn’t agree.”
“I’m talking about you.”
I swallow and pointedly go back to scrolling on my phone. But the thought nags.
Fear of love? I haven’t put myself out there, really…ever. Every relationship was like something I put up on the mantel of my life, to be replaced whenever my fancies changed. An ornament, like the seasonal decorations in my apartment. I never had to invest too much of me—my feelings, my real personality, my boat-rocking potential—so, as a result, letting go or breaking up early were easy enough ways to protect myself. I never felt the urge to empty a drawer for someone, to make space for another person in my refuge. The fallout of a breakup has never been more complex than tossing his toothbrush in the trash. If you don’t love, you can’t get betrayed. You never have to experience things getting difficult and watching someone choose to leave instead of working through things with you.
Jack is not like the others. I know that now. For one, that Pirate Duke–looking douche scares me and thrills me more than anyone I’ve ever met. And my deal-breaker with him was based on a phantom equivalence, my own fears, and some thoughtless words from him spoken in anger. He’s seen the real me now and likes me anyway. He challenges me, makes me laugh… But love?
“You’re the worst,” I say.
Margie just snorts and continues reading.
I draft half a dozen texts to Jack but can’t make myself send a single one. They all feel so…weak. What the hell do you say?What I’m feeling for you was sorta on track to enter L-word territory, and I was worried you’d turn out to be like my dad, and you saying all that mean shit felt like a deal-breaker, but if you’re sorry, maybe…
I rub at the ache in my chest and look at my incoming call. “Hello?” I answer.
“Hi, Penny. Hope you’ve enjoyed your well-deserved vacation.” Rochelle sounds like she’s on speaker, and the tone of her voice tells me she has an audience.
Vacation. Huh. “Uh, yeah. Good times. What’s up, Rochelle?”
“What’s up is some fun Friday news! I’m thrilled to advise that HR has approved a promotion! We’re getting you up to a director level. And it comes with a twenty-five percent bump in salary—retroactive to last month!”
I sit back in my chair, absorbing the words with no little shock.
