His brown gaze is so tormented when it lifts it hurts my heart. “You’ve talked to your sister?”
I raise a shoulder in confirmation. There’s a tricky line between help and interference, and I don’t want to betray Lily’s confidence.
Alec drags a hand over his face. “How am I? Hmm. I’m frustrated. I don’t know where her head’s at. I don’t know what she wants. I don’t know if I’m supposed to bring home adoption papers or the name of a different doctor…”
“What do you want?” I ask, repeating his question back to him.
He exhales. “I want to have a family. I want my wife to know she is my family, even if it’s only ever meant to be the two of us. I want to give her a million babies, if that’s what she wants, however I can…”
Alec looks at me helplessly.
I place my palms on either side of my cold, damp plastic cup and roll it between my palms, watching the green straw move back and forth as I imagine dancing toward the line of interference without actually crossing it.
“Have you told her any of this? Does she know how you feel?”
He blinks at me. “She knows I love her.”
Oh, men. So sweet. So clueless.
“I’m sure she does,” I say with a reassuring smile. “But does she know that she’s enough for you? You know how Lily is. She’s never failed at anything in her life. I wonder if she’s not feeling a little lost knowing that she might not be meant to bear children naturally. I wonder if she doesn’t just need to know that you’re there.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I should cut back on the travel is what you’re saying.”
I smile, and Alec nods. Point taken. He gestures toward my drink. “Can I have some more of that?”
I shove it toward him, and he takes a long sip, winces, studies the cup. Then takes another sip. “Yes. Yes, I do like this. Now, back to you. Do you want to run Bubbles for the rest of your life? Because if that’s what you want, I’ll help however I can. The numbers don’t tell a great story, but it’s possible this is just a bad chapter.”
I look down at my thumbnails, at the chipped pink polish I probably should have removed three days ago.
“I know what I don’t want,” I say, still not looking up.
“That’s a start. Let’s hear it.”
“I don’t want to break my promise to Dad. I don’t want to disappoint Lily and Caleb.”
“And that’s enough for you?”
He asks it gently, curiously, but I can’t bring myself to answer, not out loud. I don’t want to answer.
But somewhere deep inside me, the answer whispers anyway. No. That’s not good enough. I want to be brave enough to go after what my heart wants.
I want to be bold. Daring.
Happy.
I take a deep breath, both exhilarated and terrified when I realize what I have to do.
To Sir, out on a shaky limb,
I apologize for the radio silence. I’ve been sorting through some of the messier bits of being human as of late. Do you ever ask yourself the big questions and realize you don’t have a clear answer? What sort of person do I want to be? What sort of life do I want to have? With whom do I want to live that life?
I know I’m a kind person, or at least I try to be, but I’m also realizing I’m bit of a chicken in a lot of ways. More obsessed with the dream than doing the work to make the dream a reality.
I live a good life—I do. But I’m learning it’s a life lived largely for the people around me, to support their expectations, to never rock the boat, to never let anyone down. I feel trapped, but how does one find that balance—to be true to oneself without being selfish?
The one area I’ve always thought I was in control of, the one area lived for me, by my standards, is my personal, romantic life. And I know I’m overstepping our usual topics of conversation, but I feel I’ve misstepped here as well. I’m alone, and on some level, I’ve always known that’s of my own making, but now I can’t help but wonder if there are opportunities missed, chances lost, connections I never let happen.
I’m rambling now. This is the longest message I’ve ever sent, by far, and I apologize if I’m destroying what we have, moving us from pithy quips to something altogether a bit more maudlin. Especially since I haven’t shared this with anyone in my “real” life, which I guess leads me to this:
Life feels most real when I’m writing to you, when I see your screen name in my in-box. I don’t know your name. Your face. Your age. But I have the sense I know you. And that you know me too, in a way perhaps nobody else does.
So if nothing else, even if I’ve scared you away, I want you to know that when I’m old and withered, saggy and gray, I will look back on these days, and you, my friend, will be a bright spot.
Lady
* * *
My dear Lady,
I’m not quite sure where to begin. I suppose, most obviously, you haven’t scared me away. You haven’t ruined things. I’m here. And perhaps now it’s me who’s making things weird, but I have a hard time imagining a version of my life where I won’t be here for you, however you need me.
You’re real to me too. You’re important to me.
I’m honored to be your confidant. Everything you’re saying is valuable, and I mean this when I say: relatable.
I mentioned recently that I ended a relationship. The truth is that relationship had run its course long ago, but I’d stayed in it for the sake of someone else. In that way, I suppose leaving the relationship was selfish, and I know I left disappointment in the wake of that breakup. But I also know that we get only so many trips around the sun. Having “met” you, I know that on as many of those days as possible, I want to feel the way I feel when I see your screen name in my in-box.
Yours in have I ruined this?
Sir
* * *
To Sir, with an aching throat,
You’ve ruined nothing. Indeed, you’ve only made whatever we have a bit more lovely. And it’s here that I take the biggest risk of all:
Would you like to meet?
Lady
Sixteen
He doesn’t write back. Not that day. Not the next.
Three days later, I still haven’t heard from Sir.
I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. I tell myself over and over that a person I don’t even know shouldn’t have that much power over my happiness.
But I meant what I said in my last message. I do know him. It’s silly, it’s romantic, it’s maybe straight-up nuts, but I know in the depths of my heart that I’ve shared parts of myself with him that I’ve never shared with anyone. And I thought it had been the same for him.
I thought there was something special, but maybe…
Maybe what made it feel so special was the illusion of it all. To Robyn’s point at girls’ night, maybe I really am just clinging to the fantasy of him so I won’t have to deal with the fact that life is disappointing more often than not.
But none of this makes his rejection easier to take.
A little after eight, a week after my Starbucks meeting with Alec, he opens the front door to his and Lily’s apartment to let me in. “Hey,” he says, pecking my cheek. “Come on in. Lil’s just putting some snacks together.”