But now that the tiered tray of teatime delights was coming her way, Teddy realized it seemed unlikely that two people who weren’t good friends would (a) let her live with them, (b) invite her to hang out with them constantly, and (c) devote their limited free time to helping her sort out her directionless life.
Teddy was starting to realize that, in this and many other areas, Richard might have been wrong.
As soon as they ordered, Eleanor pulled out her planner.
“I can’t believe you went to Jazzercise,” Kirsten said. “Look at you, taking the bull by the horns.”
Teddy shrugged. “What can I say? The spirit moved me. And then the up-tempo beat of the Jazzercise soundtrack moved me. Josie is in good shape for someone in her seventies, by the way. I couldn’t keep up with her—she was grapevining and lunging all over the place.”
Eleanor clicked her pen. “Okay, so obviously you’ve been doing great with finding things that scare you, and Teddy Time allows for spontaneity. But a list helps.”
“‘A List Helps: The Eleanor Cho Story,’” Kirsten said.
Eleanor waved her pen. “Stop it, you. I make lesson plans for five-year-olds. Don’t mock my organizational skills.”
Teddy smiled.
Eleanor turned her chair to face Teddy. “Writing things down makes them real, and it makes your plans more likely to actually happen.”
“Like a bucket list!” Kirsten said. “Except that you’re not dying. Well, presumably not soon, anyway.”
Eleanor opened up her notebook and the three of them started to list things Teddy could do. Some of them were things that she didn’t want to do, but knew she needed to, like go to a restaurant by herself, without the security blanket of Richard or a friend. Have a real conversation with her sister for maybe the first time since before her bike accident.
Kirsten started saying things, and Eleanor started writing them down before Teddy could process them. Teddy heard her mention karaoke and wrinkled her nose but didn’t have time to object before they’d moved on to Teddy taking a sewing class with Eleanor.
“Go on a date,” Eleanor said as she wrote. Then she specified, “A non-Richard date.”
“What if I don’t want to go on a date?” Teddy asked, and then silently asked, What if I’d rather sit in my room and read emails from a man I don’t know?
“But does it scare you?” Eleanor pointed her pen at Teddy.
“Yes,” Teddy admitted.
“Onto the list it goes!” Eleanor said. “Remember, this is simply a list of options. Who knows how long you’ll want to keep doing this before you decide you don’t need it? Eventually, you won’t be afraid of things anymore.”
“I don’t know,” Teddy said, taking a sip. “I can’t imagine I’ll ever be fearless.”
For a moment, she saw herself on her tiny bike, felt that wind in her hair. Hell on wheels. “Can we add ‘ride a bike’?” Teddy asked.
Eleanor stopped writing. “It’s your list! We can add anything you want. But are you really scared of bicycles?”
“A relatively nonthreatening mode of transportation,” Kirsten said.
Teddy nodded. “I had . . . an accident once. When I was a kid. I broke my arm and I never got on one again.”
“All right!” Eleanor said. “Riding a bike it is!”
They added more things to the list until it took up two pages. Two entire pages of things Teddy could do to change her life, fix her problems, find her passion.
“This is really scary,” Teddy said, clutching her tiny teacup with both hands.
“That’s how you know it’s the right thing to do,” Kirsten said as the servers brought out their scones and finger sandwiches.
Teddy’s phone buzzed, and her tea sloshed out of the cup when she saw Richard’s name on her screen. At first, she felt that familiar comfort/panic she always felt when he texted her—the sense that whatever he said would be a clear directive, but also the knowledge that she’d have to drop whatever she was doing to make it happen.
But this time, she thought about Everett’s latest email and how he called Richard her shitty ex-boyfriend. He kind of was, wasn’t he?
Her mouth went dry and she had to take a sip of oolong before she could whisper, “I came up with another item for my list. I think I want to tell Richard no.”
“Gimme, gimme, gimme,” Eleanor said, making grabby hands across the table. Teddy handed her the phone and Eleanor read the text out loud. “‘Hey, babe. Wondered if you wanted to come over tonight? Miss you.’”
“‘Babe’?!” Kirsten said, offended.
“It’s only ‘babe,’” Teddy muttered. “It’s not like he called me the c-word or something.”
Eleanor sputtered and almost spit out her tea sandwich. “I mean, yeah, okay, but that’s a pretty low standard.”
“Richard having the gall to refer to you as babe is too much, and I will not stand for it,” Kirsten said, raising her voice. “He might as well be calling you the c-word.”
Someone loudly coughed, and the three of them looked at the next table, where a father sat with a small boy and girl, the three of them wearing crowns and enjoying the restaurant’s princess-prince tea. The little boy took a drink of his chocolate milk.
“Sorry,” Kirsten said, inexplicably doing a half bow at the table. But then, to the girls, she muttered, “That dude needs to chill. It’s not like I actually said the c-word. Listen, we know Richard never liked us.”
“That’s not true! He . . . he liked you guys,” Teddy tried to protest, but her voice trailed off and she wasn’t very convincing.
Kirsten spoke more quietly, chastened by the table next to them. “Come on, Teddy. He kept you isolated in that town house. It was weird, right?”
Teddy sighed. “I know it’s easy to blame Richard for everything. But I kept myself isolated, too, you know. It was easier.”
Kirsten gave Teddy a serious look. “Listen, I know this might be hard to hear, but do you think you were Richard’s girlfriend, or do you think you were his unpaid personal assistant?”
Teddy sat back in her chair. Kirsten was right—this was hard to hear. She thought about all the meals she’d cooked, the floors she’d vacuumed, the bathrooms she’d cleaned. The appointments she’d scheduled, the moods she’d managed, the exams she’d helped him study for.
“When you put it that way . . . I guess unpaid personal assistant,” she said, defeated.