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Foremailupdatesontheauthor,clickhereTheauthorandpublisherhaveprovidedthise-booktoyouforyourpersonaluseonly.Youmaynotmakethise-bookpubliclyavailableinanyway.Copyrightinfringementisagainstthelaw.Ifyoubelievethecopyofthise-bookyouarereadinginfringesontheauthor’scopyright,pleasenotifythepublisherat:us.macmillanusa.com/piracyFormyamazinghusband,PJ,whomakeseverydayValentine’sDayOne
SORA
Whydowetreatbeingsinglelikeadiseasethatneedsacure?#GoSolo.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Valentine’sDayhassnuckuponmelikeaporchpirate.
It’snotevenFebruaryyet,butmyinboxisfilledwithpromotionsforgourmetchocolate,personalizedchampagneflutes,andromanticweekendgetawaysfortwo.I’minmywarmbed,akamy“office,”asIscrollthroughemailonmyphone.I’llsithereuntilIcanworkuptheenergytocommutetomy“conferenceroom”—thekitchentable—formyfirstZoommeetingoftheday.Iscrollpastpinkhearts,feelingtheusualdisgustriseinme,asmybrown-and-white-spottedrescuepit,Larry,laysatmyfeetinmymodestLakeviewcondo.There’snoendtotheabsurdityoftheValentine’semails.Hotstonemassagefortwo?Matchingheart-printunderwear?Romanticgetawayinatreepod?Justwhatthehellisatreepod?Iclickonthepromotion.Oh,alightedtenthangingfromatree,withtwopairsofadorablebarefeethangingoutofit.Whyisthisathing?Whowantstovacationinapi?ataforbears?
IhateValentine’sDayandthegiantcommerciallovemachinethatfuelsit.Ofcoursethismay—ormaynot—havesomethingtodowiththefactthatDanleftme.
Or,technically,IleftDan.
Danwantedtokeeponhavingweeknightsexwithme,aslongasIdidn’tmindhehadawife.Andkids.Andahouseinthesuburbs.Ikindofdid,though.IguessI’mjusttoohunguponthedetails.Can’tseetheforestfortheserialcheater.
Ihadnoideahewasmarried,fortherecord.Callmena?ve,butIhadn’tthoughtitwasweirdI’dneverbeentohisplaceinthreemonthsofdating.Ithoughthemightbeahoarder.Orworse,hehadtenroommates.Eitherway,Ifailedtopressforanswers,andwejustendeduphangingoutatmyplace.Weneverwentoutonweekends,butthatwasbecauseheworkedFridayandSaturday,orsohetoldme,pursuinghisdreamofbeingaDJbyplayingfadedpophitsatsuburbanbarmitzvahs.Ofcourse,thatchangedoneSaturdaywhenIdecidedtosurprisehimbyshowingupatDynastyForeverBanquetHallinthefarnorthwesternburbs.Excepttherewasnobarmitzvahthere.NoDJ.AnddefinitelynoDan.
He’dbeenforcedtoadmithisdoublelife,andthatthereasonwedidn’thangontheweekendswasbecausehecoachedyouthleaguebasketball.
“AreyouevenaDJ?”Ihadasked,appalled.TurnsouthisDJcareerwasalie,too.I’dbeendatingamanwhowasn’tonlymarried,butwhose“dream”jobwastobeahas-beenforty-one-year-oldDJ.It’slikehisliesdidn’tevenhaveambition.
Ikickmyfeetofftheedgeofmybedandslipintofuzzypurpleslippers,notingthatthearctictundrathatisChicagoinJanuaryhasalreadybeguntofreezethecondensationontheinsideofmywindows.Idon’twanttoleavetheapartment.Maybeever.I’vealreadytrudgeddownthestairswithLarryatthecrackofearlytolethimout,soheshouldbegoodforalittlewhile.Ishuffletothekitchen,pastthejungleofhouseplantsperchedonmilkcrates,tellingmyselfthatoneofthesedaysI’llactuallygetrealplantstands.Orhangpicturesonmyblankwalls.OrrescueGrandmaMitsuye’santiqueJapanesekimono-claddollsfromtheirmultiplelayersoftissuepaperinaU-Haulbox,oneofahalfdozenstackedinacornerandcollectingdustintheguestbedroom.Aroomwhich,technically,I’vebeenmeaningtoconverttoanoffice,butIcan’tbecauseit’sadefactostoragecloset.WhenDanfirstsawmyplace,he’daskedifIjustmovedin.I’veactuallylivedheresevenyears.Ihatemydrafty,vintagecondo,butalsodespiseputtingonshoesandleavingit,whichIthinkprettymuchsumsupmylife’sangst.
Larry,realizingI’mheadingtothekitchen,otherwiseknownasthePlaceWhereHisTreatsAreStored,jumpsoffthebedandfollowsme,wagginghisbrownandwhitetail.AsIbrewmyK-Cupcoffee,heleansintothebackofmyknee.
“Goodboy,”Ireassurehim,bendingdowntogivehimagoodscratchbehindtheears,whichmakeshimtaphisleftfootuncontrollablyagainstmywoodenkitchenfloor.Ihandhimabitofdogjerky,butittakeshimacoupleoftriestograbit.Larry,blesshim,onlyhasoneworkingeye,thankstoaterriblerun-inwitharaccoon.ThepeopleattheshelterIadoptedhimfromtoldmehewouldeventuallyadapttothelossoftheeye,butit’sbeenthreeyearsandhehasn’tmanagedtoyet.Thebigbrowncirclearoundhisforever-closedeyeseemslikeanaturaleyepatch.Iwatchhimnowashedipshisheadjusttotheleftofhiswaterbowlneartherefrigerator.Kindofadorablypitiful.Inudgeittowardhimwithmyfoot,andhelapsupthetapwaterwithgusto.
Icarrymysteamingcupofcoffeetomykitchentable,whereIsitandbootupmyailinglaptop.“Comeon,Bessie.Let’sgo,girl,”ItellitasifI’mtalkingtoanoxpullingmyConestogawagonacrosstheplains.Igetupandwanderaroundthekitchenwhilemylaptopwheezesandflickerstolife.IsipatthesweetvanillagoodnessofK-CupcoffeeasIsinkintomykitchentablechair.Thefloorisuneven,soIhavetomovethechairarounduntilitdoesn’twobbletoomuch.There’salsoadraftcominginfromthekitchenwindowtomyleft,acoldribbonofairacrossmyankles.Ihatemy“conferenceroom”andlongfortheplushcomfortofmy“office”duvet.Mylaptopblinkson,andmoreValentine’sadsassaultme.Framedheartmapsofthestarsintheskyonyourfirstdate!Zodiaclovesignsengravedinmatchingbanglebracelets!Chocolate-coveredstrawberriesduringyourintimatemassagefortwo!
Igroan,bitter.IwanttoboycottValentine’sDay.Hell,Iwanttoboycottloveingeneral.
Istarttyping.
DoesValentine’sDaymakeyouwanttovomit?Doyouwonderwhyyoudon’thavesomeonetosharematchingunderwearwith?Orwhowillhangfromatreepodwithyousothatyoubothbecomeaperfectlypre-packageddinnerforgrizzlybears?You’renotalone.
I’mdonewiththecommerciallovemachine.Forme,I’mtiredofdating.Ofbeingdisappointed.So,thisyear,I’mvowingtostaysinglefortheentiremonthofFebruary.That’sright.Noamountofchocolatecanconvincemebeinginarelationshipthatwillonlyendupdisappointingmeisworthit.Thisyear,weshouldallgoonadatingcleanse.Goodbye,DryJanuary.
Hello,SoloFebruary.
Nodates.Nodatingapps.Nosex.
Buthowwillwelivewithoutromance,youask?Frankly,therealquestionishowdoweallliveWITHromance?Thestressofit?Theanxiety?Theinevitablesoul-crushingdisappointment?
Answermethis:Iflove’ssogreat,thenhowcomeI’vegotsomanyexes?
So,I’mgoingtofocusonthethingsIlove:watchingdumbrealityTV.Drinkingsweet,fruitycocktails.EatingallthebaconIwantwithoutjudgment—andwithouthavingtoshare!Hell,thisyear,I’mgoingtoaskbacontobemyvalentine.
ThinkofallthethingsIcandowithmylifeifIdon’tcarewhatapotentialdatemightthink.Icanwearmycomfy,stainedsweatpantstothebarbecauseIwon’tcareaboutruiningmyonechanceoffindingloveduringhappyhour!Iwon’thavetogetwaxed.Ormanicured.Orbuynewdateoutfits.Ornewshapeweartowearundersaidnewdateoutfits.OrgoonadiettofitINTOsaidshapewear.
ThinkofallthehoursI’llsavenotswipingonanyone.Ornotthinkingaboutwhichdatingappphotosmakemelooktoothirsty.
And,bestofall,ifanexpopsupwitha“uup?”request,Ihaveabuilt-inanswer:
“Sorry!I’mnotup.Fortheentiremonth.It’sSoloFebruary.”
Ifmymom,orgrandparents,orsibling,orcoworkerasksifI’mdatinganyone,Icansay,“Nope!SoloFebruary!”
Thethingis,Idon’twanttogiveuponloveandsexformywholelife.ButIjustneedabreak.
So,won’tyoualljoinme?
#GoSolo
AsItype,Ifeelenergized.Myvideoinvitedingsthen,announcingthebeginningofthemeetingwithmyeditor,Arial(yes,shewasnamedafterafont).SheworksoutofaglassydowntownChicagohigh-rise,andIcanseetheamazingviewofLakeMichiganbehindher.SherunstheonlineversionofSlick,awomen’sfashionmagazinethatdabblesinadviceonperfectingblowjobtechniquesandwhatyoushouldbewearingtotheclubsifyouwanttosnaga“betterthanaverage”one-nightstand.Youknow,justdoingmypartforfeminism.
Ariallooksamazingasusual,inanexpensive-lookingblazerfromthedesignerfreebieclosetandhercinnamon-brownhairslickedbackinthelatesttwistedfashion.Meanwhile,I’mwearinggrayjersey-knitpajamasthatcanalmostpassforstreetclothes,butnotquite,zeromakeup,andIrealizeI’vegotacowlickstickingupatthebackofmyhead.ItrytosmoothitdownasInoticethatmyscreenpartiallyshowsthedirtydishespilingupinmysink.IgentlytiltthelaptopsoArialdoesn’tseeI’matotalslob.
“Sora?Goodmorning?”Arialspeaksinquestions,andendshersentencesinalilt.Sheclaimsit’sbecauseshelivedinScotlandforayearaftergraduation.Ithinkit’sjustbecauseshehatesbeingabossandtellingpeoplewhattodo.Thequestionattheendmakesitsoundlikeshe’spolitelyaskingmetodosomethinginsteadoftellingmeIhavetodoit.“So?Iwasthinkingwemightshelve‘Don’tBeBasicwithYourGymBag’?Andinsteadfocuson‘TopFiveMascarasthatWillMakeYourExBegtoHaveYouBack’?Editorialjustthoughtitwillfitbetter?Sincewe’redoingthat‘AllMyExes’theme?”
“Yeah.Noproblem,”Isay,eventhoughI’vealreadyalmostfinishedthestory.That’sagoodfivehoursofworkdownthedrain.ButmyJapaneseAmericanmomalwaystaughtmetobeagreeable.Insteadof“Squeakywheelgetsthegrease,”shealwayssays,“Thenailthatsticksoutgetshammereddown.”
AndwritingforSlickisn’tquitetheglamorousandimportantlifeofwritingIhadimaginedwhenIwonthatshort-storycontestineighthgrade.That’stheyearIdiscoveredIactuallyhaveaknackforputtingwordstogether.Myeighth-gradeEnglishteacher—astonishedatmyskill—firstaccusedmeofplagiarism.Aftermysharp-temperedScottishAmericandadcametotheschoolwithcopiesofearlydraftstoconvincehimthatIwasnocheat,heapologized.Thenheovercompensatedandstartedcallingmeaprodigy.Afterthat,IspundreamsofwinningPulitzerPrizes.Ifellalittleshortofthat,sure,buthey,I’mlivingtheSupportingMyselfwithWritingdream,sothere’sthat.JustbecauseI’mnotexactlydoingthefreelanceworkIonceimagineddoesn’tmeanthatIwon’twriteseriousstoriesthathelptheworld.Oneday.
Still,thewholemascaraarticlebothersme.IimaginemyselfslatheringonexpensivemakeupinthedesperatehopeofmakingDanjealous.
“Youdon’tseemexcited?”Arialquestions,cockingherheadtoonesideonmyscreen.
Crap.Ihatevideocalls.Andthesedays,it’salmostallweeverdo.AndIhavetheworstpokerface.Somehow,shealwaysknowswhenI’mlying.
“Uh.No.Iam.”Lie.“It’sagreatstory.Fantasticstory.It’ssorelevant.I’msogladyoupitchedittome.”Itakeadeepbreath.Iglanceattheopendocumentonmyscreen.“SoloFebruary.”Ithasaniceringtoit.ButIhesitate.DoIreallywanttopitchthisstory?Shouldn’tIjusttakeArial’sassignmentandbeniceandnoncontroversialbecausethelastthingIwanttodoislivetheWorkingThreeBaristaShiftsandDrivingRidesharesdreaminsteadoftheSupportingMyselfwithMyWritingdream?
“Idohaveanotheridea,”Ibeginanyway,steelingmyselfforcompleterejection.EvenasIhearMom’svoiceinmyhead,Don’tbethenail!
“Oh,yes?”
“Well…”Myheartthumps.Ihateputtingmyselfoutthere.That’swhyI’dratherstayhereinmyperpetuallyhalf-unpackedcondothanpackupmylaptopandgodomyworkatthecutecoffeeshopattheendofmyblock.WhydidIevensuggestthisstory?Ihaven’tevenflesheditout.Notatall.She’sgoingtotellmeit’sdumb.“Uh…youknowhowthere’saDryJanuary?”
“Yeah?Ofcourse?”
“Well,whatifwetriedtopushSoloFebruary?”
Arialwrinklesherbrow.“Whatdoyoumean‘solo’?”
“Asin,Stay-SingleFebruaryorAbstinenceFebruaryorLove-FreeFebruary.Thinkofitlikeadatingcleanse.Here,Iwrotearoughdraftaboutit.”IcutandpastewhatI’vewritteninthechat.Arialreadsitlightningfast.Herfacelightsup.
“Iloveit,Sora?Yes,yes,yes,yes?Youmustdothisstory?#GoSololiterallysellsitself?”
“Really?”I’mshockedshelikesitsomuch.
“Whynotmakeitadiary?OneentryeverydayofFebruary?You’llbethefocus?AndgoingsoloforFebruarywillbeachallengeyoudo,andyou’llsharewithuswhathappensonyourpersonaljourney?Wecouldmakeita‘secretconfessions’series?”
Atthementionofthesecretconfessionalseries,Isuddenlyfeeluneasy.Pastconfessionshaveincluded“WhyICan’tStopHavingSexontheSubway”and“I’mAddictedtoFacials—forMyButt!”
DoIwanttohavemystoryamongthem?Irealizetoolate,afterI’vealreadypitchedthisdamnthing,thatI’veneverwrittenaboutmypersonallifebefore.I’veonlyeverrankedcosmeticsandinterviewedinfluencers.DoIreallywanttowriteaboutmypersonallifeforthereadersofSlick?Partofmeworriesthatthey’relikethecoolgirlsinschool—justmakingfunofmebehindmyback.
“Thiscouldbereallygreat,though.Likeabigbreak?Youhavetodoit?Haveto?”Arial’sstillgushing,andmyconcernsfadeaway.Slickpayswellandpaysontime,afreelancer’sdream.Sure,writingaboutdatingisn’ttheseriousjournalismIwanttodo,butdailyarticleswouldtriplemywordcountforthemonth,andergotriplemypay.ThatwouldmeanextracashtogetLarrythegoodorganic,grain-freekibble,thekindthatspecialdog-foodfarmersgrowandcookandthenfreezeinhand-moldedbricksandshipdirecttoyourdoor.Thatshitisexpensive.
Asifreadingmymind,Larrynudgesmylegwithhiswhitesnout.Well,Ican’ttellthatcutiepieno.
“I’lldoit!”ItellArial,hopingIhaven’tmadeagiantmistake.ThatI’mnotthenailstickingout,waitingtobehammereddown.Two
SORA
Thisyear,Iwantbacontobemyvalentine.I’dratherhaveaheartattackthanabrokenheart.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
ThefirstdayofSoloFebruarydawnsdrearyandfrigid,withsixinchesofnewwetsnowonouralreadysalt-ladenstreets,atypicalwelcometoFebruaryforChicago.Afterabone-dry,extra-mild,above-freezingChristmas,wegetaweather-outside-is-frightfuldelightonFebruaryfirst.MotherNaturelovestoprocrastinatemorethanIdo.
Isnuggledeeperintothewarmthofmy“office”duvet,asIsneakalookatthefirstpublishedarticleofSoloFebruary.Thearticlealreadyhasafewlikes,soIletoutasighofrelief.Thetrollshaven’tyetcrucifiedme,sothat’sagoodsign.
Ifinishthesecondarticleoftheseries,andeventakeastabatthethird.I’mgoingforself-empowerment,butIhavenigglingdoubtsImightbecomingoffasbitterandsad.
ThewholepointofSoloFebruaryistofindfulfillmentinyourlifeunconnectedtosex,love,oranotherperson.AndI’llbefrank,Ihavenoideawhatthislookslike.WhileIneverconsciouslymeantto,mywholeadultlife,I’vemeasuredmyownpersonalsuccessbywho’sinmybed.
Andifyoulookatmyexes,youcanseemybarwasverylow.
Actually,mybarwasontheground.
No,strikethat.Iactuallyhadtodigintotheground,thenputmybarinthehole.We’retalkingbelow-sea-levellow.Someonewouldhavetobuildasubwaytunneltogetundermybar,soisitnowonderthatanyjerkwhowanderedintomylifejuststeppedrightonovermyburiedbar?
Ican’ttrustmyselftodateanymore.Ican’ttrustthatIknowwho’sgoodformeorwho’sbad.It’sabouttimeIstretchedmywings.Hell,it’sabouttimeIusedthematall.
Ifinishtypingandreadoverthelastline.Atthefootofmybed,Larryliftshisheadandwhines.Irealizeheneedstogoout.IpullmyselfoutofbedtofetchLarry’sleashandstuffmyfeetintothestainedshearling-linedbootsI’vehadformorethanadecade.Together,weheadouttofacethebrutalChicagoFebruary.Larrybumpsagainstthedoorframe.Notonce,buttwice,beforeIgentlysteerhimawayfromit,anddownthewindingstaircasetothefirstfloorofmyfour-storywalk-up.
Outside,winterslapsmeintheface,hard,andIfeelthewindinstantlysuckedoutofmylungs.It’sliterallytoocoldtobreatheproperly,asmylungsworktoprocessthefrigidFebruaryair.Thankfully,Larry’streeisallbuttenfeetfrommyfrontdoor,whichreallyisLarry’sgenius.It’snothisfirstChicagowinter,either.Ashepadsaroundthesmallsquareofgray,icysludgeatthebaseoftheleaflesstree,Iburrowmyselfdeeperintomydown-linedcoat,glancingupanddownMontroseAvenue.
Iliveinoneofthosevintagecondobuildings,completewithgargoyleshangingofftheroofandasinglegraystonecastleturretontheeastcorner,sealingthebuilding’smedievalvibe.Itwasbuiltin1890,though,byaChicagomeatpackingbaron,whosedreamincludedlivinginareplicacastle.It’ssincebeenguttedandremodeledandconvertedtocondos.It’sclosetotheLincolnSquarebrownlinestop,andadozenbarsandrestaurants.InonedirectionliessomeofthebestItalianorThaifoodintown,andintheother,there’stapas,upscaleAmerican,andsomanyotheroptionsthere’snoreasonevertoturnmyownovenon.
AsI’mturningtogobackinside,Iseeabrowndeliverytruckpullupanddoublepark.Thelogoonthetruckisobscuredbyathree-inchlayerofsaltfromtheicyroads.Poorguy,Ithinkashehopsoutofthetrucksobundledthathecanhardlymove.Hecarriesabigboxthatseemsunwieldyandheadstomycondobuilding.
“Uh…isthatfor3-E?”Iask.
Thedeliveryguyswingsaroundandalmostswatsmeinthefacewiththegiantbox.“No.2-E.”
Shit.That’smydownstairsneighbor,Pam.Shehatesme,fine,butit’sthefactshe’spickedabeefwithmydogthatIreallycan’tstand.Sheclaimshisbreedis“vicious”andhasbeenleadingacampaigntohavehimoustedfromthebuilding.Actually,shereallywantstobanalldogsfromthebuilding.Aspresidentofthecondoboard,shebringsittoavoteeverymeeting.Sofar,she’sonlyreallygotteneveryonetoagreenonewdogswillbeallowed.Larry,theonlyremainingdoginthebuilding,isgrandfatheredin.
AsasidenoteaboutPam,she’sobsessedwithmarathonsandtriathlonsandalltheotherlons,atleastsinceshebrokeupwithherlongtimelive-inboyfriend,Thom,inthespring.Weshould’vebondedoverbeingtwonewlysingleladies,butsee:herhatingmydog.And,let’sgetreal,theonlytriathlonI’meverdoingwillbeeat-nap-watchTV,orsnack-chill-lazearound.Ishould’veknownthepackagewashers,becausenowIseethathealth-foodlogoonit,oneofthosesuperpricey,superhealthy,supergross-tastingsmoothieservicescalledGreenGleam,exceptthatitprobablyshouldmoreaptlybenamedColonBlast.Imean,goodforherforputtingtheworkinandallthat,butthere’snowayI’mgoingtouseablendertomakemydinner,unlessit’sfrozenmargaritanight.
“Icanbringitinside,”Ioffer.
Heeyesmesuspiciously,asifI’mtryingtostealtheboxfromhim.WhywouldIcommitporchpiracyinfrontofmydog?That’sjustbadparenting.Afrigidblastofarcticairblowsacrossthesidewalk,freezingusinourtracks,andthedeliverymandecidespossibletheftisbetterthanfrostbite.
“Here,”hesayshastilyandgivesmetheheavier-than-it-looksbox.
Itakeit,consideringwhetherornottoleaveitoutsideonthestairs,butthenreconsiderbecause,whilemyneighborhoodisprettysafe,thereprobablyisablackmarketforGreenPoopboxes.AndPammighthatemeandmydog,butI’mstillgoingtotrytobeagoodneighbor.IfIpaidoutthenoseforspecialorganickalesmoothieingredients,Iwouldn’twantthemstolen.It’sjustcommoncourtesy.Iheadinside,fingerstinglingbecausecarryingtheboxtothestoopmeantthatIcouldnotshovemybarehandsdeepinmypockets,andthethirtysecondsofexposureturnedmyfingertipsnumb.IhaultheboxupthetwoflightsandleaveitatPam’sdoor.I’dknock,butmyknucklesarefrozen,andbesides,Larrydoesfreakherout.SheexplicitlytoldmetoavoiddirectcontactwithherwhenLarryiswithme.
Andanyway,Larryisdraggingmeupthestairsbecauseheknowsit’streattimewhenwegetbacktothecondo.Onceinsideourwarmapartment,Larrywaitsexpectantlyinthekitchennearhiscabinet,bigpinktonguelollingout.Ireachintothecupboardwithmynumbfingers,butsoondiscoverwe’reoutofLarry’sfavoritetreats.Ack!I’mabaddogmom.
IglanceatLarry’sexpectantface.ThereareonlyacoupleofreasonsI’dleavemycondoagainonadaylikethis:forLarryorafire.
Afrigidtwo-blockwalklater,I’mwheelingmyshoppingcartthroughmylocalupscalegrocery,Margo’s.Thecommerciallovemachinehasthrownuponeverything.Valentine’sdecorationsjumpoutatmefromeverywhere.Iseeonestoreemployeebusystockinguptheaisleinfrontofmewithoversizedpinkteddybears,sappycards,bottlesofwarmchampagne,andchocolatetruffles.SeemslikejustyesterdaythissameseasonalaislewasfilledwithbrokenChristmasornamentsat75percentoff.Pleasebringthoseback,Ipraytotheholidaymarketinggods.IpromiseI’llbuytheMinions-as-reindeerdrivingasleighfulloftheAvengers.Anythingbutallthesestupidhearts.
ThenIrememberIdon’tneedtocareaboutValentine’sDaythisyear.SinceI’vetakenthe#GoSolovow,Iwon’tbeexpectingchocolates.Orflowers.Orhavingtolietoanyonewhoasksabouthavingplans.Wow,thereisreallysomethingempoweringaboutthat.IdecidebecausethisistheMonthofMe,Imightaswellfocusonsomethingmoreuplifting:therefrigeratedbreakfastfoodsaisle.Sausage,eggs,and,ofcourse,thetrueloveofmylife—bacon.Iglanceatthebrightyellowsignattheshelf’sedgebeneaththemaple-flavored,extra-thickstrips:buyone,getone.Myheartsoarsandticksupanotch.WhosaysI’mnotlovable?Baconlovesme.BaconneverliestomeIdon’thavetoguesswhetherornothe’sbadforme.Iknowheis.DoIbuyoneortwopackages?Hmmmm.Ihedge.Sixitis.Imean,it’snon-GMO,organicbacon,afterall.Itwouldbeunhealthynottoconsumeapackaday.Bonus:it’scarb-free.
Idumpallthepackagesfromtherowintomycart,ignoringthejudgmentalstarefromthesize-zerostrawberryblondewearinghead-to-toeLululemonassheside-eyesmyoutfit.I’mwearingafadedTurkeyTrotsweatshirtthat’sprobablyolderthansheisandhasmostoftheletteringrubbedoff,soitsimplysaysk…r…ot5k.Thewoman’snosewrinklesindisgustasshetakesinmyappearance.Ah,Lululemon,Iwasoncebright-eyedandna?vejustlikeyou.Merelyafewmonthsago,I,too,woremakeuptothesupermarket,andlingeredneartheorganicproduce.IhadhopedIcouldbeoneofthoserarestoriesamongmyfriendsofsomeonewhoactuallyfoundtheirmateinthewild.Ohno,Ididn’tmeettheloveofmylifeonsomedatingappatall.WemetwhenwebothreachedfortheverylastripenedmangoSoquaint.
Iglancedownandseeshe’spilednonfat,plainGreekyogurt,kale,chiaseeds,granola,andnon-GMOfrozenquinoainherminicart.Lululemoneyesmycart.Thebaconhasjoinedmybottleoftequilaandsixpintsofsaltedcaramelicecreamand,ofcourse,treatsforLarry.Hercarefullylinedlipturnsdownwardinadisapprovingfrown.SheremindsmealittletoomuchofmydownstairsneighborPam,whooftenwearsthesamelookwhenshe’seyeingmyoverstretchedyogapants.IrealizesheisnotPam,andit’snotfairtolumpherinthesamedog-hatercategory,butshe’stheonedoingtheaggressivestaring,notme.
Imeethergaze,andinthatinstant,asilentconversationpassesbetweenus.
You’resinglebecauseyoudon’ttryhardenough,hereyestellme.
You’retryingtoohardandyourfutureboyfriendwillstillsextanInstagrammodel,myeyesclapback.
Thenwelookaway,catfightover,becausesheknowsdamnwellmysize-fourteenmidriffcouldbellybounceherintothenextaisle,ifIwasn’tsoafraidofprisonfood.So,shesauntersoff,flickingherhighponytail,tofindorganic,unsweetenedkefir,andIfocusonfiguringoutwherethey’vestashedthepizzarollsinthisjoint.Because…tohellwithmydiet.I’dbeenstarvingmyselfhopingtoimpressDan,andlookwhathappened.IwenthungryonlytofindoutthatthewholetimeIthoughtI’dbeenplayingtheleadroleinhisheart,Ihadbeentheunderstudy.
Iturnthecorner,hopingtoheaddownthefrozenfoodaisle(pizzarollsawait!),butstopinmytrackswhenIseeLululemonlingeringnearthefrozenspinach.Damn!IdonotwanttofacethestiffbreezefromLululemon’sthighgapagain.Nopizzarollsthen,Idecide,asIturnmycart.BeforeI’mfinished,IhearaclatterandturntoseeanelderlyLatinxwomandesperatelytryingtoreachthetopshelfforbutter,butherstoopedbackandcurledarthriticfingersmeansheswipesatthebrickofbutter,butitslipsfromherstiffgripandbouncestothefloor.Lululemonshootsherafrown,herdisapprovalofanyoneovertheageoffortyexistingclearonherface.
Iabandonmycartandheadtotheelderlywoman’sside.Shelooksflustered.“Diosmio,”shelaments.
“Puedoayudar,”Isay,brushingoffmyninth-gradeSpanish.ItcomesinhandywhenelderlyLatinxconfusemeforoneoftheirown.It’sacommonmistake.Mydad’sstraightScottishnose,pairedwithmymom’stawnyskin,straightblackhair,anddarkbrowneyesmeanthatpeopleseeinmewhattheywanttosee.IfIdon’tatleasttrysomeSpanish,theyshaketheirheads,grumblingbitterdisappointmentsaboutthenewgeneration.IfItrytotellthemI’mhalfJapanese,theylookevensadder,asifI’mresortingtobald-facedlies.
Istooptogetthebutterandshesendsmealookofflat-outrelief.I’msureneitherherkneesnorherbackwerelookingforwardtothesacrificedemandedtobendtothefloor.
See?I’mafreakin’niceperson.ToeveryoneexceptLululemon.Shemaneuvershercartquicklyawayfromusasifagingiscontagious.
“Oooh,look!”myadoptedabuelasays.“Muestras.”
Idon’tknowthatwordasit’sbeyondwhatIrememberfrommytwoyearsofSpanish,andmybriefstudy-abroadstintinBarcelona.ButIseethewomannodtowardasmalltablenearthebakery.Shemustmean“samples.”Leaveittothesenioronafixedincometofindthefreefood.They’rebetterthanametaldetectoronDaytonaBeachafterspringbreak.Iglanceover,andseeit’smannedbyasexylumberjackinanapronoveraredplaidflannelshirt.Hissleevesarerolleduphisthicklymuscledforearms.He’ssportinganimpressivebeardstache,surroundedbyaweek’sworthofstubble,whichsomehowsuitshim.Helookslikearough-around-the-edges-but-with-a-heart-of-goldgigolo.Hisethnicityseemshardtoplace,butI’dlovetoplayeightroundsof“Whodoyouthinkmygrandmais?”withhim.Helookslikeheoughttobeabutcher,elbowdeepinspareribs,butinstead,he’spipingfrostingondelicatelittleraspberrytortes.Thewayhe’sgentlewiththebuttercreambloomsimagesofhowsoftthosebig,stronghandsmightbeondelicatepartsofmyownanatomy.There’snothingthatgetsmeinthemoodfasterthansugarandagentletouch.
SoloFebruary,Iremindmyself,andthenIalmostburstoutlaughing,becausethere’snowaythisstunningexampleofperfectmanhoodwouldeverinamillionyearsbeinterestedink-r-otsweatshirt–wearingme.Nottomention,hemightnotevenbeinterestedinwomenatall.
“Afteryou,”Isay,andfollowherover.
AsI’mwalkinguptothebig-shoulderedmanwhoseemsequalpartssexyformerprofessionalathleteandCakeBoss,Inoticehisbrownwavyhairisstuffedbeneathawhitebaker’scap,anditstilldoesn’tinanywaymakehimlookridiculous.Helookslikehe’sburstlife-sizefromapackageofBrawnypapertowels—manly,strong,andagoodlistener,eagertocounsela1960shousewifeonhermaritaltroubles.Infact,he’ssurroundedbyadecentcrowdofpeople,alleagertotastehiswares.Hecarefullydolesoutsmalldesserts,onebyone,andItakemyplaceinline.
Hehandstheelderlywomanaminitorteandshethankshimwithanodandthenmoveson.HeglancesupatmeandIseethebiggest,brownest,mostpuppydoggiesteyesofalltime.Damn,hehasniceeyes.Playful.Smart.Sexy.Eyesalwaysgetme.Forgetbuttsandchestsandsix-packabs—givemeagoodsetofirises,andI’mdonefor.Andthenitcomes,thecrookedhalfsmileanddimple,thewayamalemodelmightsmileathimselfinthemirrorinarazorcommercial.Hell,yes.Yousmile,honey.Youarethebestamancanget.
WhenIpullupmycartnexttohistable,hesays,“Oh,hi,”inatonethatseemstoimplywhathereallymeans:Oh,hi,you’vegotafineasseveninthosestainedsweatpants.Whydon’tyoubringthatunwashedbodyoverhereandwecanreallygetdirty?ButI’mprobablyimaginingit.
“Wanttotryaraspberrydelight?”heasks,andpicksupatinylittletorteonasmallwhitelacepaperdoily.Iglanceatthetinycake,nobiggerthanaquarter.
“CanIhavethree?”Ijoke,butheglancesoncetotherightandthentotheleft,andsneaksmefour.Ifallinlovewithhimalittlethen,asIpopthefirstoneinmymouthwhole,andexperienceaninstantburstofraspberryvanilla-creamgoodnessthatfeelslikeahugfrominsidemymouth.Imoanalittle,unabletohelpmyself.ThisisthebestdamnthingI’vehadinmymouthinmonths,andthatincludesbaconandDan’soverlyaggressivetongue.“OhmyGod,Ijustcamealittle,”Iexclaim,whichIrealizetoolatesoundscompletelyinappropriate.Thebeefybakerjustthrowshisheadbackandlaughs,bigandhearty,fromhisgut.
“Well,then,youmusthaveanother.”SexyBeardstacheBakernudgesonemoretowardme.HewatchesmeasIdevourit.He’sstudyingmymouthintently,andIgetthedecidedvibethathe’sstraight.“Youmightneedanotheroneeven.”
“Careful.I’lleatthemallifyouletme.”IsureamboldwithmyflirtingwhenI’veswornoffmenforamonth.Also,I’mprettysurehe’soutofmyleagueanyway,andIhavenoshotatgettingthosebeefyshouldersintomybedandgivinghimthereversecowgirlofalifetime.Icranemynecktoglanceupathisfaceandhisbeardstache,whichmakeshimlookjustalittlebitdangerous.Eventhroughtheflannelandapron,Icantellhe’sgotbig,thick,musculararms,andthetiniesthintofabeerbelly.Notgrossbig,justaslight,comfortingpudge.Idon’tdatemenwhowon’teatcarbs.Idon’ttrustthem.
“IknewtherewasareasonIlikedyou.”Hegrins,andIwonderhowheknew:fromthek-r-otsweatshirt?Frommyshamelessflirting?FromthefactthatI’meatingminitorteslikeawhalechompingdownfishina1998SeaWorldshow?“Itwasnicethatyouhelpedthatlady.”
I’dalreadyforgottenmyGoodSamaritanworksinthebutteraisle.“Oh,that?It’snothing.”Ifyoulikethat,I’llcarryheronmyshouldersthroughthestore.Thenshecanreachanythingshewants,andshewon’thavetoworryaboutherbadknees.
“Andyou’reananimalperson.”Henodsatthetonsofdogtreatsinmycart
“They’reformyadoptedpit-mix,Larry.”
“Rescuedogmom,too?Thatearnsyouanothersample.”Hehandsmeone.Iswallowitnearlywhole.Hepretendstobeimpressed.“You’renotworriedaboutchoking?”heasksme.
“Idon’thaveagagreflex.”Irealize,afterIsaythis,IsoundlikeI’mpromotingnewcontentonanamateurpornapp.
“That’squiteaskillset.”Heraiseshiseyebrows,impressed.
Ishrug.“It’smysuperpower,”Isay.“Thatandmakingbacondisappear.”
Heglancesatmycartandlaughsalittle.Webothshareextendedeyecontact.Thenitsuddenlyhitsme.Isthismy…meet-cute?HaveIfallenintoanadorablerom-com?EventhoughI’mwearingstainedyogapantswithaholeatthekneeandmyall-natural,aluminum-freedeodorantgaveouthoursago?Coulditpossiblybe?
Butthensomeoneapproachesmyleftflank.
“Sora?”IhearmynameandIfreeze,nodoubtmyeyescommunicatingsheerpanictoPossibleSoulMate,becausehiseyebrowsraiseinsurprise.Iturn,slowly,becauseIdon’twanttoseethemanattachedtothevoice.Pleasedon’tbewhoIthinkitis.Please,ifthere’saGodatall,please,don’tletitbe…
Itis.
Myex-husband,Marley.Three
SORA
Ifloveissogreat,whydoIhavesomanyexes?
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Myex-husbandlookssurprisinglyfitandwellputtogether,whichmeanshe’sgottobedatingsomeone,becausehedoesn’tbothertomatchhissocksotherwise.He’sgotnewglasses—oversizedwireones—andhe’sgrowninbushysideburns.Ugh.Thatcombinedwiththevest(seriously,avest?)he’swearingmakeshimlookalittlebitlikeadoctoronthesetofanoldwesterngunslingermoviewhowillbeshotinthefirstfiveminutes.He’sactuallywearingashirtwithacollar,anunusualchoice,anditseemslikehe’slosttwentypoundsatleastsincethelasttimeIsawhim.
Asshole.
“Uh…”WhatdoItellthemanIwasmarriedtoforfourbriefyearsaftercollege?Nicetoseeyou?Itisn’t.Youlookgood?EveniftruebyMarleystandards,I’mnotgoingtodignifyMarleyDouchetwithacompliment.HepronounceshisnameDou-shay,butsinceourdivorce,IthinkDouche-itismoreapropos.“What…”Iwasabouttoaskwhathewasdoinginthecity,sincelastIheardhewaslivingwithhisparentsinthewesternburbs.Butthen,outofnowhere,Lululemoncomesboundinguptousinallhermatchingyoga,kale-eatingglory,andseemstobeheadingstraightfor…Marley.
“Baby?Didyougetthekombucha?”sheasksinachildlikevoice,whichsheabsolutely,onethousandpercent,isfaking.
MarleyandIbothturntoLululemonatthesametime,andItightenmygriponmygrocerycart.LululemonisdatingMarley?IfeellikeI’vefallenintoanalternatedimensiondesignedtotortureme.OrmaybeIsufferedamassivewidow-makerbackinthebaconaislewithoutrealizingit,andthisishell.LululemoncannotbesleepingwithMarley.Itwouldprovethathecandobetterthanme,muchbetter,butIamhopinghe’lldiecoldandlonely.IwanthimtounderstandonceandforallthatIamtheverybesthe’severgoingtoget,andhemadetheworstmistakeofhislifewhenhesentanunsoliciteddickpictoPam.
Right.Iforgottomentionthat’stheotherreasonDownstairsPamandIdon’tgetalong.Shehatesmydogfornoreason,andshehatesmyex-husbandforgoodreason.Great,noweveryone’sallcaughtup.
Lululemoneyesmewithdistaste.“Babe,who’s…?”Thenever-met-a-vegetable-she-trustedpersonwithacartfullofsaltedmeatandicecream?
“ThisisSora.”Marleysaysitwhilewigglinghiseyebrowslikehe’shavingaseizureor,morelikely,thathe’stryingtoconveyasecretmessage.Marleywasneveranygoodatsubtlety.
“Sora?ThisisSora?”Lululemonseemstobetryingtoholdinalaugh,butdoesn’tbothertohidethesneerthatcurlshermouthintoamean,thinline.“Yourex-wife?”Sheseemstobeunabletobelievehereyes.Goon,believeit,sister.Nowyouknowthetruth:you’redatingfar,farbelowyourstation.
Nearme,SexyBeardstacheBakerhasgonestock-still,eyesdartingfrommetoMarleyandthentoLululemon.Thisisnotmymeet-cute.Iamnotinarom-com.Iaminahorrormovie.Someangry,stringy-hairedghostchildisgoingtocrab-crawloutofthedelicounterandeatmysoul.
Thisnowranksasmymosthumiliatingmomentoftheweek,andthatincludeshavingtoconvinceDanthatmyself-esteemactuallyisn’tsolowthatI’dbeokaywithhimspendingthenightafterIconfrontedhimaboutbeingmarried.
So,Istandcorrected:thereisaGodafterall.AndHe/She/Theymostdefinitelyhatesme.
IfGodtrulylovedme,I’dbeendowedwiththeabilitytoteleporttoanotherdimension.Itdoesn’tevenhavetobeanicedimension.I’lltakeapostapocalyptichellscape.AslongasMarleyandLululemonaren’tthere.
“Uh…howareyou?”Marleystarts.
“Good.Good.Good.”WhydidIsaythatthreetimes?
Thenthethreeofusstareatoneanother.Ifthere’sonethingIknow,fromthatmanagementseminarItookonceinthelobbyofaHamptonInn,it’sthatifyoucedeterritorytoyourrival,youmightaswellrunhomewithyourtailbetweenyourlegs.AndIwasn’tgoingtodothat.Forone,Idon’thaveathighgap.Ihaveathighsquish.IfIputtwopiecesofkindlinginthere,I’dhaveafirebeforeIfinishedwalkingafullblock.Notailwasfittinginthere,imaginaryorotherwise.ThesecondthingIlearnedinthatseminaristhatsayingnothingcanforcetheotherpeopleinaconversationtobeuncomfortable,therebygivingyoutheupperhand.So,Ijuststare.
“Youstilllivingattheoldcondo?”Marleyasks.
AndIjuststare.Marley,whywouldIadmitthat?BecauseIspenteverylastdimeIhadtobuyyououtandcan’treallyaffordtomove?BecauseyoumightwanttosendPamanotherbacklitpicofyourhotdogfromanangledesignedtomakeitlooklargerthanitis?Shewasn’timpressedthefirsttime,Marley.ButIdon’tsayanyofthat.Ijuststareathim.Powerisallmine.
“Uh…so,you’renotthen?Sora?”Marleyisstartingtogetuncomfortable.Good.
Lululemonlooksconfused,herfeelingsofsuperioritytemporarilyfading.That’sright.You,too,willfeelthepowerofawkwardness.Thethreeofusstewinit.Yes,okay,now,you’rerightwhereIwantyou.
“Maybeshehadastroke,”Lululemonstage-whispersloudenoughforeveryonetohear.“Herleftsideisdroopingalittle.”
SexyBeardstacheBakercoughs,hard.
“I’mnothavingastroke.”ThefactthatIneedtosaythisoutloudmakesthismomentevenmorehumiliatingnowthatIknowthatmyintimidationfacelookslikeI’mhavingaserioushealthproblem.God,whycan’tIjusttellMarley“Douche-it”togolovehimself?WhydidIhavetopretendI’mhappytoseehimandhisnewgirlfriend?Whywon’tthosewordsrolloffmytongue?Becausetheysureashellarebangingaroundinmyhead.
Marleyglancesatmycart.“Havingaparty?”heasksme,eyeingthebaconandtequila.
“No,”Isay.Andscrewyou,Marley.
“Oh,mygawd,areyougoingto…like…eatallofthat?Yourself?”Lululemon’shandfliestohermouthasifshe’sjustseenthemurderofakittenwithadull,number-twopencil.
“No.Ofcoursenot.Ihaveadog.”
Lululemonfreezes,notsureifI’mjokingornot.
“Ofcourseshe’snotgoingtoeatallthatbyherself,”SexyBeardstacheBakerpipesinforthefirsttime.Allthreeofusstareathimnow.“So?Yougoingtointroduceme?”
Whatisthatsexyhunkofamandoing?
“Uh…thisis…”
Oh,God.Idon’tknowhisname.
“Jack,”SexyBeardstacheBakersayseasily,rescuingmeashesticksoutabeefypawandshakesMarley’scomparablysmall,limphandwithenthusiasm.“Sorahastoldmesomuchaboutyou.”Ihave?“Honestly,Ihavetothankyou,man.Ifyoutwohadn’tgottendivorced,thenSoraandIwouldn’thavegottentogether.Ioweyouone.”
Idon’tknowwho’smorestunned:me,Lululemon,orMarley.
JacktheSexyBakerhassavedme.Inthatmoment,Iwanttoproposetohimandhavehisbabies.Asmanyashewants.
Now,it’sMarleyandLululemon’sturntogape.TheyglanceatJacktheSexyBakerandbacktome.IstepasmidgenclosertoJack.
“Wantaraspberrytorte?”Jackofferswithabright,beamingsmile.“TheyhaveextraGMOs,non-organicsaturatedfat,andgluten.”
Lululemonlooksasifhe’sofferedheracyanidecapsule.“Ohno.No,thankyou.”
Marleyreachesforone,butLululemonslapshishand.“Marley!We’regluten-free,remember?”
Marleylookscrestfallen.Itbecomesclearthathistrade-offforscrewingLululemoniseatingfoodthattastesliketrash.I’msuddenlyfeelingmuch,muchbetteraboutmylife.
“Comeon,Marley,”Lululemonscolds,tugginghimoffbyhissleeve.“We’vegottogo.”SheglancesatmeandJackonelasttime.“Andnicetomeetyou,”shecries,high-pitchedandfake.ThesubtextinhereyestellsmeshehopesIchokeonbaconfatanddie.IwanttotellherthatatleastI’lldiehappy.MorethanIcansayforherifsheendsupsnortingkaleintohersinuses
Whenthey’regone,IturntoJack,mynewhero,andwebothbreakoutlaughing.
“Thankyouforthat.”
“Oh,it’snotaproblem.Ihatebullies.”Jack’seyesnarrowabit,ashewatchesMarleyandLululemonscamperawaylikeroachesacrossadirtylinoleumfloor.Heglancesbackatmeandgrins.“Itwasmydutytoeventheodds.Thoseguyswereassholes.Didyouseeallthatkaleinhercart?”
“Kale:thetasteofsadness,”Isay.
“Becauseeverygreatstorybeginswith‘afterIdownedafewroundsofkale…’”hesnapsback.
Weshareaconspiratorialgrin.
“Anothertorte?”
“Definitely.”HeoffersthetrayupandIgrabonemore.“Ifyou’regoingtobemyfakeboyfriend,whynotjustgothewholemileandbemyfakefiancéandhusband,too?”Iask,afterIswallow.“Imean,areyoureallygoingtocommithere?Oristhisjustacasualfakerelationshipforyou?”
PlayfulnesslightsupJack’spuppy-dogeyes.“Fictionalwedding.Ilikeit.Ifit’sfakeandwedon’thavetopayforit,Iwantlike,fivehundredguests,andIwanttowearcowboybootsandabluetuxedo.”
“Whystopthere?Llamascanbeourflowergirls,andthewholeaffaircanbeblessedbythePope.”
Webothchucklesomemore.Itfeelslikesomehow,inanotherlife,wewerebestfriendswhocausedahelluvalotoftroubleinthebackofsomealgebraclass.
“Allofthisisgettingaheadofourselves,”Iadd.“Wejustmet.”
Jackcocksaneyebrow,surprised.“No,wedidn’t.”
NowI’mconfused.“Whatdoyoumean?”Isthisaprank?
“Youdon’trememberme,doyou?”Jackaskswithaslysmile.
“Wait.AmIsupposedto?”Sincewhen?IrackmybraintryingtofigureouthowImightknowhim.Adrunkenone-nightstandyearsago?Aswipe-rightdategonewrong?Aneighborinoneofmyoldapartmentbuildings?No,no,andno.“Wemetbefore?”
“Yes.”Hepausesdramatically.“YoualwayscarriedaPollyPocketeverydayofkindergartenandIthinkfirstgrade,too.You’dbustitoutwhentheteacherwasn’tlooking.”
“Ididdothat!”Heknowsme.Hereallyknowsme.Jack.Irealizethereissomethingfamiliarabouthisbrowneyes.Wait.Yes…IimagineJackmuchyounger,kid-sized,sameeyes,notthesamemuscles.“Jack…Mann?FromDeweyElementary?”I’msounsuremyvoicesoundslikeawobblywhisper,likeI’mafraidI’mgoingtoaccidentallysetoffalandmine.
Instead,abigsmilespreadsacrossJack’sface.“Bingo,”hesays.Four
JACK
Flyingsolojustmeansyou’llhavestrongerwings.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Ican’tbelieveI’mtalkingtoSorafreakin’Reid.Wewereinthesameclassroomalmosteveryyearinelementaryschoolfromkindergartentofifthgrade.Imighthavehadaseriouscrushonhersome,or,okay,okay—mostofthoseyears.AndanytimeSorawasaroundmethen,Iusuallyhadananxiousswarmofbeesinmystomach.Formostofmychildhood,Iactuallythoughtprettygirlscausedstomachaches.
Ofcourse,Iknowmostkidsweren’teveninterestedinromancethen.ButIcouldn’thelpbutnoticeSora—halfJapanese,halfScottish,allgorgeous.Ifeltlikeweweremeanttobetogether.I’maquarterChinese,aquarterPortuguese,aquarterIrish,andaquarteryourguessisasgoodasmine.
She’sseriouslyprettierthanshewasinelementaryschool.Ididn’tthinkitpossible,butit’strue:pink,perfectlips,doe-browneyes,dark,luscious,jet-blackhair.Andshe’sjustassweetandcaringasIremember.Icantellshewantedtotellherextogotohell,butshetookthehighroad.Shealwaysdidthat,eveninkindergarten.
“Ican’tbelievethis!”shesqueals.“Like,howhaveyoubeen?”She’sgladtoseeme.Iamstupidlyelatedaboutthis.“Imean…you’relike…sotall.Whendidthisevenhappen?”
“Puberty?”Ijoke,andshelaughs.
Wespendafewmoresecondsgrinninggoofilyateachother.Sheeyesmeupanddown.
“You’vejust…”Sheseemsdumbfounded.“Changedsomuch.”
“Yeah,Iknow,Iusedtobedifferentbackthen.”Short.Pudgy.Ontheheavysideofstocky.Igrewaboutthreefeetinhighschool.Learnedtoworkoutmoreandeathealthier,butstillneverreallylostmytasteforsweets.Thus…baking.“Butlookatyou…”Iwavemyarmslikeamaniac.Thatperfectdimpledandgorgeoussmile.“Youlookamazing.”
“Ibasicallyjustrolledoutofbed.”
“Youstilllookgreat.”Shemakesthatfadedsweatshirtshe’swearingwiththelooseneckholeshowingoffquiteabitofshoulderlooksexyAF,likeitshouldbeonthecoverofalingeriecatalog.
Ablushrisesonhercheeks.“Whateverhappenedtoyou?Youlike,disappearedafterfifthgrade?”
“Familymoved,”Isaid.“Weendedupafewsuburbsover.”
“Sothat’swhathappened!Iwondered.”
Shedid?SoraReidthoughtaboutmeforevenamillisecond?Thethoughtmakesmyheartthumpabitharder.
Afewpeoplewanderbybehindheratthesamplestable,hopingtogetsometortes,butI’minahappynostalgiabubbleandIdon’twanttoleave.Irefusetomakeeyecontactwiththemaninatrucker’shatwho’sbackforathirdtimefortortes.
“Excuseme?”TruckerHatsays,tryingtoreachabigpawinandgrabanothersampletorte.“CanIgetoneofthose?”
“You’vealreadyhadone,”Isay,shooinghimawaylikeafly.Getoutofhere,man.I’mtryingtotalktomygrade-schoolcrush.
“Butshehadmore…”
Iglareathim,andhebacksoff,wheelinghiscartaway.
“Wait!”sheexclaims.“Youhadanicknamebackthen.Iremember…whatwasit?”
No.Pleaseno.
Shesnapsherfingers.“PiggyJack!”
Oh.
Jesus.
“Ihatethatname.”Isigh.
HatediteversinceBoyanDebnarlabeledmewithitinkindergartenafterhedaredmetostuffmywholesandwichinmymouthatlunch.Hethoughtitwassoclever.PiggyBack.PiggyJack.OneofthoseperfectdamninsultsIcouldn’tshakeuntilIgrewbigenoughtointimidatepeople.
Shelooksinstantlycontrite.“OhmyGod.Iamsosorry.That’saterriblename,”shesays,herfacegrowingpink.Oh,great.Nowshefeelsbad.“Ijustrememberedandblurteditout.Ididn’tmeananythingbyit.Ijust…”Sheglancesdownasifwishingthefloorwouldopenupandswallowherwhole.
“Nobigdeal.Wewerekids.”Ishrug.Thepasthasnocontroloverme.IcontrolhowIfeelaboutmypast.Pushthroughit,Jack.Thisisn’tthefirsttimeyourpasthasreareditsfathead.Punchitintheface.Itakeadeepbreath.
“But,Imean…”Shegivesmeaslowonce-over,startingatmyfeetandworkingherwayupmybody.“You’vechangedsomuch.Imeansomuch.”Sheshakesherheadindisbelief.“Imean…wow.”
Pleasedon’tsayI’velostweight.EverytimesomeoneremindsmeIwasachubbykid,itmakesmethinkI’mwalkingaroundinameatsuit.ThatI’manimposter.Imean,sure,I’velongsincebanishedthosefatrollswithbland,tastelessleanchickenandvegetablemealsfordays,butIhateitwhenpeopleactsoshocked,likeit’samagictrickIshouldbeperfectingforlivetelevision.
“Imean,yourlegsaresofreakin’long.Youwouldtotallywineverysingleracetotheswingsatrecess.”
“Yourememberourracetotheswings?”I’mhonestlysurprised.
“Ofcourse.Itwasalwaysyouandme,racingforthelastone!”
“Youalwayswon,”Isay.IknowthisbecauseIalways,withoutfail,lether
“Yeah.Idid.”
Shelaughs.Ilaugh.Thisfeelswarmandcomfyandperfect.Likehotchocolateandflannelpajamasonasnowday.
“Ohmygosh.RememberMrs.Perez’sfifth-gradeclass?Alltheholidayparties?”
“She’dalwaysbringatrayofthoseholidaycookiesfromJewel,”Isay,rememberingtheoohsandaahsthatrippledthroughtheclasswhenshesetthegianttrayofcolorful,fun-shapedcookiesonthereadingtable.“IlovedValentine’sDaythebest.Shealwaysbroughtextralollipops!”
“Thatwomanwassobrave.Loadingupallusten-year-oldswithsugar!Canyouimagine?”
Ilaugh.“Shewasbravetobeintherewithustobeginwith!”
“Yeah.”Sorapauses.Staresatmeinadramaticway,long,darklashesframingherbigbrowneyes,alightwith…mischief,andsomethingmore.Myheartlightensabit.IsthiswhensheremembersthatIputaspecialcardinherglitter-glue-decoratedshoebox?I’ddebatedforanhourwhichRugratsvalentinetogiveher:IlikeyouorWillyoubemine?Awholehour.“RemembertheshoeboxeswedecoratedforValentine’s?”
“Oh.Yeah.”
Thisisgoingreallywell.Like,betterthanIcould’veexpected.Like,surprisinglygood.
“Andyoustolethecandyfrommybox!”shedeclares,andlaughs.
Somewhere,Iheararecordscratch—errrrrrrck—andthensomeonetakesthatvinyl,throwsitontheground,pourslighterfluidonit,andsetsitonfire.
“That’sright.”Shewagsafingeratme.“Youstoleallofmyvalentinesandmycandy—eventhelollipopfromMrs.Perez!Theonlythinginmyboxwasyourcard.Withyournameonit.”Shecackles.“Now,Icantotallygiveyoushitforit!”
Sheslapsmeplayfullyonthearm,butI’mstillinshock.She’ssmilingnow,asifwecanshareaninsidejoke,but…Ididn’tstealhercandy!Nevertookhervalentines.Whatkindofjerkkidwouldthatmakeme?
“Ididn’tdothat.”Isoundoffended.Idon’tmeantosoundoffended.Ijustabsolutely,positively,didnotstealhercandy.Hersmileinstantlyfades.
“Youdidn’t?”Shefrowns,lookingtemporarilyconfused.Theconversationsuddenlyturnsawkward.Theeasybanterhitsabrickwall.Soratucksanerrantstrandofhairbehindherear.“Oh.Maybe…I’mwrong?Ijustthought…someonesaid…”Shefreezesthen.Webothfreeze,staringateachother,thesamerealizationdawning.SomeoneprobablytoldherPiggyJackstolethecandy.Becausewhynotblamethechubbykid?I’dbetheperfectscapegoat.
Okay,thisisn’tgoingwell.It’sgoingterribly.Horribly.Itcan’tgetworse.
Thenitdoes.
BecausesomewherebehindSora,Iseemyworstnightmare—Mal,myex-fiancée,approaching,lookinglikesomekindofNordicgoddess.ThekindthatlikestodisembowelmenandsendthemtoValhalla,screaming.
“Mal,”Iblurt,horrified.Whatthehellisthis,buyone,getoneexdayatMargo’s?FirstSora’sex,andnowmine.IsMercuryinretrograde?HassomeonereadaloudfromtheBookoftheDead?Noneofthisisokay.
“Hey,Jack-a-boo,”shesays,usingthenicknameshegavemethatIhate.“Youreadyforlunch?”
Lunch?Thenithitsme:she’sbeentexting.Promising—orthreatening,morelike—todropby.I’dignoredher,asIalwaysdo.Sheclearlyfailedtotakethehint.
I’mstaringatSora,whoglancesfromMaltomeanddrawsallthewrongconclusions.
“Mal,I—”
“Imadereservationsatyourfavoriteplace!”SheturnsandlooksatSora.“Oh,hello.DidIinterruptsomething?”
Yes,youdid.
“Uh…”Sora’seyeswiden.
“I’mMal,”shesays,extendingablack-glovedhand.
Soralookslikeshewishesshecouldteleportoutofhere.“I’mSora,”shesays,andreachesoutherownhand.MalpinchesSora’sknucklebetweenherfingerandthumbasifit’stoxic.
“Sara?”
“Sora,”Iemphasize.
“Nicetomeetyou,Sadie.”NowIknowshe’sdoingthisonpurpose.Thatwasn’tevenclose.MalreleasesSora’shand.
“Uh,yeah.Well,Iwasjustgoing.”Sorabeginstoslowlybackawayfrommytable.Wait.No.Don’tgo.“Greattoseeyou,Jack!”Soracries,asshesqueezesthehandleofhercartsotightlyherknucklesturnwhite.
“Sora,wait…”Iwanttoexplain.Thisisn’t…Malisn’t…You’vegotthewrongidea.Completely.Utterly.Wrong.Comeback.Please.
“Thanksforthetortes!”Soracallsoverhershoulderwithalittletoomuchforcedcheer.Andjustlikethelastdayoffifthgrade,she’sgone.
“Lookwhatyou’vedone,”IgrowlatMal.
“What?SavedyoufromyoursadlittlefangirlSonar?”
“It’sSora.S-O-R-A.”
“Whatever.”Malfansherfacewithablackleatherglove.She’scarryingabagthatcostmorethanmyrent,andhercoatislinedwithrealbabychinchilla,whichsaysallyouneedtoknowaboutMal.Hergreeneyessparklewithmischief.Sheactuallylikesmakingmesuffer.“Please,you’vealwaysgotthesedesperate,patheticlittlegrocerystorefansaroundyouallthetime.”Shesniffsassheglancesaroundthesupermarket,makingherdisdainknown.
“Well,IthinkwebothknowIwouldn’tbeworkinghereifitweren’tforyou.”Ifitweren’tforMal,IwouldbeapastrychefataMichelin-starrestaurant.WhichIwas,ayearago.
“Well,ifyou’dstayedengagedtome,youwouldn’thavetoworkatall.”She’sreferringtoherhotelheiressmoneyandherofferofmakingmeakeptman.Why—ohwhy—didIeverletherintomylife?God,Iregretthatdecision.Todayandeveryday.
“Whyareyouhere?”
“Lunch.Itextedyou.”
“AndIdidn’trespond.”
“And…?”
“AndthatmeansIdidn’tagreetolunch.”Isigh.
“Doesit?”Malfakesinnocence.
“AndIcan’ttakealunchbreaknow.There’snooneelsetorunthebakery.”Andeveniftherewas,nowaywouldIgotolunchwithMal.Never.
“Oh?Well,Ijustwantedtotalk,anyway.Imadesomecalls.Aboutthatbakerysiteyou’reinterestedin.”Shearchesaperfectlypenciledbrow.
“Howdoyouknowaboutthat?”Everyalarmbellinmybrainsounds.Thebakeryismydream.It’smyticketoutofthegrocerystore.I’veclawedsomesavingsfrommymeagerchecksallyearjusttohaveenoughforadownpayment.
“Ihavefriends.Inyourrealestateagent’soffice.”Thealertinmygutmovesfromorangetofullcodered.
“That’sstalking.”Andprobablyahundredotheroffenses,allofwhichanyofherarmyofon-retainerattorneyscouldgetheroutofwithonephonecall.
“It’sprofessionalcourtesy,”shesays.“Andit’snotstalking.You’rejustplayinghardtoget.”
“I’msurethat’swhatGlennClosesaidtoMichaelDouglas.”Iam100percentsureMalisn’taboveboilingarabbitifit’llgetmyattention.
“Who?”Shefrowns.
“FatalAttraction?”Iadd.
Shejustslowblinks.Maldoesn’twatchmovies—oldclassicsoranyotherkind.Also,sheonlylistenstomusicthat’sincommercials.Ishould’verunforthehillswhensheadmittedthat.Ididn’t.Myfault.
“It’samovie.”Isigh,irritated.“And,anyway,Ididn’taskyoutohelpmewiththebakery.”
“Iknow.Iwantto.”Shereachesoutandclutchesmyhand.Herpalmsarecold,fingersfrigid.Itremindsmeofthetimeshedugherfrozenfeetbetweenmylegsinbed.Ishould’veknownthenthatherheartwasice.Couldn’tpumpbloodtoherextremities.
Isnatchmyhandaway.
“Icangetthemtosell,”sheoffers,overlyglossedlipsparting.“ThenI’downthebuildingandyoucouldstaythererentfree.”
“Mal,Idon’twantyourhelp.Idon’tneedyourhelp.”
Shepouts,juttingoutherlowerlip,whichlookslikeitgotanextraboostofcollagenrecently.Shecanaffordawholeteamofmedicalprofessionalstokeepherlookingperfect.It’sallafacade.“Ofcourseyouneedmyhelp.”
“Mal.”Theword’sawarning.
“Okay,okay,handsoffthebakery.”Shegrinsatme,andIcanonlyprayshemeansit.“If…”
Iknewthere’sacatch.There’salwaysacatch.
“Ifwhat?”Isquint.
“IfyouinvitemetotheGoldenChefAwards.IknowyouwerenominatedforBestPastryChefthisyear.”
Yes,andrightupuntilthismoment,Iwashappyaboutthat.It’sahugehonor,andthewinnergetsbraggingrightsand$100,000.
“AndIknowyouneedaplus-one.”
“No.”TheideaofMalbeingmydateforanything—ever—makesmewanttopokemyeyesoutwiththebluntpipingtipofanicingbag.
“Comeon.Please?It’llbefun.”Sheleansoverthecounter,showingmehercleavage.I’mnotinterested.MightaswellbetheValleyofDeath.
“No.”
Malfrowns.“Comeon.Please.”Shepauses.“YouknowIhatetosayplease.”Shetoyswithastrandofherplatinum-blondhair.Herbloodredfingernailsarefileddowntopoints,makingherlooklikeavampire.Becausesheisone.Shefeedsonhumansouls.IfIcouldsomehowrescindherinvitationtomylife,Iwould.
“No.Idon’tknowhowmanytimesIneedtosaythis,butwebrokeup.BecauseofwhatyoudidlastValentine’sDay.”
EventhinkingaboutthedebaclethatwaslastValentine’sDaymakesmewanttohurl.
Herlowerlipjutsfartherout.
“YouknowIdidn’tmeantohurtyou.”
“Yousleptwithyourbrother-in-law,”Isay,exasperationmakingmythroatfeelthick.“Sowhatdidyouthinkthatwouldaccomplish?”
“Youknow,Ihave…issues.Myparents…mychildhood.”Hereyesgoglassy.Malhadaroughchildhood.Despitebeingverywealthy,herparentsneglectedhermuchofherlife,leavinghertoberaisedbyvariousdifferentnannies,andthenwhenshewasoldenough,shippedofftoboardingschool.Herparents,shesaid,neveroncesaid“Iloveyou”—noteveninthebirthdaycardsthatthebutlerwouldsign.Foralongtime,Ifeltbadforher.Hell,Iwantedtofixher.Butyoucan’tfixsomeoneelse.Ilearnedthatthehardway.Shesniffs,wipingaperfect,singletearoffonethickeyelash.“Youweretheonlyonewhoeverreallygotme.”
“Mal.”Isigh,softerthistime.“Wecan’tdothis.”
“Yousurefeltdifferentlylastweek.”
Herewego.Lastweek.WhenIbumpedintoMalatabarand,afteronetoomanywhiskeysontherocks,madethemistakeofgoinghomewithher.Ijustopenedthedoorandletherbackintomylife.I’dbeenlonely,andshe’dtalkedabouthermotherforgettingherbirthday,andIfeltbadforher.And,also,didImentiontoomuchwhiskey?
“Thatwasamistake.”
Malwhipsoutherphoneandbeginstyping.
“Whatareyou…”
Thenmybackpocketdings,announcinganincomingmessage.
“Youdidn’tblockme,”Malsays,triumphant,asIpulloutmyphoneandseeshe’stextedmeaheart.“Somustnothavebeenthatmuchofamistake.”
“Mal…”
“Jack-a-boo,”shesays,andtouchesmynosewiththetipofherrednail.“You’llalwaysbemyvalentine.”
“That’swhat’sbeginningtoworryme.”
“Yousureyoudon’twanttocometolunchwithme?IhavereservationsatOmakase.”AMichelin-starredgemwhereasinglesushirollcancostfiftydollars.“I’llbuy.”
“No.”Ishakemyheadfirmly.“I’mnotgoingtolunchwithyou.”
Sheshrugs.“Yourloss.”Shepicksuponeofthecoolingminilemontortesoffthebakingsheetinfrontofmeandliftsittoherlips.Shelickstheedge.Makesmethinkaboutasnakewithaforkedtongue.
“You’regoingtohavetopayforthat,”Itellher.
“Oh,Ihopeso.”Shepopsthetorteinhermouthandswallowsit,seeminglywithoutchewing.Justlikeasnakegulpingdownamouse.“Thinkaboutit,andgetbacktome.”
“Idon’tneedto—”Sheshushesmewithabloodredclawonmylips.
“Shhhh,”shepurrs.Shescratchesthetopofmylipassheremovesherfinger.“Justpromisemeyou’llthinkaboutit.”
“Iwon’t,”Icallafterherassheslinksaway,movingalittlelikeascorpioninwedgeheels.Five
SORA
Goingsoloisn’tjustaboutsayingnotodates.It’sreallyallaboutsayingyestoyourself.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
MychancemeetingwithJackremindsmewhyIshouldbegladI’vepledgedtogosoloforthemonth.Sure,meetingJackfeltalmostlikefate,somehow.ButthenMalshowedup.Leggy,blond,andgorgeous.Theyprobablyhavepilesofinsidejokes,andspendalltheirtimesnort-laughingovertakeoutandwine,whilecladinmatchingcouples’pajamaonesies.Eitherway,onedaythey’llhavebeautifulbabieswhowillstarindiapercommercials.
Imean,italltracks.AndnowIknowthatJackisintotallScandinavianmodels,ergotheoppositeofme.Notthat—let’sbehonest—Jack’sevenremotelyinmyleagueanyway.Istillcan’tgetoverJack’stransformation.Imean,wow.Like,really…wow.Somanymuscles.Thatchiseledchin.Thosebroad,beefyshoulders.Andhebakes!Ipopanotheroneoftheman’samazingtortesinmymouthandsigh.DoesMalevenappreciatewhatshehas?Thesearedelicious.
Feelingnostalgic,Iheadtothestudyinmycondoanddigthroughthepilesofboxes.Ifindoneinthecornermarked“SchoolStuff.”Thisisit.Itugoffthelidandfindmyoldcapfromcollege,mydiplomainacardboardsleeve,andbeneaththat,astackofoldyearbooks.Igrabtheonemarked“fifthgrade”andopenitup.IfindJack’spicturefirst.
Aw,whatacutekid.Bigbrowneyes.Chubbycheeks.Hewassweet,Iremember.Hewouldalwaysletmeborrowhispencilwhenminebroke.Andhewassometimeshilarious.Likethetimehedidtheactualwormontheplaygroundonadare.And,yeah,hewasalittleoverweight,maybe.Hiseyesarethesame,andhisnose.Nottomentionhisbrightsmile.Ifeelbadforbelievingthathestolemycandy,whenprobablythatbullyBoyanDebnardid.
Icheckoutmypictureandcringe.WhyamIwearingaTeenageMutantNinjaTurtlesshirtonpicturedaywithaMyLittlePonychokernecklace?WhyamIsmilingsohardithurts?I’mhopeless.
Ifliptothebackofmyyearbookwheretherearetonsofsquigglysignatures.Jacksignedit.Hewrote,“Haveafunsummer.BEEcool.”Andhedrewanactualbumblebeewearingsunglasses,exceptthedrawingiskindofskewedandhilarious.Thebeelookshalfsmashed,andoneofthesunglasslensesiswaybiggerthantheother.ItakeapictureofthiswiththeintentofsomehowsendingittoJackjusttorelentlesslyteasehimaboutit,exceptthatIcan’t.Becausehehasagirlfriend.
AndIpledgedtogiveupflirtingforFebruary.
Larrypadsintothestudy,curiousaboutwhatI’mdoingintheRoomThatShallBeIgnored,andsniffsatadustybox.Thenhepromptlysneezes.
“You’reright.Ishouldn’tbeinhere,”ItellLarry,andgivehimapat.“Wecan’tliveinthepast.”
Istand,puttheyearbookbackinthebox,andreturntomyopenlaptoponthekitchentable.
IknowsomeofyouwillthinkthisGoSolochallengeisjustnonsense.Thatthephrase“It’sabouttimeIdateme!”soundstriteandridiculousandwouldbeaccompaniedbyadozengrossselfiesofmegrabbingfro-yo,orridingatandembikealone,ortoastingmyselfwithafluteofpinkchampagne.Butthat’snotwhatI’mtalkingabout.
We’reallsofocusedonbecomingonehalfofapair,ofmakingourselvesfitanotherperson,thatwedon’tspendnearlyenoughtimefiguringoutwhoweare,whatwewant,orwhatweevenlikebeforewejumpheadfirstintoarelationship.I’llbehonest,IspendsomuchtimefeelingdesperatejusttoBEwithsomeonethatI’mwillingtooverlookanythingthatseemsbad.I’mevenwillingtoconvincemyselfthatsomethingIdidn’twantiswhatIwantedallalong.(Amanwhoneverletsmeseehimontheweekend?That’stotallyfine,Dan.I’lladjust.Really.It’swhatIwant,too!)
OrI’llevenbeokaywithbeingwithsomeonewhodoesn’tevenreallywanttobewithme.(Hey,Marley,Iknowyouonlymarriedmeforapregnancyscare,andarestayingwithmeforconvenienceandbecauseIpaidallthegroceryandutilitybills,andthat’scompletelyfine.Becausewehadareal,practicalmarriageandthat’stotallybetterthanonethat’sabouthead-over-heelslove,becausewhowantsasoulmatewhenyoucanhavethepracticalchoice?)
SoloFebruaryisreallyaboutgivingusthetimeandspacetoreallythinkaboutwhoweareallonourown.HowdoIevenknowwhoIshouldbewith,ifIdon’tevenknowwhoIambymyself?And,really,aren’tIbetteroffalonethansettlingforsomethingIdon’twant?Ratherthansettlingformenwhodon’tdeserveme,Ireallyoughttowaitforthemanwhodoes.
IstoptypinglongenoughtothinkaboutJack.Thoseeyes.Thoseshoulders.Thosebaker’shands.Theeasyflowofconversation.Thewayhemakesmelaugh.Hisridiculousandhilariousbeedrawinginmyyearbook.No.StopthinkingaboutJack.He’sjustanotherescapehatch,another(incrediblyhandsome)distraction.Andhehasagirlfriend.Acapital“G,”LouisVuitton–totinggirlfriend.
Larrywhinesthen,walkingovertowhathethinksisthefrontdoor,butisactuallytheentrywaytableleg.He’saboutsixinchesoff.Poorguy.Heneedstogoout.Ifetchhisleash.Thefrontdoorsticksalittle,andItellmyselfIshouldhavesomeoneintofixthat.Andtofixtheleakyfaucetinthebathroom.Andtheunevenfloorboardsinthecornerofmybedroom.ThenIhaveaflashbacktowhenMarleylivedhere.Hewould’vetakencareofthosethings.Marleydidn’tpayhisshareofcondoexpenses,buthedidputzaroundandfixthings.Notalwaysperfectly(heonceaccidentlysupergluedthelightfixturetothe“on”positionwhenhewastryingtofixabrokenlightplate),butstill.
MarleyandIboughtthiscondothesecondyearweweremarried,sometimeafterthepregnancyscare,butbeforethesextingscandal.Thecondowasjustaflimsyexcusetostaytogether.Ifweweren’tgoingtobeparents,thenwecouldatleastbepropertyowners,becausewecouldqualifyforamortgagetogetherthatwenevercouldhavequalifiedforalone.I’veneverreallylovedthecondo.It’saseven-hundred-square-foot,two-bedroomwalk-up,withnocentralAC,nobathtub(sadbecauseIso,somissbubblebaths),nowasher/dryer,andnoparking,butithad“acoolvintagevibe”andexposedbrick,whichMarleywasallabout.Inthefuryofthedivorce,keepingthecondojustsomehowfeltlikewinning,eventhoughI’mprettysureMarleydidn’tevenwantitintheend.
I’monthefirstlanding,whenadoorpopsopenandIseetheorangefaceofPam.She’saddictedtospraytan,whichmakesherlooklikeawalkingclementine.Marleysentheralewdphotoafteracondomeetingwhereeveryonehadtoomuchwineandnotenoughcheese.Hisexcusewasthatheactuallymeanttosendittosomeoneelse.Paminformedmeofsaidpicture,andIstupidlyapologized,eventhoughIhadnothingatalltodowithit.ThePamIncidentsetoffaspiralofdiscoveriesaboutjusthowMarleyhadbeenusinghisphone,includingseveralactiveprofilesIfoundondatingapps,whicheventuallyledtooursplit.PamandIshould’vebondedandbeenlifelongfriends,exceptthenIadoptedLarrytofendoffthelonelinessdrainingmywilltolive,andPamhatedhimonsight.It’sbeenwareversince.
“Oh.Pam.”IkeepforgettingPamworksfromhomenow.Hassincethefirstshutdownduringthepandemic.It’stheworst.
“I’mgladIranintoyou,”shesays.That’salie.“DidyouleavetheGreenGleamatmydoor?”PamnoticesLarryforthefirsttimeandducksbehindherdooralittle,uneasy.ImakesureIstandbetweenLarryandPam,aprotectiveshield.
“Yes,”Isay,thinkingitwaskindofaniceolivebranch,mebringingitinside,insteadoftossingitintothedumpsterinthealleyaroundback.“Justtryingtobeagoodneighbor.”Isaythisbrightly,withoutsarcasm,andI’mproudofmyselfforthat.
“Theproducealmostspoiled,”shesnaps.“Youneedtotellmeit’shere,soIcanputeverythinginthefridge.”
“Oh.Sorry?”Iwasjusttryingtobenice.
“Imean,thisboxisexpensive.”Sheisactually,seriously,annoyedwithme.Icantell,becauseherclementinefaceisturningadeepershadeoforange.
“Iwasjusttryingtohelp,makingsureitwasn’tleftoutside.”Iguessnogooddeedreallygoesunpunished.
“Itwould’vebeenbetteroutside.”
O-kaythen.
“Also,whileIhaveyou,Iwantedtotalktoyouaboutyourdog.”Shespitsoutthewordsasifthey’repoison.SheglaresatLarry,whohidesbehindmylegs.“Hemakesalotofnoise.”
“Hebarelybarks.”
“Whenhewalksinyourcondo.”Pamrollshereyes.“Ihavealotofmeetings,andit’sunprofessionaltohearhimgallopingallovertheplacelikeanelephant.”
Behindmyknees,Larrywhines,worried.Itightenmygriponhisleash.
“Hereallydoesn’twalkaroundthatmuch,”Isay,defensive.Larrysleepstwenty-threeoftwenty-fourhoursaday.
“Ijustneedquietduringtheworkday.That’sall.”Pamnarrowshereyesatme.Inarrowmineather.
“I’lldowhatIcan,”Isay,andbythat,Imeanabsolutelynothing.
“Seethatyoudo,”sheadds,meaningthatshedoesn’treallyevencareifIkeepLarryquiet,becauseshe’dratherhavesomethingtolordoverme,fuelforourfeud.
Weglareateachotherforabeat.ThenPamslowlywithdrawsintohercondoandshutsherdoor,withoutagoodbye.Because,Ithink,it’sherwayofsayingshe’skeepinganeyeonme.It’sneverreallygoodbyewithher.
Nicetoseeyou,too,Pam.
SeeingPamremindsmethatIshouldsellmycondoandmove.Icouldrolltheequityfromthisoneintoanewone.Onewithabathtub.AndnoPam.Yes,yes,I’llgettoit.Iwill.Someday.Justlikelookingforfreelancejobsthatareabitmoreserious.Withabitmore…integrity.I’lldoit.Justnotrightthissecond.Becauselikefindingnewwritinggigs,sellingmycondoseemslike…agiantask.I’dhavetospring-clean.I’dhavetostageit(Idoubtanyonewouldbuyitwithallmyboxesinthestudy).I’dhavetofindarealestateagent,I’dhavetofindanewplace.Somanysteps.Andit’seasier…nottodoallthesteps.ButIwill.Someday.
Outside,Larryfindshistree,doeshisbusiness,andItieuptheevidenceinaplasticdoggiebag,eventhoughifIwereaworseperson(liketheonesdownthestreet),Iwouldjustkicksomesnowoveritandcallitaday.Whenthesnowmeltsinthespring,sometimesitfeelslikeaslowrevealofthismountainofliteralshitaroundthebaseofeverytreedowntheblock.Ibuzzopenthelockedentrydoorofmyapartmentbuildingandheadupthestairs,Larryintow.
IgetinsideandunbundlemyselfasLarryshakesoffabitofsnowfromhisfurjustasmyphonerings.IseeMom’spicturepopuponthescreen.
“Mom?Hey.What’sup?”Ianswer.
“Haveyougoneketo?”Forasecond,Ihavenoideawhatshe’stalkingabout.Momspeaksquickly—asifworriedshe’llgetcutoffmid-sentence.Mom,borninHawaiitoJapaneseAmericanparents,movedtothemainlandforcollegeinIowa,whereshemetmyScottishAmericandad.Incaseyoudidn’tknow,I’mliterallyawalkingminimeltingpot.Thinkofmeashumanfondue.
“HaveI…gonewhat?”
“I’mketo,too!Wecandoittogether!”Irealize,belatedly,shemeansthecarb-freediet.Isighandrollmyeyes.Momneverasksmetodoanythingforfununlessit’sdietingorexerciserelated.I’masizefourteen.Momissomewhereaboveaneighteen,thoughrelentlesslyyearnstobeasizetwo,andtalksaboutitendlessly.Inallhonesty,I’mfinewithbeingasizefourteen.I’velongsincemadepeacewiththefactthatI’llneverbeatwo,butMomsomehowthinkswe’rebothonthesamepage.Yo-yodietersforever.NomatterhowoftenItrytotellhertostopropingmeintoherfaddiets,shedoesitanyway.
“Mom,I’mnotontheketodiet.”
“Butyouareallaboutbacon.Insteadofmen?”Ohno.She’sbeenreadingmyarticles.
“Yes.I’mgivinguponmen.I’meatingbacon.Donuts.WhateverIwant.Iamnotdieting.That’skindofthepoint.”
“No!”MomgaspslikeIjustconfessedI’macannibal.“Butyoursister’sweddingiscomingup?Thepictures?”
“Yes,Iknow.I’lljusthavetobeafatwhaleinthem,Mom.”
Momsucksinabreathontheotherendofthephoneandthenbarksalaugh.IcanalwaysmakeMomlaugh.It’sasuperpower.“Sora!”Shechuckles.“Youknowthat’snotwhatImean.Youarenotafatwhale.”
“Morelikeaporkyporpoise,then?”
“No,no,no.”Shelaughssomemoreandbacktracks.“Ineedtoloseweight.”MomandIhavealwayssharedtheexactsamebodytype.So,whenshetellsmesheneedstoloseweight,shemightaswellbetellingmethesamething.“Ijustthoughtit’dbesomethingfuntodotogether.Webig-bonedgirlshavetostaytogether!”
Ihateitwhenshetriestolumpustogetherastwohopelessfatties.Andhere,I’vealreadycalledmyselfafatwhaletodistractanddivert.ButMomwon’tbewaylaid.Yearsofresentmentbubblestothesurface.IremembertheChristmasthatshegotusbothmatchingFitbits,eventhoughIdidn’taskforone.Thentherewasthetimeshesignedusupforajointgymmembershipformybirthday.WhenIwasfourteen.
“Howaboutwejustgoseeamovieinstead?”
MomlaughsasifI’mjoking,butI’mnotjoking.“Butthepopcorn!Somanycalories.”Sheclickshertongueindisapproval.
“Mom—”Here’swhereIneedtotellherthatI’mdonewithherfaddiets,thatifshefeelstheneedtodoit,great,but—thenIhearmydad’svoiceinmyhead.
Sora!Benice!ThiswasDad’sconstantrefrain.Heusuallyyelledit,becausehewastheonlymaninahousefullofwomen,andallhedesperatelywantedwaspeaceandquietandnodrama.Whichhenevergot.Andthismadehimshort-tempered,ormaybehewasjustshort-temperedtobeginwith,ormaybeitwashison-call,all-hours-of-the-day-or-nightjobrunninghissmallplumbingbusinessthatkepthimperpetuallygrumpy.Idon’tknow,butfromthetimeIwaslittleallIrememberwasthatheendedeveryargument,evenifheneverstartedthem.
Daddiedlastyearofaheartattack,butIstillfeellikehe’srightherewithme,readytoshutdownanydisagreementwithabarkedcommand.Ilearnedearlythatdissentwasn’tworthenduringDad’sstormylooksandgrittedteeth.Don’tbethenail,indeed.
“You’vegotaresponsibility,Sora.You’rethemaidofhonor.”Shesaysitasifthetitleisactuallyanhonor.“Youcan’tgiveup,sweetie.Yoursister’sweddingislessthanamonthaway.”
“Iknow,Mom.”Ipaceinthekitchennexttomyopenlaptop.Iaccidentallyhitthesqueakyboard.IknowthatwillmakePam,belowme,fume.
“Haveyoufoundadateyet?”
Isigh.“No,andIprobablywon’t,either.”NowIsuddenlyseethegeniusofSoloFebruary.Ikilltwobirdswithonestone.NamiisgettingmarriedthefirstweekendinMarch.IfI’veswornoffmenforwork,thenIdon’thavetoworryaboutscroungingupsomeawfuldate,either!Genius!
“Oh,don’ttalkaboutyourselflikethat.Ofcourseyouwill.Besides,there’salwaysoneofthegroomsmen.Ithinkoneoreventwoofthemaresingle.”
Iwrinklemynose.“Mitch’sfriendsare…”Istruggletosaysomethingthat’snottoocriticalbutalsohonest.Idon’tneedtosetMomoff.ItrynottocriticizeNamitoMom.MomnevertoleratesmecritiquinganythingNamidoes.ButMitchandhisfriends…ugh.IremembermeetingacoupleofthematoneofNamiandMitch’sSuperBowlpartieslastyear.Theytalkedentirelyinmemes.Mitchisdefinitelytheonlytolerableoneinthebunch.Andthat’sonlybecausehedoesn’ttalkmuch.Isuspecthismindworksinthesamewayashisfriends’inthathe’smotivatedsolelybybeer,ass,orfootball.Notnecessarilyinthatorder.Mitchjusthasthegoodsensetokeephismouthshut.Inthatway,he’sonlyslightlybetterthantherestofhisfriends.
“Mom,youdon’tunderstand.”Timetoplaythetrumpcard.“I’mnotgoingtobelookingforone.I’vevowedtogosoloforFebruary.It’smyassignment.Forwork.Thatmeansnodates.Nomen.ForFebruary.”
Momfallssilent.AllIheararemyownsqueakyfloorboardsbeneathmyfeetasIpace.Distantly,belowme,IhearPamretaliatebyblaringherfavoriteJockJamsVolume4mix.ThewarbledsoundsofChumbawambadriftupthroughmyuninsulatedfloor.ThismakesmewanttogetLarry’sballoutandplayfetchinthehallway,butIrefrain.
“Butyouneedadateforthewedding.Andit’stechnicallythefirstweekendofMarch.”
“Yes,true.ButI’drathernottrytoscrambletofindoneinaweek,andI’mnotevenlookingforoneinFebruary.Besides,Mom,I’mtiredofroller-coasterrelationships.”
“Youdon’tneedarelationship.Youjustneedadate.Namiwillwantyoutohaveone.”
“Namiwon’tcare!”Atleast,Ihopeshewon’t.
“Whydon’tyoutellheryourselfSaturday?”
NowI’monhighalert.“What’sSaturday?”
“FlyFitclass,remember?Namiiscoming.”
“Uh…”Idon’trememberagreeingtoanykindoffitnessclass,butthat’sprobablymyfaultfortuningoutthingsIdon’twanttohear.
“I’lltextyoutheaddress.Seeyouateleven!”shesings,andthenhangsupbeforeIcanbackout.Six
SORA
Didyouknowthatsinglepeopleareoftenhappierthanmarriedpeople?Andsinglepeopleareoftenhealthier,too.Whatif#GoingSolohelpsuslivelonger?
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
ByFriday,Istillhaven’tcomeupwithagoodexcusetogetoutofFlyFit,butI’mhoping,likealloftheproblemsinmylife,ifIjustaggressivelyignoreit,itwillgoaway.Inthemeantime,IfocusonthenextinstallmentofSoloFebruary
Whendidwedecideasasocietythatpairedupisthebestthingtobe?WhydoweALWAYScelebratecouples,butwenevercelebratesingles?It’slikewe’reallafraidofbeingalone,likewealldislikeourselvessomuchthatnoonecanimagineasinglelifemakingushappy.Ithinkweneedtoworkoncelebratingbeingsingle.Imagineifsocietyasawholespentmoretimetellingyouthatyouarefineallonyourown.Whatifstayingsingle,andlivingafulfillinglife,washeldupasjustasmeaningfulapathasgettingmarriedandhavingkids?
There’sactualscientificevidencethatsomepeoplearehappiersinglethantheyareinrelationships.
Isaywestartwithanewholidaycelebratingbeingsingle.Wecanbuyourselvesourownboxesofchocolate.I’dactuallypreferbaconboxes.Bacon-wrappedbacon.Bacon-shapedhearts!Yes!
Mystomachrumbles.Ipause,staringatmyblinkingcursor.Ineedabreak.
Preferably,onethatinvolvesfood.
IfireoffaquicktexttoStellaRosenstein,oneofmyclosestfriendswhoalsoworksfromhomeandlivestwodoorsdown.
Shetextsback,It’s10AM.
Brunchthen?Ioffer.
It’soneoftheperksofworkingfromhome.IcaneatwheneverIwant.Thisisalsooneofthedownsidesofworkingfromhome:IeatwheneverIwant.I’venotbeenhungryinmanymonths.I’mnotevensurewhat“peckish”feelslikeanymore.Ijustconstantlystuffmyfacewithmilkywhitecoffee,cheesesticks,andpitachipsalldaylong.
I’min,Stellawrites.Weneedbagels.Littleknownfact:ourdeskjobsrequirecarb-loading.
IloveStella.ShewasborninNigeria,butwasadoptedandraisedbyarabbiandhiswife,andgrewupinthenorthernsuburbsofChicago.Thefactthatshe’salicensedtherapistwhoseespatientsinvirtualsessionsfromherhomeofficehasnothingtodowiththefactthatwe’rebestfriends.
Isthatyourtherapeuticopinion?Iaskher.
Everythingismytherapeuticopinion.
Twenty-fiveminuteslaterI’msittingacrossfromStellaatherfavoritebageljoint.They’recertifiedkosher,sotheydon’tservebacon,buttheirbagelsarethesizeofmyfaceandliterallytodiefor,soI’mokaywiththat.
StellaistheonlyoneonearthIknowwhohasaworsedatinglifethanIdo(she’sforeverruinedtheideathatifonlyIwasattractedtowomen,myromanticlifewouldbesimpler).She’stoldmemultipletimesthatIneedtogetovermyself.Turnsout,relationshipsarejustfreakin’hard,nomatterwhoyou’reattractedto.
“IdumpedTerran,”sheannouncesassheunwrapsherloxandbagel.She’swearinghertypicalworkoutfit:fromthewaistup,atastefulsweater,mutedmakeup,andherdarkcurlsloosedownhershoulders.Waistdown,however,she’swearingfadedjoggersandapairofhermostcomfortablevintagesneakers.
“Finally,”Isay,relieved.“Youcan’tdatesomeonenamedTerrain.”Isayhernamewithexaggerateddisdain.Itakeabiteofmyowneverythingbagelwithextracreamcheese.It’stoasty,warm,andchewygoodness.
“Youknowshedoesn’tpronounceitlikethat.Andshedidn’tpickhername.”
“Yeah,Iknow.”Irollmyeyes.“It’slessaboutthename,andmoreaboutherbeingaterriblepersonwhometupwithwomenbehindyourbackonappsafteryoubothagreedtobeexclusive.”
Stellablinkstwice,andIseeasheenoftearsacrossherdarkbrowneyes.“She’semotionallyunavailable.Ialwaysfallforthosetypes.Ifeellikesuchaschmuck.”
“Youdon’talwaysfallforthosetypes.Justalmostalways.”Igrin.“Besides,IactuallythinkyousetgoodboundarieswithTerran.Youtoldherwhatyouneeded,andwhenshedidn’tgiveittoyou,youlethergo.”
“ThenwhydoIfeelsolousy?”Stellalaments.
“Inacoupleofweeks,youwillfeelbetter.Besides,you’llbethetoastofalltheappsthesecondyouputyourprofilebackup.”
Stellaisobjectivelygorgeous.She’sgotthismaneofcascadingdarkcurlsanddeepumberskinthatisabsolutelypore-freeandbreathtaking.Shelookslikesheoughttobeamodelratherthanatherapist,andwheneverwegoouttogether,allthemenflirtwithherandignoreme,butthen,Igetthejoyoftellingthemshe’llneverbeinterestedinthem,nomatterwhattheydo.“I’mnotgoingtosetunrealisticexpectations.Itellmypatientsthisallthetime,butlookatme.”
“Hey,youknowit’salwayshardertofollowyourownadvice!Plus,youcan’tbeobjectiveaboutyourself.That’swhynoonecanbetheirowntherapist.”
“Thanks.”Shesmilesatme,wipinghernosewithanapkin.“Hey,bytheway,I’vebeenreadingSoloFebruary.Thearticlesaregood.Reallygood.”
“Theyare?”Iblink.
“Yes!I’mreallyproudofyou—usuallyyoujustrunheadfirstintoanewrelationship,butI’msogladyou’retakingsometimeforyou,andreallyevaluatingwhatyouneedbeforeyoustartcrushingonsomenewguy.”
IthinkaboutmeetingJackatMargo’sandwonderifIshouldtellStellaabouthim.Thenagain,whybother?Jackhasagirlfriend.Ergo,Ican’tbecrushingonhim.EvenifIam.Alittle.
“Idon’talwaysjumpintoanewcrush,”Iprotest.
“That’syourMO,”Stellascoffs.“RememberhowyoumetDan?ThatwasrightafteryoujustbrokeupwithChris.”
“Ugh.Chris,”Igroan.Afterwehadour“let’sbeexclusive”talkandagreednottodateanyoneelse,hewenttoCancúnwithhisex-girlfriend.
“AndChriscamerightafterNathan.”
“Don’tremindme.”Nathan,whotoldme,flat-out,thereweretoomanyoptionsoutthereformenoverthirty,andthattheolderhegot,themoreoptionshehad,whereasmydatingpoolasastraightwomansharplydwindleseveryyear.Thenumbers,hesaid,didn’tlie,anditmadenosenseforhimtoeversettledown,untilhereachedhisfifties.IspentafewmonthsthinkingImightbeabletochangehismind.Dumb,Iknow
“AndNathanwasrightafterMarley.So,you’vekindofgotapattern.Alittlebit.”Stellatakesabigbiteofbagelandchewsthoughtfully.“I’mjustgladyou’retakingsometime,exploringwhatyouneed.Thearticlesareauthenticandreal.Infact,Ithinkit’sthemostauthenticthingyou’vewritten.”
“You’resayingI’mnotauthenticwhenIwriteaboutthebesttoothpastestousebeforeablowjob?”
“Uh,ew?”Stellawrinkleshernoseindistaste.“I’mjustsaying,you’vealwaystalkedaboutwantingtowritesomethingmoremeaningful.Ithinkthiscouldbeit.”Stellatakesasipofhercoffee.“IthinkI’lldothechallenge,too,actually.SoloFebruarysoundsprettygoodtome.”
“Seriously?”Ican’tbelieveStellaisjoiningme.
“Whynot?It’shealthytotakestockofone’slife.Andlotsofpeoplearedoingit.”
“Theyare?”
Stellapullsupmyfirstarticle,whichIhaven’tlookedatinawhile.It’sgottenfifteenthousandlikes.That’smorelikesthananyoneofmyarticlesbefore.Byabout14,850.
Yougo,girl!Thankyouforsayingwhatwe’veallbeenthinking.Weneedarelationshipdetox.
Youwriteit,sister!
Tohellwithlove.#GoSoloYolo
ThedoornearourtabledingsandasharpblastofFebruaryairripsacrossthebackofmyneck.IglanceupintimetoseenoneotherthanJackMann,wearinganavywoolpeacoat,cargopants,andsturdy,winter-prooflugboots,saunterin.Ifeelpurehappiness,followedbyexistentialdread.Stella,meanwhile,doesn’tnoticehim.
“See?Yourwordsarereallyresonatingwithpeople.”
“Uh…yeah.”Jackhasn’tseenmeyet.He’smoregorgeousthanIremember,andinmymemory,he’sthelovechildofKeanuReevesandJasonMomoa.
He’salone.Ishisgirlfriendmeetinghimhere?Iwatchasheheadstothecashier,whoturnsbehindhertopourhimacupofcoffee—togo.Hemustbeonbreak.Margo’sisjustdownthestreet.
“I’mserious,Sora,”Stellacontinues.“Youmightreallybeontosomethinghere.Somethinggood.”
“Yeah.Iprobablyam…”WhenJackturnsaround,there’snowayhewon’tseeme.We’resittingrightbythedoor.ThecashierhandsJackareceiptandhisto-gocup.ShouldIhide?Idon’tknowwhattodo!Jackturns.Wemakeeyecontact.Jack’sgorgeousfacebreaksintoasmilesoperfectandsexyandstunningthatIcan’tactuallybreathefortwowholeseconds.Heclosesthedistancebetweenthecashierandourtableintwolongstrides.
“Sora?”hesaysinhisstupidlydeepvoice.
“J-Jack!”Isputter,justasStellaswivelstoeyeJack,who’sstandingoverourtable.Theto-gocoffeecuplookslikeatinytoddlersippycupinhismassivepaw.“Uh.Howareyou?”
“Good.BetternowthatI’verunintoyou.”Hegrinsatme.Stellaclearsherthroat.
“Uh…Jack,meetmyfriendStella.”
Jackgrins.“Oh,nicetomeetyou,”hesays,offeringuphisstronghand.Stellatakesitcautiously,agleamof“whothehellisthisman”inhereyesassheglancesatme,eyebrowraised.
“HowdoyouknowSora?”sheasks,thequestionlacedwithaboutadozendifferentmeanings.
“Wewenttoelementaryschooltogether.”
“Oh.Really?”Stellacan’tcontainhersurprise,likelybecauseInevermentionedthatIsharedaclassroomwithaGreekgod.
“Infact,IknowallofSora’ssecrets,”Jackteases.“Shemadeapaperfortune-tellerinthirdgradethatpredictedshe’downaVolkswagen,havefourchildren,andbepresidentoftheUnitedStates.Allbyagethirty-three.”
“Cootiecatchersarenotoriouslyaccurate,”Iagree,lovingthewayIfallintoeasybanterwiththismanlikeapairofcomfortableslippers.“It’swhyI’mgettingmypresidentialexplorationcommitteetogethernow.”
“Oh,good,andIassumeyou’vealreadygottheVolkswagen.”
“Plantopurchaseonenextmonth.Andthequintupletswillbeontheway.Anydaynow.”Ipatmystomach.Wegrinateachother.Stellacoughs.Right.SoloFebruary.AndthefactthatJackhasagirlfriend.
“Listen,”Jackbegins.“IjustwantedyoutoknowthatMal—”
Ugh,thegirlfriend.“Youdon’thavetoexplain,”Ijumpin,quickly.Pleasedon’t.Ialreadyhaveterriblenightmaresofthemwearingmatchingheartunderwearastheytickleeachotherintheirswingingbearpi?ata.
“IfeellikeIhaveto.Imean,we’renotdating.Weusedtodate,but,uh…”Thisisbecomingawkward.“Imean,we’renot.Dating,thatis…”
“What?”
“We’renotdating.Weusedto.Butwe’renotnow.Iknowshemadeitlooklikeweare,butwe’renot.”
Stellamakesasnortingsound.Probablybecausethat’sexactlywhatTerranwouldsay.
“You’renotdating.”Istillcan’tbelieveit.Malseemedsocozyandterritorialwhenshecalledhim“Jack-a-boo.”Which…gross.
“No.Absolutelynot.Webrokeupayearago.”Jackrubshisneckindiscomfort.“She’sjustnotoverit.”
GivenhowhisbicepissolargewhenflexedthatIcanseetheimpressionofthemusclethroughhiswoolpeacoat,then,yeah,Igetwhyshe’snotoverJack.
“So,listen,beforesheinterruptedusyesterday,Iwasgoingtoseeif…”Hestartstalkingalittlebitfaster.“Ifmaybeyouwantedtogooutsometime?Grabadrink?Coffee?”
Stella’seyeswidenasshelooksatme.She’sassurprisedasIam.Neitheroneofushasprobablybeenaskedonadateinpersoninyears.Usually,theaskcomesintheformofavaguetextmessage,hintingaboutapossible,theoreticaldate,likeBeenmeaningtocheckoutthatnewbarinRiverNorth.
“Or,youknow,”hesays,agleaminhiseye,“wecouldjustfindaplaygroundandracetotheswingslikeoldtimes.”
“Yes!”Icry,butjustasI’mabouttojumpupanddownlikeI’vewonThePriceIsRightshowcaseshowdown,IseeStella’sdisapprovingface.Crap.SoloFebruary.“Imean,yes,I’dlovetodothat,but…”
Stellaraisesbothbrows.
“Ikindof…sortof…pledgedtogiveupmenforthemonthofFebruary.”
JacklookslikeI’vejusthandedhimacalculusproblem.“Youdon’tlikemen?”heasks.
“No.Imean,Ilikementoomuch.Ilovethem.Can’tgetenoughofthem,”Isay.Okay,notwhatImean,exactly.“I’vejustswornoffdatingforFebruary.”
Hesquints,stillnotsurewhatthehellImean.Idon’tevenknowwhatImeananymore.NotwithJack’sbigbrowneyesinfrontofme,poolsofwarmchocolate.
“So,it’snotme,it’sallmen?”heasks,tryingtowraphisbigsexyarmsaroundthisrejection.Realdisappointmentflashesinhiseyes.Ihatethat.Iwanttoimmediatelyreversecourse.
“JustforFebruary,”Isay,hopingthattingeofsadnessinhiseyesgoesaway.Itdoesn’t.Crap.HethinksI’mrejectinghimpermanently.Hecoversuphisdejectionwithaflatsmile.
“Oh.Okay.Igetit.”Heflipsuphiswoolcoatcollar,notmeetingmygaze.“Well,uh,thenI’llbegoing.Stella,nicetomeetyou.”
Shenodsathim.“You,too,Jack.”
Iwatchhimasheexitstherestaurant,mystomachtwistingpainfullyinknots.WhydoIfeellikeI’veblownit?
“Whothehellwasthat?”Stellahisseswhenhe’sgone.“You,myfriend,havealotofexplainingtodo.”Seven
JACK
Valentine’sDaybeganastheRomanfestivalLupercalia.Thefestivalincludedfertilityritesandthepairingoffofwomenwithmen,usuallybylottery.Bylottery!Tellmehowthat’satallromantic?Also,Ibelievethesacrificingofgoatswasinvolved.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Okay,sothatwentwell.No,it’snotme.It’sallmenonplanetEarth.Ijustcan’tbelieveIreadtheroomsowrong.Ikindofthought…wehadaconnection.Clearly,I’mwrong.
IslidethetrayofunbakedraspberrytortesintotheovenatMargo’s.It’sarelativelyslowFriday.It’sbeenafewdayssinceSorablewmeoff.Ihatetoadmitthis,butIstilllookforhertowalkintheslidingautomaticdoorsofthestore.Stupid,really.Ishouldgiveup.I’mlikeCharlieBrownandthatdamnfootball.EverysingletimeLucyholdsit,herunsfullspeedtowardit.Onlytohaveitswipedawayatthelastsecond.Again.
MyphonedingsandIpullitoutofmypocket.
TheSparkdatingapptellsmeIhavemorethanadozennewmatches.Iaimlesslylookthroughthem.There’sawomanonherpatiowithafishface.“Kissyface”mightbethetechnicalterm,buttheyalllooklikefishfacestome:lipspuckered,cheekssuckedin.Fishfacewithsunglasses.Fishfacewithout.Womaninabikinistaringoffintothedistance.Fishfaceandcleavageshot.Cleavageshotandfishface.Anotherbikini.Morecleavage.Morefishfaces.Andalonglistofnewmessagesfrominterestedparties,allconsistingofone-wordopeners.
Hey.
Hi.
’Sup?
Hey.
Hi.
AllgorgeousenoughtopiquemyinnerNeanderthal’sinterest.ButmyinnerHomosapienscravesaconversation.Aconnectionthatgoesbeyondone-syllableanswers.BecauseI’vehadenoughofthecasualswipe-rightcircuit.Iwantmore.Iwantsomethingreal.Someonewhomakesmelaugh.Someonewithsubstance.Someonewhounderstandstheconceptofaninsidejoke.Or,hell:humor,period.Someonewhodoesn’tspendhourstryingtogettheperfectfishfaceandsemi-tastefulcleavageshotfortheirsocial.Someonewhoeatsfoodondates,insteadofnibblingontheedgeofapieceoflettucelikeaguineapig.
SomeonelikeSora.
Confessiontime.
ImighthavenoticedheratMargo’sintheproducesection,maybebacknearChristmas,lookingprettydamncrispherself.I’drecognizedherinstantly.Thosesweetbrowneyesandperfectpinkbowlipsareimpossibletoforget.Plus,shehasthatlittlebeautymark,totheleftofhermouth,andthedimpleontherightwhenshesmiles.She’dbeenwearingaplaidscarf,knee-highblackshinyboots,andaredwoolthigh-lengthcoatwithlipsticktomatch.LiketheperfectChristmaspresentIwantedtoseeundermytree.Red—thecolorofgoodluck,thecolorPoPo,myChineseAmericangrandma,saidscaredawaybadspirits.Butthen,Irealize,she’snotalone.Someguyistaggingbehindher,anuglyversionofLanceBass,thatshecalledDan.
Iguessifshereallyhasvowedtogosolothismonth,thenthatmeansnoDan,either.Iguessthat’saconsolationprize.Still,SoloFebruarycould’vejustbeenanexcusetoletmedowneasy.Sora’snicelikethat.Ofcourse,therejectionstillstings.MorethanI’dliketoadmit.
ThetimeroftheovenatMargo’sgoesoff,lettingmeknowtheraspberryminitortesareready.Ishovemyphoneinmypocket,grabacoupleofovenmittsthataretoosmallformyhands,andopentheoven.HeatblastsmyfaceasIgrabholdofthetrayofdessertsandslidethemout.Theylookperfect,ifIdosaysomyself.Iglancearound,butI’maloneinthegrocerykitchenthatlooksouttotheglasscasesofthebakerysection.Isigh.It’snoAlestra,thefancyMichelin-starrestaurantwhereIworkedlastyear,makingdessertdelicaciesthatgotfive-starreviewsintheChicagoTribune.Ah,howfarI’vefallen.
Ishakemyhead.Noneedtodredgeupbadmemoriesnow.What’sdoneisdone.Can’tremixacakethat’salreadybaked.Iglanceupfromthecounterandseeawomandebatingwhetherornottocomeupandordersomething.Twoothersstandbehindher,whispering.Isigh.IknowI’vebecomethelocalsingleladies’(andsomemen’s)obsession.It’sjustallkindsofembarrassing,really.Idon’twantthatkindofattention.
Itdoesn’tmatter,though.Soon,I’llopenmyownbakery.Atmyshop,theycanflirtwithmealltheywant.I’vegothalfthecashIneedtoopenit.Plus,nowI’mnominatedforBestPastryChef,andifIwintheawardthisyear,andthe$100,000prize,I’llbeset.
Myluckhastobechanging.Afterthedisasterthatwaslastyear,I’vegottogetabreak.
Myphoneringsinmypocket.Myolderbrother,Marc,iscalling.
“Hey.”Marcsoundsecho-y,soIknowhe’scallingmefromhisfancynewcar,probablystuckintrafficonthewaytohislawoffice.Heneverhastimetocallanyoneunlesshe’sstuckintraffic.“YourememberAllie’sbirthdaytomorrow?”
Irollmyeyes.“OfcourseIrememberourniece’sbirthday.”ThefactthatMarcfeelstheneedtoremindmeisslightlyannoying.“I’mbakingthecake,remember?”
“Okay,justchecking.Youknowthispartyis…important.”
“Iknow.”Ayearago,thepoorfour-year-oldwasstuckinthecancerwardatChicagoHospital,fightingoffleukemia.Thatspunky,adorable,fearlessgirlgaveusthescareofourlives.Butshefoughtthroughitlikeachampandkickedcancer’sasswithherlight-upsparklingunicornsneakers.Thatsoon-to-be-five-year-oldismydamnhero.“I’mmakingherfavoritecake—chocolatechocolate.AndImighthavepickedupafewthings.Pinkandglittery.”
“Ianisn’tgoingtolikethat.Youknowhowhefeelsaboutglitter.”Ian’sourotherbrotherandAllie’sdad,andhaslamentedamilliontimeshowglittergetsallovereverysurfaceofthehouse,nomatterhowmuchtheytrytocontainit.
“Iancanbiteme,”Ijoke.“Thegirllovesglitter?She’sgettingglitter.Afterallthatshe’sbeenthrough?LeastIcando.”
“Yeah,andshe’sgotadoctor’scheckuplaterthismonth…”Marctrailsoff,becausehedoesn’twanttosaywhatwe’reboththinking:thecancercouldcomebackanytime.It’sasneaky,cowardlysonofabitch.
“That’swhyAlliegetsalltheglitterandchocolateshecanhandlerightnow.”
Becausethetruthis,wedon’tknowhowmanybirthdaysAlliewillget.Whethershestayswellisuptothebigguyupstairs.Allthedoctorstellustheoddsaregood.Still,it’stheBigC.Andit’sscaryashell.
“Okay,well,don’tbelate.It’selevenatIan’splace.”
“Iknow,Marc.Iknow.”Marcfeelstheneedtopoliceusall,beingtheoldest.Evenwhenwewerelittle,hepromotedhimselftoMannFamilyboss.
IhangupwithMarc,heartalittlebitheavy.ButAlliewon,Itellmyself.Shebeatit.Nouseinlettingdoubtsaboutherfuturecreepin.She’sgoingtolivelongandwell.AllieremindsmethatweonlygetoneshotonplanetEarth.Youneverknowwhenyourtimeisup.Mightaswellmakethemostofit.
IthinkaboutSoraagainandsigh.IjustwishIcouldbemakingthemostofitwithher.Eight
SORA
Onlyyoucanmakeyourselfhappy.Nooneelsecandothat.Stoptryingtodelegatethedutytosomeoneelse.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Saturdaymorning,IstillfeelanaggingworrythatblowingoffJackmighthavebeenamistake.I’mconsumedbyallthewhatifs.CouldhehavebeenTheOne?OramIjustusinghimasanexcusenottoworkonmyself?I’lladmit,I’mmorethanalittlehauntedbythelookofdisappointmentonhisface.IhatethatI’mresponsibleforthat.Iamworkingthroughmyguiltbyeatingmyfeelings.Stellawouldtellmethisisdecidedlyunhealthy,butbaconjustmakeseverythingbetter,okay?
Myshort-tempereddadwasimpatientwitheveryoneandeverything,exceptwhenhemadebreakfastSaturdaymorningswhenIwasakid.Hisspecialtieswerepancakesandbacon.He’dalwaysfryupafullpackageatatime,andbecauseNamiandMomweren’thugefansofthecrunchybreakfastmeat,DadandIhadmoretoourselves.It’soneofthefewreally,trulygoodmemoriesIhaveofDad.
Larrywhines,winkingatmewithhisforever-shuteye,pinktongueout.Iputacoupleofpiecesinhisbowl,andhegobblesthemup.
“Whatshouldwedotoday?”IaskLarry.Helooksup,hopefulforanotherpieceofbacon.
Myphonepings.SoloFebruaryisbecomingathing,seriously,Arialtextsme.Checkyourinbox.
IglanceatmyphoneandrealizeI’vegothundredsofnewemails.ThelastarticleIpostedhasfourhundredthousandlikes!Whatthe…!
I’vebeenfeelinglikeyoudoforalongtime,onewomanwrote.Thankyouforwritingwhatwe’veallbeenthinking.I’vebeenlookingforhappinessthroughamanfortoolong.Thankyouforgivingmethecouragetobeonmyown.
Wow.Ibrowsethroughdozensofothermessages,andthethemeisthesame.WhatI’mwritingisresonatingwithpeople.Reallyhittinghome.Stellawasright!
Myphonebuzzeswithanothertext.ThisonefromNami.
YoucomingtoFlyFittoday,right?It’sinahalfhour.
Iglancedownatmybacon-grease-ladenfingers.TheverylastthingonearthIwanttodoisgoworkout.Thewholepointofeatingmyfeelingsistonotburnoffthecaloriesthatarecoatingmyinteriorfat,whichislikeahugontheinside.ButIalsoknowthatMomandNamiwillkeeponbuggingmeuntilIshowup,andthenI’llhavetheavalancheoftextsafterwardifIdon’t,theguilttripinstereo.
DoIhavetocome?
Itype.Maybe,thisonetimeinourlives,Namiwillshowmealittlepity.
Momsaysyouhavetotalktomeaboutthewedding.What’sup?
Idon’tactuallythinkNamiwillcareaboutmegoingsolo,onewayoranother,butpartofmeisworriedshewillcare.She’sbecomeobsessedwithlittledetailssinceshestartedplanninghernuptialsandshe’swoundtighterthanaviolinthesedays.ShebrokeoutintearsinthepotsandpanssectionofCrate&Barrellastweekbecauseshecouldn’tfindthenonsticksaucepanshewantedforherregistry.So,probablybestifIbreakthenewsinperson.
WilltellyouwhenIgetthere.I’monmyway.
Igrabthenewlynukedbaconoffthetableandwrapitinanapkin.Nosenseinwastinggoodfarm-to-tablethick-slicedgoodness.Icaneatitinthecar.
IwalkintothesleekFlyFitstudioandeverythinghastheFlyFitlogoonit,aloopydouble“F”that,ifyousquint,kindoflookslikeadoubleinfinitysign.Thisisterrifyingbecauseifthere’sonethingIdon’tneedaninfiniteamountof,it’sexercise.Peoplewaitforthestudiodoortoopen,aboutsixsofar,andeverypersoniscladinexpensive,coordinatedathleisurewear.Iglancedownatmy(washed!)k-r-otsweatshirtandfaded,ultra-stretchyyogapants,sowornthebrandnamehaslongsincewornoffthelowerback.I’mprettysurethefabricmightevenbesheerinplaces,butwhocares?I’matthegym.Idon’tneedtoimpressanyone.Notthatthereareanymenheretoimpress.It’sallwomenofvariousages,allfullymatching,fromtheircoloredhairtiestothelogosontheirdesignercross-trainers.
“Youmadeit!”callsNami,emergingfromthecrowd.She’soutfittedinsomethingbrightandshiny,blackandpink.She’snormallyasizetwoonabloatedday,butsinceherstressfulweddingplanning,she’splummetedtoasizedoublezero.Shehugsme,andshefeelslikeallsharpedges.I’llneedtotalktoherabouteatingsomething.Shepullsbackfromme,frowning.“Whydoyousmelllikebacon?”sheasksme,perplexed.
“Noreason,”Ilie.
Thenshelooksatmyoutfitandfrowns.“Uh,whatareyouwearing?”sheasks,uncertain,asifshe’sneverseenmyonce-white,nowgrungyyellowsneakers,withtherubberonthetoehalfpeelingoff.Sheglancesuneasilyaroundatthewell-coifedcrowd.Twomoreladiespushthroughtherevolvingdoor,wearingmatchingmauvespandex.
“Clothes?”Ioffer.
Shefrowns,disappointed.Okay,soI’msorryIcan’taffordstylishworkoutgear.I’mnotacorporateattorneyatastart-uptechfirmthatIhelpedtogetofftheground,whichwillprobably,oneday,nethermillions.Plus,Iremindmyself,SoloFebruarygivesmethelicensetodresshowIwant,nothowIthinkotherpeoplewantmetodress.Icanjust,foronce,becomfortable.
“Gladyoumadeit,”Momsays,andthankfullydoesn’tcommentonmyshirtorshoes.She’scutherjet-blackhairintoalayeredbob.She’swearingnewlipstick,too,acoralthatsuitsher.She’sinherearlysixties,butherageseemsundefinable.Shecouldbethirty-five.Shecouldbesixty-five.MomlikestojokeoftenthatherJapaneseheritagemeansthatshe’lllookyounguntiloneday,suddenly,she’lljustlookvery,veryold.HerJapaneseancestorshavetwospeeds:agelessandoldashell.Rightnow,she’sageless:nowrinkles,stillmostlyflawlessskinexceptforasunspotortwo.I’mjustthirty-two,butIhopethosearethegenesshe’spassedalongtome.
“Youcanusethis!”sheadds,ruiningheropeningbypattingmyshouldersympathetically.Shesniffsloudly.“DoIsmellbacon?”Shecluckshertongueindisapproval.“YouknowyouandIcan’teatlikeNamidoes.”
“Mom,Namidoesn’teat.”
“Ieat,”Namiprotests.
“Right.”Iglanceathersharpcollarbone.
IwishI’dsavedsomebaconinmypocket.Icoulduseitnow.Then,whentheyaskwhyIhavebaconinclass,Icanjusttellthemit’smycomfortanimal.
“So?Whatdoyouwanttotellmeaboutthewedding?”Namiasksme,eyesbright.She’sclearlysomehowundertheimpressionthisisgoodnews.DidMommakeherthinkI’dlandedafamousDJforthereceptionorsomething?
“Uh…I…”Whyisthissohard?“Idon’thaveadateforthewedding.”
Namiblinksfast.Thisisnotwhatshe’sexpecting.“Oh.”Sheshrugs.“Well,you’llgetone.Youstillhaveplentyoftime.”Shewavesadismissive,perfectlymanicuredhand.
“She’snotgoingtoevenlookforone,”Momchimesin.“She’sgivinguponmen.”
“Mom,I’mnotgivinguponthem.I’mtakingabreak.ForthemonthofFebruary.”
Naminowlooksalittlemoreconcerned.Thatwrinkleinthemiddleofherforeheadappears,theonewhenshe’sbackedintoacorner,likeprettymuchanytimeweplayedConnectFour.Shehatestolose.Shealsohates,morethananything,tohaveoneofhermeticulousplansderailed.IloveNamitodeath.She’ssmartandfiercelyloyal,butwedding
“Ican’tbelieveyou’redoingthistome.”Hervoiceisgettinghigherpitchedandsqueaky.IrealizeIhavecompletelyunderestimatedtherippleeffectofmenothavingadate.Whoknewitwasthisimportant?“I’malreadysostressedrightnow,andyouthrowthisonme?NowI’vegottofindyouadate?”
“IwasactuallythinkingI’djustgowithoutone.”
Namipressesherlipsinathinline.Thisisn’twhatshewantstohear.“I’vealreadymadetheseatingarrangements.”
“Iknow.I’msorry.But,Imean,can’twejusttakeawayachair?”
“Takeawayachair!”Namihuffs,asifI’veaskedhertoseverherpinkietoproveherloyalty.“No,wecan’t.”
“Oh.”IguessIwasn’tawarewecouldn’ttakeawayachair.Morewould-befly-fitterscrowdintothelobby.Now,we’renearlyelbowtoelbow.Iglanceatthegiantdoorleadingintothestudio,willingittoopen.“Nami,Idon’twanttomessanythingup,butit’sjustthatI’mdoingthisthingforworkand—”
“Workismoreimportantthanmywedding?”Nami’sfuming.
“No,that’snotwhatImean.”Ugh.I’mjustdiggingmyselfindeeper.
“Whataboutthecouples’dance?”Namidemands.“Theseconddance?Theweddingpartyissupposedtodance—ascouples.”Nami’sbrowwrinklesfurther.
“Ididn’tknowaboutthecouples’dance.”
“Howcanyounotknowaboutthecouples’dance?”Namisays,exasperated.Idon’tpointoutthatthisisthefirsttimeI’veevenheardofaplannedcouples’dance.ThatwouldonlymakeNamiangrier.“Andallthegroomsmenalreadyhavedates.Now,Ihavetofindyousomeonetodancewith?”
“WhataboutUncleBob?”
“Great-UncleBobiseighty-fiveyearsold,”Namihuffs.“He’llruinthepictures.”
Ouch.PoorUncleBob.He’sanadorableoldmanwholikestowearplaidtiesandtalksinafaintScottishlilt.
“He’llbefineinpictures.”
“Hehasawalker.Howcanheevendance?”
“I’llhelphim,”Ioffer.“It’llbecute.OrIcandancewithGrandmaMitsuye.Shelovestodothejitterbug.”
Namiletsoutanexasperatedsigh.“Youdon’tgetit.”NamiglaresattheceilingofFlyFit.“Whydoyoualwaysdothistome,Sora?Seriously?”There’salifetimeofcloselykeptgrudgesinthatoneword.JustlikeDad,Namineitherforgetsnorforgives.
“Icanjustsitoutthedance.It’sokay.”
“Youhavetodance.It’smydayandyouhavetodance.”IseeDad’soldtemperintheflareofhernostrils.
“Okay,okay!”Iraisemyhandsinsurrender.
Thestudiodoorslipsopenthen.Andtheinstructor,Ipresume,stepsout.
“Allright,ladies!”criestheinstructor,apetiteblue-headedpixiecladheadtotoeinaleopard-printfull-bodyleotard.“Arewereadytogoin?”
Everyonegivesaloudshoutofapproval,soloudthatIjump.Areweinthemarines?
Theinstructor,bouncingwithexaggeratedenthusiasm,swingsopenthebirchdoortothestudioandweallfilein.That’swhenInoticetheharnesseshangingfromthehigher-than-normalceilingandthelong,coloreddrapesknottedatthebottomanddraggingonthewoodenfloor.Worse,afewoftheladiesjumprightintotheswingingdrapesandbeginwarm-upstretches,hanginginthemlikeprosfromCirqueduSoleil.
“Whatthehellisthis?”IwhispertoMom.
“Aerialaerobics,”shesays.“Haven’tyouheardofFlyFit?Andwhatdidyouthinkitwas?”
“Myideaofhell.Sincewhenisthisathing?”IaskNami,butshe’sgonemute.She’spissedatmenowandI’mgettingtheNamicoldshoulder.Great.Ifeelapangofguilt,eventhough,objectively,IknowI’mnotruiningherwedding.She’soverreactingbecauseshe’sstressedandMitchhasbeenzerohelpinplanninganyofthis.It’shardtohelpwhenhespendseighthoursadayonlineshootingaliens.She’llcalmdown.Ihope.
NamifollowsMomastheybothheadtothefrontoftheclass,closesttothemirrors,andIsuddenlyforgetanyweddingtensionasMomclimbsintoaturquoiseknotteddrapeandNamihangsontoapinkone,grabbingitwithbothhandsandbendingforwardinastretch.Whyaretheysoclosetothefrontandthemirrorswhereeveryonecansee?It’satthatmomentIrealizeMomandNamihavebeendoingthiseverySaturdayforlikelymonthsnow.I’vebeenpolitely(andnotsopolitely)refusingtocomeforages.Itrytoinchbacktoareddrapeattheveryback,butMomspotsme.Shegestureswildlyformetocometothem.She’sholdingakellygreendrapejustforme.Great.I’lllookliketheJollyGreenGiantstuckonJack’sbeanstalk.
Reluctantly,Imoveforwardandstandbesidethesilkyfabric,allthewhiletryingnottostareattheother,farmorefitwomen,sittingintheirknottedcradles,contortingthemselvesintopointed-toewarm-ups.Whyistherenopaddingonthisfloor?Evenforyogawegetmats,andtheworstIcandoisfallsixincheswhendoingDownwardDog.I’mnotsuspendedfivefeetintheair.
“Ladies!”criestheleopard-print-cladinstructor.“Forthoseofyouwhodon’tknowme,mynameisAmethyst.ButyoucancallmeAmee—twoe’s!”
Really?DidshereallyneedtotellushernamewasAmethyst?OrthatshespellsAmeewithtwoe’s?Ifeellikeit’sanunnecessaryflex
“Okay,firstoff,we’regoingtodosomestretches.Everyone,Iwantyoutoreachhigh,highupinthesky,bothhands!”Everyonestandsfacingthemirrors,thedrapeswingstotheirleft,andtheylifttheirarmsintheair,fingersspread.MompositionsherselftomyleftandNamiistomyright.“Comeonnow,highenoughtotouchthosedreams!”
Dreams?MydreamrightnowistoescapetomycarandseeifIcanfindanybaconcrumbsinthecreviceofafloormat.I’msureIdroppedsomeontheway.Ifrown,andMommakeseyecontactwithmeinthemirror.Hereyessay,you’dbetterreallybetrying.
“Allright-y,ladies.Nowwe’regoingtomakeourbodiesintoahalfmoon.Reachupandtakeholdofyourwings…”
Wings?Iglancearoundandthennoticethateveryoneisgrabbingthedrapesnexttothem.They’rewings?
“Andstretchforward…”Ameebendsforward,stillholdingontothedrapes,curlingherbodyintoaCshape.“Andwalkaroundandstretchbackward…”Now,Ameebendsbackward.
Ifeellikeafool,butatleastIcankindofkeepup.
“Andnow,it’stimetobeairborne,ladies!Stepupintoyourcradle…”Ameeputsonebarepointedtoeontotheknotofthedrapeandstepsupinoneeasy,fluidmovement,asdoalmostalltheotherladiesinclass.Istickmyfootontomygreensilkknot,whichhangsatleastthreefeetofftheground—more,even—andtrytoheavemyselfup.Irealizeinstantlythefollyofhavinghadbaconrightbeforethisdamnexercise:myhandsmightaswellhaveathickcoatingofCrisco.Ican’tholdontothedamnfabrictosavemylife.It’ssilky,myhandsaregreasy,andthecombinationisgoingtolandmeinanambulance,onthehookfora$950co-pay.Ittakesmefourtries,butIfinallygetenoughleveragetohoistmyselfup.
“Kickoutthatleg,ladies,pointthattoe!”Ameebarksatus.“Hookyourarmsintoyoursilklines!”Theinstructorwrapsherarmsintoeachdrape,sothatthefabricisbeneathherarmpits,andthenshedoesascissorkick,herlegsinnearsplits.“Fly,ladies!Fly!”
Ican’tgetenoughleveragetohoistmyselfupbymyarmpits,andinstead,myarmjustgetstangledinthefabricandIstarttwistingaroundinacircle.Iamholdingonfordearlife,thoughtheentiresilkydrapehasbecomelubedwithbaconfat.Meanwhile,MomandNamiareflippingandtwistingaroundlikesomekindofmother–daughtercircusact.I,however,amjustacircus.Thiscontinuesonforhalfanhour,andforeverymoveI’mthreestepsbehindandlooklikeafool.
ThenAmeedoesatwistandaroll,andwe’reallhangingbackward,headsdippinglow,feetsupposedtobeworkingasanchors,exceptthatI’mtootangledtoquitemakethemaneuver,andsoIendupfloppingbackwardofftheknot,missingthehardwoodenfloorbymereinches,asI’mnowtangledattheknees,armsdraggingthefloor.Thebloodrushestomyhead.Ireachuptotrytosavemyself,butmyhandsaretooslick,orthedrapeistooslippery—whateverthecase,Ican’tgetahandholdandI’mstuck.It’sjustamatteroftimebeforeIflopoutofthisheadfirstonthefloorbelow.AllIcanthinkis:I’mgoingtodierighthere.SoraReidlovedbaconandtequila.Porkdistributorsacrossthenationmournherloss.Herestateissuingaerialaerobicsforbeingthemostridiculousexercisetrendsincepole-dancing.
Ameeseesmeandfrowns,hoppingdownoffherdrapetocomeandsaveme.Ittakesalotofgruntingandgroaningbeforeshe’sabletogetmebackintoasittingpositionintheknotteddrapes,andsonowI’msittingtherelikeakidonaswing.
“There,”Ameegrunts.“Now,we’regoingtoopenourheartsandheadintoourcocoon.Letthesilklineexpandandenvelopeyouintoitssilkbosom.”
Silkbosom?Ilookoverandseeeverywomanintheclassspreadingonehalfofthedrapeandeasingintoit,wrappingitaroundtheirentirebodyanddisappearinginsideasifit’sakindofuprighthammock.Thismightnotbesobad.Imightbeabletotakeanap.Ispreadopenthedrapeandleanin,wonderingifthethin,silkyfabriccanactuallyholdmeanddisappearintoit,butkindofside-flopintoit,somyfaceispressedagainstthehammock.Notmybestangle.Iscrambleupandmanagetogetintothefetalposition,butthefabricissqueezingmeintoaball.
“Now,deepbreathin,andthen…letitout…relax.Youdeservethispeace.Thinkofitlikeyou’rebackinyourmother’swomb…”
Irealizemyactualmotherisswinginginaslowcircleinherdrapecocoonnexttome.Thisisjustweird.That’sallI’msaying.
I’msquishedinlikeafetustwoweeksafteritsduedate,andmyarmandlegarefallingasleep.Ijustwanttogetoutofhereandgohome.
“Now,ladies,we’realldone!Goaheadandhopdownfromyoursilks.”
Hallelujah.Imakeamovetoexit,butwithmyrightsideessentiallynumb,IstruggleandfailtoextricatemyselffromtheCurtainsfromHell.Throughthelittleslitinmycocoon,Icanseetheotherladieshavehadnotroublefreeingthemselves.I’mjustabiggreenblobslowlycircling.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Ihearmysister,butdon’tseeher.She’ssomewherebehindme.
“Getoutofthere,”Momadds.“Iknowyou’repouting.Ifyouwouldjustdotheketodietwithme,youwouldn’thavethisproblem.”
“I’mnotpouting.I’mstuck.”Also,thishasnothingtodowithdieting.Ireachoutwithmyworkinghandandwave.It’spalmup,soIcan’tgrabanything.I’mfacedowninthecocoon.“Mylegisasleep.Soismyarm.”
“Getoutofthere.You’reembarrassingus.”Momagain,voicelow.Momreachesinandtriestograbme,butitjustcausesmetospinfaster.“Thisisridiculous,”shesays.“Comeonout!”
Ifloundersomemore.“Ican’t!”
“What’stheproblemhere?”Ameeasks,voiceatadconcerned.That’sright,sister.Bettercheckonthestatusofthatliabilityinsurance.
“I’mstuck.”Iwavemyhandagain.Ameegrabsit,andtugs.Nothing.I’mcaughtinaslow,humiliatingdeathspiral.Namihelpsher,andbeforeIknowitI’vefallenout,awkwardly,onmyleftleg.Myankletwistsataweirdangle.“Ow.”Itdoesn’tfeelgood.
“Areyouallright?”Ameeasks,facepinched.
“I’mnotsure,”Imanage,asItrytostand,butpainshootsupmylegandIcan’tputanypressureonmyfoot.
“Youmightneedtogoseeadoctor.GetthatX-rayed.”Namilooksworried.She’snotpissedatmeanymore,sothat’sgood?Still,allIcanthinkofismycrappyinsurancewiththe$12,000deductible.AndwhoknowshowmuchanX-raycosts,$5,000?
“ChicagoMedisrightnextdoor,”Momsuggests,referringtooneofChicago’ssmallerhospitals.It’snotabigtraumacenter,butthenagain,it’sgoingtocostwaymorethanjusturgentcare.“Whydon’twestopinthere?”
“AnER?”Igasp.“Areyoutryingtobankruptme?Isn’tthereapharmacyquickclinicaroundhere?”I’mhopeful.EventhoughIknowthey’rereallyjustaglorifiedschoolnurse.“I’mfeelingbetter,”Isay,butIstillcan’tputanyweightonmyankle.I’mhoppingononefoot.
“I’lltakeyouover.Now,”Momsays.Namiloopsherarmunderminetohelpmewalk.
“So,you’renotmadatmeaboutnotbringingadatetoyourwedding?”Ifinallyask,aswewalktogetheroutthedoor.
“Oh,don’tworry.I’mstillpissedaboutthat,”shesays.Nine
JACK
I’msuretherearestillgoodpotentialpartnersoutthere.ButIjusthaven’tmetanyyet.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Myolderbrother,Marc,greetsmeatAllie’sfrontdoor.Ihandhimthreebigglitterypinkgiftbagswithballoonsattached,whileIjugglethetwohugecakeboxes.
“Didyoubuytheentirepartystore?”Marcasksme,frowning,evenasIfreeasinglehandtogivehisashake.Igripithard,remindinghimI’mnotPiggyJackanymore.Hegripsbackharder,remindingmethatinapinch,hemightstillbeabletostrong-armmeintoacloset.“Also,whatthehellisonyourface?”Marcfrowns.
“I’mgrowingabeard,”Itellhim.
“Youlookridiculous.”Marcshakeshishead.Hehelpsmewiththetwocakeboxes,takingthemfrommyhands.
“UncleJack!”Alliecriesinsheerdelight.Shejogsuptomewearinghead-to-toepinkandpurple,herbrand-newbejeweledflashingsneakerslightingupthetilefloorinablazeofseizure-inducinglight.Ilettheballoonshittheceiling,andIgiveherahugehug.Shepullsawayandsqueals,“Aretheseforme?”
Shegrabsthepinkgiftbagsinaflash.They’realmostasbigassheis.“Thankyou,thankyou,UncleJack!”Shelooksatthecakeboxes.“Isthatmycake?”sheasksinnocently,battingthosethick,darkeyelashes.
“Youbetterbelieveitis,”Isaywithagrin.“Chocolate-chocolate!”
“Yes!”shecries,andpumpsafistinvictory.“Ilovebirthdays!”
Kylie,mysister-in-law,comesintothefoyerthen.Sheflashesherbrightwhitesmile,herdarkhairlongpasthershoulders.Hermotherwasanurse,borninManila,andshemetandmarriedKylie’sfather,anarmysergeantfromIllinois,whenhewasstationedinthePhilippinesintheearly1980s.
“DidyousaythankyoutoUncleJack?”sheasksAllie,whonodsvigorously.“Goonandputthosepresentswiththeothers.”Shegivesmeahug.“Hi,Jack.Thanksforcoming.”
“Wouldn’tmissit,”Isay.
“Youdidtoomuch,”shecries,shakingherhead.
“NevertoomuchforAllie.”Iwantthatcancer-fightingsuperherotogeteverythingshewantsforherbirthday.AndI’mgratefultobehere,sinceseeingAlliemeansIcan’tmopearoundaboutSora.It’shardtofeelbadformyselfwhenIrealizelifeisprecious,andwhyspendmytimemoaningaboutsetbackswhenI’vegotmyhealthandmyfamily,andthingsaren’treally,actuallysobad?
“Well,yourparentsbroughtgifts,too.”Shenodstotheotherbagsliningthehallwayleadingtothekitchen.“Theyjustflewinthismorning.”
MomfindsmeasI’mshruggingoutofmyjacket.“Jack!Youlooksohandsome!”
“Mom.”ShegivesmeahugsotightthatIcan’tbreatheforaminute.Forasmallthing,she’smighty.
WeseethemalittlelessnowsheandDadretiredandmovedtoFlagstaff.She’swearinghertrademarkredcardigan,sensibleflats,andherbobbedsalt-and-pepperhairisperfectlycombed.She’shalfChinese,viamygrandmother,andpartPortuguese,viamygrandfather.
“IsthatJack?Hey!Hey!”Dadstasheshisreadingglassesontopofhisfullheadofwhitehair.He’sIrish,German,Dutch,andalittlePortuguese.Hegivesmeahandshakestrongenoughtocrushaweakerman.“Lookingfitasever,Jack!Beenhittingtheweights?”
“YouknowIhave.”Igrin.Dadsmacksmybicepsandthenpretendshe’shurthishand.Classicdadmove.
Apackofwildglitter-bow-wearinggirlsfliesby.
“Lookout,theybite,”DadjokesandheandMomfollowthepartygoerstoAllie’sroom.MarcandIheadtothekitchenwiththecakes,whereeveryavailablesurfaceiscoveredinpinkandpurple.
“Lookslikeaglitterbombexplodedinhere.”Ishakemyhead.
“Ian’snotgoingtolikeit.He’ssuchaneatfreak,”Marcadds.“Beer?”heasksme,grabbingonefromthefridge.Inod.
“Whereishe,anyway?”
Marcfrowns.“TookashiftintheER.”
“You’rekiddingme.He’smissingAllie’sbirthdayparty?”ThisIcan’tbelieve.
Marcgivesaone-shouldershrug.“Yeah,thethingis,Idon’tevenknowthathewascalledin.Ithinkhetooktheshiftonpurpose.”
“Why?Thatdoesn’tmakeanysense.”
“Idon’tknowwhat’sgoingonwithIanthesedays.ButKylie’snothappy.”Marcglancesaround,makingsureoursister-in-lawisn’tinearshot.“Ithinkthey’rehavingtrouble.”
“Whydoyousaythat?”Iask.
“Beenatoughyearforthem.”
“That’sanunderstatement.”ThepandemicpatientsthatfloodedIan’shospital,andthenAllie’scancer.
“Notsureitbroughtthemtogether.That’sall.Ian’sworkingmorehours,notless.Ithinkhe’savoidingbeinghome.Ithinkhe’s—”
KyliebustlesintothekitchenthenandMarcclamsup.Webothlookatherwithconcern.
“What?”shesays,handsflyingtoherdarkhair.“DoIhaveglitterinmyhair?”
“No,you’regood,”Isay,thenswallow.“IwaswonderingwhereIanwas.Isheavoidingus?”
AstrainedlookpassesacrossKylie’sface.“He’sworking.Savinglives.”Shesmilesbrightly.Toobrightly.Definitelysomethinggoingonthere.Butnowisnotthetimetopress.
“ShallIgetAllie’scakeready?”IaskKylie.
Shebrightens,gratefulforthedistraction.“Yes!Please.I’llwranglethekids.”
Inafewminutes,everybody’ssittingaroundthekitchentable,thepartyguestswiththeireyesonthecakeboxes.Ibroughttwo:oneforAllie,andoneforeveryoneelse.Becausethistimelastyear,shecouldbarelyeatthecakewebroughttothehospital.Chemoandradiationknockedoutherappetite.Shegottwobitesbeforeshecouldn’teatanymore.Notthisyear.Notonmywatch.
Ipulloutthechocolate-on-chocolatecake—theroundonejustforher.HereyesgrowbigassheseesthatI’vescrawled“Happy5thBirthday,Allie!”inloopypinkicing—herfavoritecolor.
Istickacandleinthetop,andMomhelpslightit.Weallgatherintheroomforarenditionofthebirthdaysong.Allieglancesateachoneofus,facebeamingwithpurejoy.Whenwefinish,Inodather.
“Makeawish,”Isay.
Shesqueezeshereyesshut,takingthewishcompletelyseriously,anditkillsme.Sheopenshereyes.
“Whatdidyouwishfor?”Iask.
“YouknowIcan’ttellyouthat!”shecries,andgiggles.
“Goodgirl.”Igrin.ThenIgrabaforkfromthetable.“Goahead,”Itellher.
“Really?”Sheblinks.
“Thisisyourcake.Youdon’thavetoshareitwithanyone.EspeciallyUncleMarc.”
“Hey,”Marccriesinprotest.
“Now,who’syourfavoriteuncle?”IaskAllie.
“UncleJack!”shecries.
Marc,frowning,shakeshisheadslowlyindefeat.ShehugsmeandIstickoutmytongueoverhershoulder.Takethat,Marc.UncleJack:1,UncleMarc:0.
“Carefulyoudon’teatallofthatatonce!You’llgetastomachache!”Kyliechides,butshedoesn’treallymeanit.ShesendsmeagratefulsmileasshecutspiecesoftheotherchocolatesheetcakeIbroughtfortheguests.
Allieripsintohercakeandsoonit’salloverherface,abigchocolateclownsmile.That’sa180-degreeturnfromlastyear,whenshe’dbeenpaleandbald,barelyabletoholdherlittleheadupinthatoversizehospitalbed.Iloveseeinghersohappy,andI’mgladshe’senjoyingthecakeImade.KyliehandsmeapieceandIstandwithMom,Dad,Marc,andKylieaswedigin.Notbad,ifIdosaysomyself.
“How’sthebakerycoming?”Dadasksme.HeandMomhavebeenchampionsofthewholeideaofmegoingoutonmyown
“Good,but…Mal’stryingtointerfere.”
“Sh—”Marcswallowshiscursemid-sentencewhenherealizesAlliesitsinearshot.“MalhasmoreissuesthanSportsIllustrated,”Marcfinishesandshakeshisheadindisapproval.
“Mal?Sheisn’tmyfavorite,”Momsays,becauseMomneversaysanythingtrulybadaboutanyone.
“She’sbeensnoopingaroundthebakerysites.She’sthreateningtobuytheoneI’minterestedin.”
“Shecan’tdothat!”Kylieexclaims.“Canshe?”
“Well,sheisricherthanGod,”Dadpointsout.Herfullname,afterall,isMalStarr—yes,asintheinternationalStarrHotels.That’sherfamily.Herfatherdiedyearsago,andnowit’sjustherandhermother.Oneday,she’llownitall.Somanyhotels,andsomanyzeroesinherbankaccountthatthesumwouldbringupanerrormessageonyouraveragecalculator.
“Isthereanywaytostopherfrombuyingyourbakery?”Momasks.
WealllookatMarc.
“Nowaytostopherfrombuyingaproperty.AndI’msureshecanpaycash.”
“Shesaysshe’llleavethebakeryalone…ifIaskherouttotheGoldenChefAwards,”Isay.
“Isn’tthatblackmail?”Momasks,worried.
“Technically,extortion,”Marccorrects.Heshakeshishead.“Well,youcouldjustbitethebullet.Askher.”
“Hecan’tdothat!”Momexclaims.“Notafterwhatshe’sdone.”
There’samomentofsilenceasmyfamilypondersMal’ssins.
“She’sprobablybluffing,”Iventure
Kyliefrowns.Momwrinkleshernose.Dadstayssilent.
“Whatwouldittaketogetarestrainingorder?”MomasksMarc,whodoesn’tbothertohidethesmirkrollingacrosshisface.
Marcrubshischin,consideringthis.“Theproblemisstatelawsaysshe’sgottomakeathreatorbethreateninginherbehavior.Justfollowingyouaroundandannoyingyouisn’tenough.AndI’llbehonest,Jack.Withoutanydomesticabusecharges,itwouldbeanuphillslog.”
“Soshejustgetstomentallytorturehim?That’snotfair,”Kyliepipesin
“AnyoneelseyoucanasktotheGoldenChefAwards?”Momasksme.
Oh,sure.Thereareplentyoffishfacesonmydatingapps.Orthere’s…Sora.“Well,IranintoSoraReidtheotherday.”
“Oh!SoraReid!”Momclapsherhandsinglee.“TheSoraReid?”
“Sorawho?”Dadasks,squintingandtryingtoremember.
“Thatgirlhemoonedoverforever.”Marcrollshiseyes.Hethinkscrushesaredisgustingsignsofhumanweakness.
“Oh,youweresosweetaboutthatgirl.You’dspendhourspickingoutherValentine’scardingradeschool.”Momsmilessoftly,nostalgicatthememory.“Howisshe?”
“Good.”
“Youshouldaskherout!”Momcries.“It’slike…it’slikedestiny.”Mom’salwaysbeentheromanticone.
“Ididaskherout,butshe’stakenago-solovow.”
“She’sflyingaplanearoundtheworldbyherself?”Dadasks,confused.
“No.She—”
“Justdoesn’twanttohangaroundwithyou?”Marcteases.
I’mbeginningtoregreteverbringingupSora.WhydidI,anyway?
“Giveuponthisgirl,man,”Marcsays.“She’snotintoyou.Neverwas.”Ah,family.Can’tlivewiththem…andcan’tlivewiththem.
Kylieclearsherthroat.“Jack,thiscakeisamazing,”shesays,blissfullychangingthesubject.She’spuregold,mysister-in-law.
“Aw,thanks,Kylie,”Isay.“Hey.YouthinkIshouldtakeapiecetoIanattheER?Icoulddroponebyonmywayhome.”
“I’msurehe’dlikethat.”ThatstrainedlookcomesacrossKylie’sfaceagain.Idon’tlikeit.Notonebit.
AfewsnowflakesfallonthesidewalkasIwalktowardthehospitalentrancefromtheparkinggarage.I’vegotIan’ssliceofcakeandalsoafewquestionsforhim,like:DidhereallyneedtomissAllie’sbirthday?Givenlastyear?Look,Imean,Iknowthemansaveslivesforaliving.Iknowhe’sprettymuchalwaysoncallbut…Allie’sbirthday?Really?
Iplantogivehimthecakeandthethirddegree.I’malmosttotheentranceoftheERwhenIsee…Sora?She’ssittingonabenchoutsidetheER.Herredcoatisbuttonedtothetopandshe’sgotasoft,fluffywhitescarfwrappedcutelyaroundherneck.Herlong,wavyhairsitstuckedbeneathherwhiteskicap.She’sstaringintentlyatherphone.
Whatisshedoinghere?
Anxiousbeesbuzzinmystomach.
Ialmostwanttobolt.TohellwithIanandhiscake.Thenagain,maybeIshouldgotalktoher.Myfeetmakethedecisionforme,movingmetowardher.
“Sora?”Sheglancesupatme,surprised,blinkingfast.
“Oh,uh…Jack.Hi.”Shesmilesatme,asmilethatreachesherbrowneyesandforjustasecond,I’mconvincedshe’shappytoseeme.Butthensomethingelsecomesoverherface.Discomfort?Angst?Ugh.ShethinksI’mgoingtoaskheroutagain.She’salreadyworkingoutwaystotellmeno.
“Look,I’mnotgoingtobugyou.Don’tworry.Iknowyou’renotinterested.Justwantedtosayhi.That’sall.I…uh…hopewecanbefriends.”BecauseIthinkwecouldmakeaboutamillioninsidejokes.Because…beingafriendisbetterthanbeingnothing.“I’mnotsomeweirdostalkerwhodoesn’trespectawoman’srighttotellmetogetlost.Which,Irealize,isexactlywhataweirdostalkerwouldsay.”Niceone,Jack.“Okay.Uh.Bye!”
I’msodamnsmooth.
Iwalkawayfromherbench,myearsburning.
“Wait…Jack…”SorastandsandIturnjustintimetoseeherloseherbalance.Ohno.She’sflailing.She’s…goingdown.
OnebigstepandI’vecaughtherawkwardlyunderonearmpit,butstill,I’vegother,andIdidn’tevendropthechocolatecake.Bonus.
“Jack!Uh…”Soratriestoscrambletoherfeet,exceptoneisn’tworking.Shefallsagainstmychest.Idon’tmind.Notatall.She’swarmandsoftandamazing.Shelooksupatmewiththoseamazingdoe-browneyes.Howdidhereyelashesgetsolong?
“Sora?Areyouokay?”Iglancedownandforthefirsttimerealizeshe’sjustwearingoneshoe.Andherankleisthesizeofagrapefruit.Sheisdefinitelynotokay.
“Uh…kindof.”ShestrugglesalittleasIhelphertoherfeet.Soragrinsupatmeaftershe’sfoundherone-footfooting.Shebalancesthereprecariously.Ikeepanarmunderherjusttomakesureshedoesn’ttopple.
“Thankyou.”
“Forwhat?Forsavingthispoorsidewalkfromyoufallingonit?Justdefendingthisfrozenconcretefromassault.”Wegrinateachother.Ifrownatherswollenankle.“Whathappenedtoyourankle?”
“Oh…uh…longstory.”SoraglancesanxiouslyattheentrancetotheER,asifshe’splanningaspeedygetaway.“Nami—er,mysister—thinksIshouldgetmyanklecheckedout.ButI’vegotcrappyinsuranceand…”
“I’vebeenthere.AndanERvisitwillcostabajilliondollars?”
Soranodsquickly.“Imean…whoneedsanankle?Probablyjustsprained.Probably.”Sheputssomeweightonitandflinches,shiftsherweighttome.“Ow.Still…alittlerest,someibuprofen…”
“Mybrother’sanERdoc.”Inodtotheautomaticglassdoors.“Icanaskhimtocheckyouout,offthebooks.Ifyouwant.”
“Youthinkhe’ddothat?”Sora’sfacebrightens.IraisethepieceofchocolatecakeI’vemanagedtokeepholdof.
“Icanbribehimwithcake.”
Soraraisesahopefuleyebrow.“Really?”
“Really.”
AwomanfliesoutoftheERthen,shoutingSora’sname.“Thereyouare!You’reonthewaitlist,buttheysayit’llbeacoupleofhours.”
MustbeSora’syoungersister,Nami.Sherushesoverandthenskidstoastopinfrontofme.Sheglancesatme,shocked,craningherneckupwardlikeshe’stryingtoseethetopofahundred-year-oldoak.Namiisstriking,too,justlikehersister,butiftheystoodupinabeautypageant,I’dcrownSoraeverytime.“Uh,who’syourfriend?”
“ThisisJack.JackMann.Wewereingradeschooltogether.Namiwastwoyearsbehindus,”shetellsme.Thankfully,shedoesn’tmentionPiggyJack.
Weshakehands.Nami’sthethinner,frailerversionofSorawithlonger,straighterhairandmuchmoreeyemakeup.Ivaguelyrememberherfromgradeschool,waitingatthebusstopwithhersister.Buttwoyearsmightaswellhavebeentenbackthen.Fifth-gradersandthird-gradersdidnothangout.
“Jack,nicetomeetyou.”NamiglancesatSora.“Andyoutoldmeyouwereswearingoffmen.”
“Iseemtohavethateffectonwomen,”Ijoke.
Nami’ssmartwatchpingsandsheglancesatitandgasps.“OhmyGod!Thecaketasting!Iforgotallaboutit!It’sintenminutes!”
“Youdon’thavetostay,”Sorasays.
“Ishould,though.”Namiglancesatme.
IrealizeIcanactuallyhelp.Maybe.“Icanstaywithher.”IglanceatSora.“Butonlyifthat’sokaywithSora.”
Soranods.
“Wouldyou?Thatwouldbegreat!Idon’treallywanttoletMitchpickoutthecake.He’shopelesswithoutme.”
“Areyousureyoudon’tmind?”Soraasksme.
“Ican’tleaveyoualone,”Ijoke.“WhowillprotectChicago’ssidewalksfromyou?Someonehastothinkofthetaxpayers.”IofferSoramyarm.
“You’reright.Wehavetothinkofthepoorsidewalks,”Sorasays,assheloopsherarmthroughmine.Ten
SORA
We’vebeenprogrammedtobelievethatsomedayPrinceCharmingwilljustwaltzintoourlife.Slaythedragonorwhatever.ButwhatifPrinceCharmingneverarrives?Weneedtobeabletosaveourselves.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
JacksteersmeintotheERwaitingroomandgentlyhelpsmeintotheonlyopenspot,anoldmaroonchaircoveredingeometricshapesandonemysterystain,whichIdesperatelyhopeisn’tblood.Nottoofarfromme,amanholdsafrozenbagofpeastohiseye.Heflashesagrinatme,andIfeellight-headed.Idon’tthinkithasanythingtodowithmythrobbingankle.
“WaithereandI’llgoseeifIcanfindmybrother.”
“Hey.”IglanceupatJack.Wow,thestubble.Theangledchin.Thoseamazingchocolatefondueeyes.Warm.Kind.Forasecond,IforgetwhatIwasgoingtosay.
“Yeah?”heasks.
“Uh…thanks.Really.”
“Notaproblem,”Jacksays,flashingmethattoothpaste-commercialgrin.“I’lltalktothenurse.”Heleavesmetosaunteruptothenursingstation,hisshoulderssobroadtheytakeupalltheairintheroom.He’sreallygoingtodoit…savemefrommyexorbitantco-pay.Whatnext?Hedoesmytaxes?Negotiatesmynextcarloan?MakessureIorgasmfirst?
Menlikehimdon’texist.
They’relikeflyingunicorns.Ordietsthatwork.OrThanksgivingdinnerswherenoonetalkspolitics.
They’refigmentsofanoptimist’simagination.
Iglanceathisbackashewalksaway.Hisjeanshughisperfectbutt.
Okay.Stoplookingattheman’sbutt.Iglanceupatthewhite-tiledceiling.Amanthisperfecthastohaveskeletonsinhiscloset.It’stheonlyexplanation.Otherwise,I’llneedtostartbelievinginknightsslayingdragonsandbeingabletopayoffacreditcardforgood.Fairytales.IglancebackatJack,wholookslikehe’sstarringinhisownrom-com.Perfectlycastasthemuscle-bound,baby-facedlumberjackwithaheartofgold.
ThenIrememberthenextinstallmentofSoloFebruary.Aflashofthearticlerunsthroughmybrain.
IrealizeIspentagoodpartofmylifewaitingforamantotakecareofthingsforme.I’mnotproudofit,butit’strue.Forexample,I’vehadaleakyfaucetforawhile.Untillastyear,Ialwayscountedonmydadtocomeoverandfixthingslikethis.Icouldn’taffordaplumber,soIthoughtIjusthadtolivewithit,untiltheSoloFebruaryChallenge.Ilookeduphowtofixitonline,andwenttothelocalhardwarestore,whereIboughtawasherandawrench.FifteenminutesafterI’dgottenhome,I’dfixedthedarnthing.Allbymyself.
Lessonlearnedabitlate,butstilllearned:Idon’tneedsomeonetofixthingsforme.Icandoitmyself.
YethereIam,lettingJackhelpme.
ButIalsokindoflikeJackhelpingme.
Argh.
IplayagameofTwentyQuestionswithmyself.CouldIbeatthisERbymyself?Yes,ofcourse.DoIwanttobeatthisERbymyself?Iglanceatared-headedmantwoseatsdownfrommewho’speriodicallyretchingintoaMcDonald’sbagwithsomeunknownillness.No,Idefinitelydon’twanttobeherealone.
AndIremindmyself,it’snotmyfaultthatmysisterbailedonme,andJackjusthappenedtobehere.Ididn’taskforhishelp.Hejust…volunteeredit.AndIdidn’tsayno.
IwatchasJacktalkswiththenurseforabit.Hepointstothebackoftheroom,andsheglancesatme,andnods.
“Ashahasaroomforus,”Jacksayswhenhereturnstome.“She’slettingusskiptheline.”
“Howdidyoumanagethat?”Iaskhim,amazed.
“You’dbesurprisedwhatdroppingofffreshlybakedsconesintheERonceamonthwillgetyou.”Heoffershishand.Iputmyhandinhisandhisbigpalmdwarfsmine.Iwobbleononefoot.
“IthinkitwouldbeeasierifIcarriedyou.”
“Noteasierforyourback!”
Jackraisesaneyebrowinchallenge.“Youcan’tweighmuch.”Oh,Ican.AndIdo.“Wouldyoumind…?”
“Wait,isthiswhereyouspikemeonthegroundlikeafootballinrevengeforturningyoudownforadate?”
Jackthrowsbackhisheadandlaughs.“No,I’mnotgoingtospikeyoulikeafootball.”
“Nohardfeelingsfortheotherday?”
“WouldIbeherehelpingyouiftherewere?”CoulditbethatJack’san…adult,too?MostmenI’veevermetwereman-boys.Second-stagelarvaewhoholdgrudges.
“Okay,then.”Hehandsmethepieceofcaketoholdandsweepsmeupinhisarms,likeIweighnothing.Iclingtohisbigbrawnyneckandnoticehe’snotevenstraining.Likenotevenalittlebit.Veinsinhisforeheadarenotprotruding.It’sunbelievablyhot.IwishhewascarryingmeintohisbedroomandnotintoanERexamroom.
“See?Isn’tthiseasierthanlimpingaroundthewaitingroom?Ashasayswecantakeexamroomfour.AndIanwillbeintoseeussoon.”
SeveralpeopleturntowatchJackcarrymeacrosstheER.Ifeellikeaprincess,andJack,myprince.AndIhavetoremindmyselfthatIdon’tneedaprince.Ireallydon’t.Evenifitdoesfeelnice.
“Areyouokay?Ankleokay?”Jackdotesonmeasheswingsmegentlythroughtheautomaticdoorstothelarge,bustlingtreatmentcenterbeyondthewaitingroom.
“How’syourback?”Iaskhim,worried.
“Back’sfine.You’renotheavy,Sora.”
“Liar.”WiththeamountofbaconI’veconsumedsincethefirstofFebruary,IknowIhavegainedweight.Butit’saSoloandScale-FreeFebruaryforme.
Wefindexamroomfour,andhetakesmethroughthecurtain.HelaysmelikeSnowWhitedownontheexambed.Forasecond,ournosesaresoclosethatthey’realmosttouching.Hisbigbrowneyesfindmine,concerned,sweet,andgentle.Damn,thosefineeyes.Thosefine,fineeyes.They’rebigandbeautiful,justlikehistriceps.Hislipspart,andforasecond,Iwonderwhatitwouldfeelliketohavethatbeardstacherubbingupagainstmyface.Razorburnwouldbeathousandpercentworthit.Couldhekissme,righthere?WouldItransformfromabacon-loving,bittersingletontoapretty,prettyprincess?Hiseyesflickdowntomylips.That’sit.That’sit.Rightthere…
Thenhemeetsmygazeagain.Helaughsalittle,sheepish.“Ikindofneedmyneckback.”
Andthat’swhenIrealizethatI’vegotonehandaroundthebackofhisneckinadeathgrip.Forallpracticalpurposes,I’mstillholdinghimhostage,inchesfrommyface.Damn.I’veonlybeenwithoutmenforalittlewhile,andalreadyI’veturnedintoasex-starvedmaniac.Ibalancetheplastic-wrappedplateofchocolatecakeonmythighs.
“Oh,right,sorry.”Notsorry.Ireleasehisthickneckandhestraightens,grinning.Heshrugsoutofhispeacoatandhangsitonthehookbehindhim.Hestraightenstohisfullheight,beforehesinksintoanearbychair.
Anincomingtextlightsupmyphone.Good.SomethingtodootherthantoworryaboutJackMannstudyingmelikeI’mamodernpieceofartthatdefieslogicandexplanation.
Can’twaitforthenewinstallment!Arialtexts.We’redoingsowell.What’snext?
ThenI’mremindedthatIamsupposedtobesingle.Solo.Independent.
ItrytoimaginewritingthisERsceneandcan’t.I’llhavetofocusonFlyFit,butI’dhavetoleaveoutJack’sgallantry.
Exerciseclassesarenext.Howwe’rekillingourselvestolookgoodfordates!
Arialgivesthemessageathumbs-up.
“Doyourunalot?Fivek’s?”Jackasksme,noddingtomyk-r-otsweatshirtthatIforgotI’mwearing,tearingmyattentionawayfromthepossibilityoffull-time,steadyemployment.“That’scoolyouhelpfundthechildren’shospital.”
Iglancedownatthecharitypatchonmysleeve.“IwalkmorethanIjog,butIgivetheparentswithstrollersarunfortheirmoney.”
Jacklaughs.“Phew.Ihaterunning.Ifyouseemerunningdownthestreet,callnineoneonebecausesomeoneischasingme.”
Wegrinateachotheragain.
“How’stheankle?”Jacknodsatmyever-swellingappendage.
“Hurts.IblameValentine’sDay.”Inodatastupidheart-shapedcardboarddecorationonthebackofthedoor.
“Why?”
“IblameeverythingonValentine’sDay.It’sjustconvenientthatway.”
“Youdon’tlikeValentine’sDay?”Heleansforward,puzzled.“Doesthishavetodowiththefifth-gradecandyincident?”
“No.Yes.Maybe.”IhaveflashbackstotheValentine’sDayaisle.“IjusthateValentine’sDay.Actually,hateisanunderstatement.IfIcoulddisembowelaholidayandwearitsentrailsasatrophynecklaceIwould.”
“Wow.”Jackwhistles.“Butwhataboutallthechocolates?”
“I’veneverhadthoseonValentine’sDay.”
“Romanticwalks?Candlelitdinners?Fresh-cutroses?”heprompts.
“MywalletwasstolenonValentine’sDaylastyearbyadateImetonSpark.That’saboutitintermsofexcitement.”
“That’sterrible.JustwhohaveyouspentValentine’sDaywith?”Jacksnapshisfingers.“Oh,wait.Iremember.Marley.”Heshiftsabitinhisseat.“Thatexplainssomuch.”
“Yeah.HerefusedtocelebrateValentine’sDay.Hesaiditwasagainsthisbeliefsystem.”
Jacklooksastonished.“Wow.That’ssad.”
Ohno.NowIsoundlikeapatheticgirlwhonevergotavalentine.Ishiftontheexamtable,andatwingeofpainrunsupmyankletomyleg.Ugh.Stupidankle.
“Well,theRomansdecapitatedSaintValentineformarryingcouples,”Ipointout,tryingtokeepmyanklestill.“Howdoesitfollowthatweneedtogiveeachotherboxesofcream-stuffedchocolates?”
“IsupposeIhadn’tthoughtaboutitthatwaybefore,”heconcedes.Hestuffshisbighandsinhispocketsandrocksback,takinghischairontotwolegs.Thebackofhisheadtouchesthewall
“AnddidyouknowthatSaintValentineisn’tthepatronsaintoflove?He’sthepatronsaintofepilepsy.”I’monaroll.
“Becauselovegivesyouseizures?”heventures,eyeingmeashesetshischairdownagainonfourlegs.
“Exactly!Imean,doyouknowthatHallmarkandotherarmsofthecommerciallovemachine—”
“Wait…commerciallovemachine?”Jackasks,confused.
“Yes.Jewelrycompanies.Chocolatemanufacturers.Allthepeopletryingtomakemoneybypressuringusalltobeinlove.”Imakeaface.“Theygrewthishardlynoticedholidayintoabillion-dollarindustry.Lastyear,onehundredandforty-fivemillioncardswereexchanged.TheaveragepersonspentnearlytwohundreddollarsonValentine’sDay!Canyoubelievethat?”
“So…thisSoloFebruarything.It’sreal.”
“Yes!Why?”Iblinkathim,confused.
“Oh,Ijustkindofthoughtyoumadeitup.Toblowmeoff.”
“Oh…oh,geez.No.Itisreal.”Ipulluptheentriesonmyphoneandshowhim.
Hiseyesbulge.“Oh,itisreal.Wow.”Heleansforwardinhischair,intentonthescreenashescrollsthroughforasecond,beforewhistlinglowandhandingmebackmyphone.“You’vegotafollowing.That’scool.Imean,reallycool.”Admirationshinesinhiseyes.
“Yeah.”Isuddenlyfeelsheepish.
“Idefinitelythinkthisshouldbeamovie.WecouldcallitTheSexCleanse.Betterthanjuice.”
“Or…Relationships:WeNeverReallyNeededThemAnyway.”
“Or…SoloFebruary:NowYouDon’tHavetoShareYourChocolatesAnymore.”
“Or…Bacon:TheOtherManMeat.”
“No,no,no…Man-DependenceDay!”
We’rebothcacklingandIlaughsohard,Isnort.WhichmakesJacksnort.Mystomachhurts,andsomehow,I’vealreadyfeltlikeI’vefoundmynewbestfriend,oractually,theoldoneI’vealwayshad.
“You’resureyou’renotfreetheentiremonthofFebruary?”heasksme.Heraiseshiseyebrowinachallenge.HowcanIsaynotothosepuppy-dogbrowneyes?Imean…comeon.But.Ihaveto.IthinkaboutArial.AboutLarry’sfancykibble.“Yeah.I’mafraidso.”
Jackstaresattheceiling,asifsendingupaprayer.Heletsoutalongsigh,hisleftkneebouncing.“WhataboutMarch?”
“Marchisabsolutelyavailable.”Wegazeateachother,along,meaningfullook,andaboutamillionpossibilitiespassbetweenus.Butbeforewecantalkaboutanyofthem,thedoortotheexamroomswingsopen,andayounger,almost-as-gorgeous-but-not-quiteversionofJackwalksintoexamroomfour.Okay,soclearlyJack’sgenomejustscreamssex.It’snotanaccidentheturnedouttobesodamnfine.Hisparentsdidthisatleasttwiceonpurpose.
“Ian!”Jackhopstohisfeetandgiveshisbrotherahugandacoupleofheartybackslaps.
“Jack.”Iangrins.“Who’syour…”Hepausesabittoolong.“Uh,friend?”
“Sora,”Jacksaysquickly.
“Wait!Sora.Whyisthatnamesofamiliar?”Ianasks.
“Wewenttoschooltogether.”Jackalmostmumblestheanswer.
“Sora!Yes.Iremember!Sora.”Hesaysthenamewithweirdemphasis.Iangrins.“Iwasayearbehindyouinschool.Goodtoseeyouagain.”HesendsJackalook.Thenheglancesatmyswollenankle.“Though,Iwishwe’dmetunderdifferentcircumstances.MindifIexamineyou?”
Ishakemyhead,andIantentativelyexplorestheanklewithhisfingers.“Ow!”Icry,andpullback.
Ianfrowns.“Well,itcouldbebroken.Orjustsprained.We’llneedanX-raytobesure.Howdidthishappen?”
“FlyFit,”Imumble.
“Flywhat?”Jackechoes.
Ianjustshakeshishead.“Thatgymbringsustwentypercentofourbusiness.Whoeverthoughthangingfromsilkcurtainsisagoodidea?”
“Iknow,right?”Ishakemyhead.“Thewholethingisridiculous.Mymomandsisterwantedmetogo.”
“Well,nomoreFlyFit.That’sdoctor’sorders.”
“Noproblem.Iplanonneverexercisingagain.Youknow,justtobesafe.”
BothIanandJacklaugh,andit’slikebaritonechucklinginstereo.“Okay,then.HowaboutthatX-ray?”
“Oh…no,Ican’taffordthat.”Ishakemyhead.Idon’tcarehowmuchextraI’mgettingpaidforSoloFebruary
Jacktakesthechocolatecakefrommeandholdsitup.“Okay,Ian,whatdealscanyoucutus?”
Thankfully,Ibrokenobones.IjustneedrestandAdvil,andJackescortsmehomeinhiscar,anewishSUV,whichhekeepspristine.Thedashboardactuallyseemstogleam.There’snotrashanywhere,andeventhecupholdersareswipedandempty.Impressive.Isitsidewaysabit,theseatpressedallthewaybacktoallowformyanklebrace.Mycrutcheslieintheback.ThebraceandcrutchesIgotforfreeGuessitreallydoespaytoknowtherightpeople.Iantoldmetoiceandelevatetheankleandtakeadoseofibuprofen.Eventhoughwecutinline,theafternoonhasslippedaway,andnowduskquicklydescendsonthecity.Jackparksthecar,rushesaroundbacktogetmycrutches,andthenmeetsmeonthepassengerside,offeringanarmtohelpmeout.
“Areyouseriouslyalwaysthisnice?”Iaskashehelpsmeupthestoopofmyvintageapartmentbuilding.
Jacklaughs.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Imean…yougiveoutfreetortesandfreemedicalcare?”
“Well,whynotbegenerous.”Hegrins
“EvenafterIaccusedyouofgrandtheftcandy.”
Helaughs.“Hey,lookslikewewerebothvictimsofthatValentine’sDaykindergartenparty.Iwasframed.”
Isnort.“Indeed.Butnowyou’redrivingmehome?Imean,you’retoonice.”
“YouthinkIwasgoingtoletyoubravetheicysidewalksalonewithcrutches?Afterwe’vealreadyestablishedthatI’montheSaveChicagoSidewalkstaskforce?”
I’veneverbeenmoregratefulforJack’sstrongarms.Forone,themanagementcompanyfailedtoshovelthenewsnowoffthesidewalk,sothere’sathree-inchlayerofsnowoverthealready-frozentwoinchesofice.Iplantonecrutchanditinstantlylosestraction.
“Here,hangontome.”JackoffershisneckandIthrowanarmaroundit.Hetakesthecrutchesandholdsthemwhilesteeringmetothestoop.Ileanagainsthim,diggingoutmyfrontkeys.Islidethekeyinthelockandturn.AsIpushthedooropen,mybootcatchesonthemat.
“Whoa,”Jackcries,andsteadiesmewithhisbigstronghands.“Wedon’tneedanothertriptotheERtoday.”
“No,”Isay,andlaugh.
“CanI?”Jackasks,holdingouthisarms.
“I’monthethirdfloor.Ican’tletyoucarrymeupthere.”
“Ican’tletyouhopupthere,either.It’lltakedays.I’vegototherthingstodotoday,”heteases.“Comeon.”
Inod,andJackwhisksmeintohisarmsagain.Well,damn,Icouldgetusedtothis.I’vegotmyarmswrappedaroundtheman’sneckandallIcanthinkis:Mamalike.
Also,hesmellslikeMexicanhotchocolate.Spicy,sweetgoodness.Hedoesn’tbreakasweatashehaulsmeupmyapartmentstairs.Heeveneasilyavoidstheornatelycarvedoakstaircasebanister,somehowmakingsuremyfeetdon’tclipthesquarebalusterateachlanding
JustasI’msoakingupallthischivalry,adoorburstsopen,andPamstickshernosytangerine-orangeselfout.“Sora?Whatthehell?”sheasks.
Jackwhirls,meinhisarms.
“Isprainedmyankle,”Itellher.“He’sjusthelpingmeuptomycondo.That’sall.”
“Oh.”SheeyesJackwithsuspicion,asiftryingtomatchhisfacetotheFBI’smost-wantedlist,whichIamsuresheregularlymemorizes.
“ThisisJack.”Inodtohim.
“I’dshake,butIhavemyhandsfull.”
“Iseethat.”Pampursesherlipsindisapproval.“Well,justsoyouknow,iftherewillbestrangersinthebuildingregularly,you’llneedtoletthecondoboardknow.”
Sincewhen?“Really?Why?”
“We’recrackingdownonvacationrentalsbecauseI’masinglewomannowthatThomisn’thereanymore.Andmysafetycomesfirst.”
NicehowI’mnotincludedinthat.
“Iguessyoucan’tbetoocarefulthesedays,”Jackpipesincheerfully,undeterred.
“Hey…onemorething,”Pamadds,almostasanafterthought.“I,uh…”Shebacktracks.“Youstartedthat#GoSolothing?”
“Yeah?”Iask,almostfearingwhatshe’llsay.
“Afewofmyfriendsaredoingit.”Pamhesitates.“Ithinkthey’rebeingextremeorwhatever,but…theyseemtolikeit.Theyraveaboutit.”
“Really?”ThismightbetheclosestthingtoacomplimentPam’severgivenme.
Jackclearshisthroat,andthenIrealizehe’sstillholdingme,patiently,inhisarms.Right.There’sthislittlebitofaproblemaboutmedoing#GoSoloandbeingcradledbythesexiest,sweetestmanI’veevermet.
“Butisn’the…againsttherules?”PamglancesatJack,afrownbendinghermouth.“Idon’tknowmuchaboutit.Ihaven’treadanyofit,oranything.Notmycupoftea.”
No,ofcoursenot.Shemakesitsoundlikedatingproblemsareforlesserpeople.
“But…”Shestaresathimsuspiciously.Annoyanceflaresinme.PamdoesnotgettotellmehowIshoulddoSoloFebruary.
“Goodtoseeyou,Pam,”Icutheroff.“We’vegottogo.”
Shestaresatusabeat,andtheneventuallyducksbackintohercondoaswecontinueuptomyfloor.Soonenough,I’veforgottenaboutPam.It’shardtoworryaboutmydownstairsneighborwhenJackiscradlingmegentlytohischest.Whenwereachmydoor,heeasesmegingerlydownonmyfeet.Iunlockmydoorandslideitopen.Ihesitate,handontheknob.IglanceupatJack.
Hestaresatmeasifhe’sconsideringaddingmetohisdessertmenu.Justslathersomewhippedcreamonme,andI’llhappilyhoponyourplate,mister.
“Sorryaboutmyneighbor.She’sjust…alot.”
“It’sfine.”Heshrugs.
“Andthanksagain.FortheERvisit.Forthedoor-to-doorservice.”
“It’snotaproblem.”Andlookingathim,rightinhiswarmbrowneyes,Ibelievehim.Thathereallydoesn’tmindhelpingme.
“I—”
“Hey—”
Webothspeakatthesametime.Thenwebothgiggleawkwardly.Iwanttoclimbhimlikeatreeandridehimlikeatireswing.
“Goahead,”Jacksays,ablushcreepingonhishighcheekbones.
“Ijustwanttosaythankyou.Imean,really,”Isay.“And…uh…”Intheheatofmymomentofgratitude,Ireachuponthetiptoeofmygoodfootandkisshim.
Brazenly.
BeforeIcaneventhinkaboutit.Becausethismanhascarriedmeupthreeflightsofstairs.Becausehe’sthesexiestmanImighthaveevermet,andbecausehe’snice,like,deep,goodpersonnice,andbecausedamnit,Iwantto.I’vewantedtokissthismansinceIfirstsawhimfrostingbakedgoodsatMargo’s.
It’sbrief.It’sclosed-mouthed,butIstillfeelaboltoflustrunstraightthroughme.Ormaybethat’sstaticelectricity.Inanycase,Ikisshim,andthenIwithdraw.Heblinksatme,surprised,butIduckintomyapartmentlikeacoward,andleavehimstandingthereonmydoormat.Eleven
JACK
Goingsolomightnotalwaysbeeasy,butitwillalwaysbeworthit.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
SoraReidkissedme.
Onthelips.
Sorafreakin’Reidkissedme.
IthinkImighthavestoodthereonherdoormatforagoodfiveminutes,tryingtoprocesswhathappened.WonderingifIjustimaginedithappenedatall.
Mylittleinnerfive-year-olddoesanawkwardcelebratorysomersault.MyinnerNeanderthalgivesthatadorable,pudgykindergartenerahighfive.
Yes.
So,Iwasright.Wedohaveaconnection.Something.Still,Itrynottoreadanythingintoit.Ishouldn’tgetmyhopesup.She’sstilldoingthatSoloFebruarything.Right?Isn’tshe?
Thenagain,shedidsmashherfaceagainstmine.HowcanInotreadsomethingintoit?
“Maybeitwasjustapitykiss,”saysIan,onhislunchbreaklaterthatweek.It’sthedaybeforeValentine’sDayandI’mtryingtoconvinceIantospendtomorrowdoingsomethingromanticwithhiswife.Butheseemstoointentontryingtodistractme.
“Thanks,man.Thatdoesnothelpme.”We’reeatingsandwichesattheplaceacrossthestreetfromthehospital.We’resittingatafour-topnearthefrontwindows.
“I’mjustsayingthatyoubasicallygotheroutofatleastagrand’sworthofERexpenses.Could’vejustbeenapitykiss.”
“Didn’tfeellikeapitykiss,”Igrumble.Feltmorelikearealkiss.Iknowthedifference.Besides,I’vebeenwonderingwhatthatwoman’slipstastedlikeeversinceIfirstconsideredthatgirlsmightnotbegrossandcoveredincooties.NowIknow:vanilla.Thewomantasteslikeavanillacrèmebr?lée.Don’tknowifitwasherlipglossorjusther,butshetasteslikeperfection.
“Idon’tknow,man.”Ianshakeshishead.Hetakesanotherbigbiteofhissandwich,abitofturkeyfallingontothepaperwrappinghe’sspreadacrossthebrightyellowplastictable.“Whywasteyourtimewithaheadcase?Imean,she’spretty.Imean,reallypretty,butjustbecauseyouknewherwaybackwhendoesn’tmeanyouknowher,knowher.She’sdoingthis‘solo’thingorwhatever?Anditsoundsalittlecrazy.Orbitter.Orboth.”
“Idon’tthinkshewantstohatemen.Ijustthinkshe’shadbadluck.”AndIknowathingortwoaboutbadluck.Inibbleonachip.
“No.It’snotbadluck.She’shot.Andcrazy.Which,giventhefactyouspentsomuchtimewithMal,I’dsayisyourtype.”
“Hey.”Inudgemyyoungerbrother,buthejustlaughs.“She’snotcrazy.Shelovesbacon,that’sall.”
“Soundslikeshewantstomarrybacon.”Ianraisesaneyebrow,noddingdownattheopenscreenonmyphone.Maybeitwasamistaketoshowhimsomeofthosearticles.
“Whodoesn’t?”Iask,defensive.
“Don’tdothatthreesome,”mybrotherwarns.“Youcanseriouslystillgettrichinosis.”
IlaughandshakemyheadandtakeanotherbiteofItalianbeef.
Myphonepings.ADMfromSora?Iopeniteagerly.
Thereisaphotoofhersignedfifth-gradeyearbook.
Andmyderangeddrawingofabee.
Isnortalaugh.It’sperfect.“Shemightbetheperfectwoman,”Isay,showingIanthepicture.
“Whatthehellisthat?Asheepwithrabies?”
“It’sabee.Beecool.Getit?That’smydrawing.Fromwhenwewerekids.”Itypeoffaquickresponse.
That’snotevenmybestwork.YoushouldseesomeofmyPictionarymasterpiecesof1999.
“Youaresuchanerd.”Ianshakeshishead.
Afrazzled-lookingnurseburststhroughthedoorthen,sendingablastofarcticairtoourtable.ShesendsusalookofapologyandIrealizeshe’swithouthercoat.Probablythoughtshecouldsprintthedistancefromthehospitalentrancetothesubshopwithoutbotheringtogethercoat,butthewindchilloutsideisnegativetwodegrees.Goodluckwiththat.
Wechewinsilenceforabit.Thenursegetsahastilymadesandwichandthensprintsbackoutintothecoldagain.Iwatchherrunbacktothehospitalthroughthewindow.
I’mgoingtohavetobringupKylieandwhyheskippedAllie’sbirthdaypartysometime.Ihategettingintothisstuff,butifMarcdoesit,he’llcomeinheavy-handedlikeamilitarydadandIanwillclamup.“So,whatwasupwithSaturday?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Ianglancesup,darkeyesmeetingmineandlookingwary.
“Allie’sbirthday.Howcomethedoubleshift?”
Ianchewsandsaysnothingforalongwhile.IalmostthinkhemightnotanswerandjustpretendIneveraskedthequestion.
“Extrahourscomewiththejob,”hesays,studyinghisturkeysandwich.“Youknowthat.”
“Yeah.”Inod,deliberatelynotmentioningthatIknowhevolunteeredfortheshift.Thatwouldjustmakehimdefensive.“Ibetsomeonewould’vecoveredforAllie’sbirthday.”EveryoneatthehospitalknowsAllie,knowsaboutherstruggles.Theyevenallchippedintobuyherballoonsonherbirthdaytheyearbefore.
Iantakesasipofhiscupofwater,anddropsintoamoodysilence.Idon’twanttopress.IfIanwantstotellmewhat’sonhismind,hewill.
Itakeanotherbiteandwemunchinsilenceforaminute.
“Thingshavebeenhardthisyear,forbothofus,”Iansayseventually,studyingtheopensandwichwrapperonthetableasifit’sapicturerollofallthememoriesofthelastyear.“Andsometimes…Imean…itfeelslikewe’rejustwaitingfortheothershoetodrop.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”ItakeasipofmyCokeandwait.
“Youknowthere’satwentypercentchancethatcancercomesback.Aone-in-fivechance.”
“Yeah?Sothere’saneightypercentchanceitdoesn’t.I’lltakethoseodds.”
Ianshakeshishead,lookinggrim.“Yeah,butIjustdon’tknowifIcandoitagain.Alliewasit,youknowthat.FirsttimeIsawthatkid,Iwasgone,hook,line,andsinker.Andlastyear…whenwealmostlosther…”Ianswallowstherestofhissentenceanddropshissandwichdownonthewrapper.
“Butyoudidn’tloseher.”
“Yeah,butthiswillhangoverherfortherestofherlife.Andthenwhoknowswhatthehellthatchemowilldotoherdevelopment.”Iangritshisteethtogetherandmeetsmygaze,eyesfullofpain.“Youknowtheydon’thavegoodmedicineforchildren.Weuseadultdrugsonthemandjusthopeforthebest.Weneedmoreresearch.”
“Yeah.”Ianoftenwentdownthisrabbithole,andIgetit.Frustratedthehelloutofallofusabouthowmuchweoughttobedoingtohelpfindbettertreatmentsforkidswithcancer.Hell,maybeevenonedaycurethedamnthing.“Soyou’reworriedaboutAllie.That’swhyyou’respendingmoretimeatthehospital?I’mjusttryingtounderstand.”
“Iguess.Idon’tknow.”Hegazesoutatthestreetascarsrushby,afewofthempullingintotheparkinggarageofthehospitalacrossthestreet.“Ithinkpartofmeisjustscared.”
“Man,you’rethebravestguyIknow.Youtakecareofgunshotvictims.Rememberthattimeyousaidyouwereelbow-deepinthatguy’schest?Anddon’tevengetmestartedonthepandemic.Youwentintoworkeveryday,withoutcomplaint,eventhoughitmeantyousleptinanRVawayfromyourfamilysoKylieandAlliewouldn’tgetsick.Youarebraveashell.”
ButIknowwhathemeans.Hemeanshe’sscaredoflosingAllie,scaredthecancerwillcomeback,andscaredtolethisfamilygettooclosebecausethatmeansthepossibilityoflosingthemalloveragain.Webothstareoutthewindow,watchingthepeoplebustleinandoutofthehospital.Workersbutpatients,too.Youcanidentifytherelativesofthepatients.Theylookworried,anxious.
“I’mnotthatbrave.”Heglancesatme.“Justbraverthanyou,andthat’snothard.”
“Hey!”Ishovehisshoulder.
“Justsaying—didn’tyoukeeptheclosetlightontosleepuntilhighschool?”
“Middleschool.”
“Samedifference,”Iansays,andlaughs.Hestaresoutthewindowandwatchesabusrumbleby,abigpuffofblacksmokecomingoutoftheback.
“Look,whydon’tyoutakemysweetsister-in-lawoutfordinnertomorrownight.I’llbabysit,”Ioffer.“Trytoreconnectorsomething?Youknow?”
“You’dbabysitAllie.”Hestudiesme,notquitesuretheofferisreal.
“Ofcourse!Shecanevenpaintmynailslikelasttime.”Thatwasonehelluvamess.ButIcan’tsaynotothatkid
“Okay.Maybe.I’llaskKylieifshewantstogoout.”
“She’llwanttogoout.”IrememberherstrainedsmileatAllie’sbirthdayparty.Shewantshelp.Wantsalifeline.Icanfeelit.
Ifinishthelastofmysandwichandwaduptheemptywrapper.“What’sthatquotefromShawshankRedemptionyouusedtoalwayssay?”
“Bettergetbusyliving,orgetbusydying,”hesays.
“That’stheone.”Igrin.Thehigh-pitchedambulancesirenblaringdownthestreetdrawsourattentionthen,andthebigwhiteboxarriveswithflashingredandbluelights,pullinguptotheemergencyentranceofthehospital.Iantosseshistrashinanearbycan.
“Well,that’smycue,”hesays.“Workcalls.Thanksforlunch,man.”Heshrugsintohisjacket.“Whatareyouuptothisafternoon?”
“I’mgoingtodropbySora’splace.Seeifsheneedsanything.”Thebeetextmademehopefulshemightbeupforcompany.
Iancluckshistongueindisapproval.“Yousurethat’sagoodidea?”
“No.Butshedidsprainherankle.Shemightneedsouporsomething.”
“Soupisforcolds.”Ianrollshiseyes.
“YouknowwhatImean.”
“WhatIthinkyoumeanisyou’rehopingforanotherpitykiss.”
IDMSoratoletherknowI’minherneighborhood.JustyourfriendlyHey,letmeknowifyouneedanythingDM.Or,ifyouwantanimpromptugameofPictionarythatyouwilldefinitelywin,I’mreadyandable.
Shepingsmebackinstantly.
Pictionaryisayes,butonlyifalcoholisinvolved,becauseIonlythinkIcandrawwhenI’mdrunk.And…maybeibuprofen?I’mout!I’llpayyouback
ItypeThefirstbottleofibuprofenisfree.Secondwillcostyou.
Iheadtoadrugstorenearhercondo,grabanindustrial-sizedbottleofibuprofen,andasIdo,IseetheValentine’saisle.Iglancearoundatthefancycream-filledchocolatesinbigredheart-shapedboxesandwonderiftheyhavean“IHateValentine’sDay”assortment.Flavors?BitterLemon.DarkChocolateofDespair.ForeverSingleStrawberry.NeverGettingInMyBedButtercream?
Maybechocolatesaren’tsuchabadidea.Besides,thankstoValentine’sDaybeingthisweek,they’reonsale.Buyone,getone50percentoff.Ithinksheneedsatleasttwo.Plus,okay,didn’tshehaveadog?Icouldgetherthatdogtoy,theoneattheendoftheaislethathasthebigplushheartwiththewhitehandsandfeet.Maybewatchingherpit-mixtearintoitwillamuseher?
Igrabthechocolatesanddogtoyalongwithanimpulse-buypurchaseofabottleofredwine.
Outside,thesunhasslunkbeyondthehorizon,eventhoughit’snotyet4P.M.WelcometowinterinChicago.Inlessthanablock,I’mstandingatthebuzzerofhervintageapartmentbuilding.Theouterdoorhasafull-lengthwindow,showingthesilvermailboxes,andit’sbigenoughforsomeonetohavelefttheirbike.
IhitthebuzzernexttoReid.
Iwait.AcoldFebruarychillwhipsup,swirlingthepatchofsnowbymyfeet.IshiverasIhearSora’svoicecracklingthroughthespeaker.
“Hello?”
“Hey.Uh.It’sme.Jack.I’vegotthatibuprofen!”
“Oh!Yes!”
Thebuzzersounds.Ableating-goatcallfromheaven.Ishakeofftheshockandgrabthefrontdoorandswingitopen.
Ikicksnowfrommyblackbootsontherugthenheadupthestairstoherplace.Igettoherdoorandknockgently.
Ihearfranticscurryingaroundinside,andadog’sunmistakablebark,andthenwhatsoundsliketheopeningandshuttingofacabinetordoorandmumbledcurses.Thensheswingsopenthedoorlookingflushedandslightlysweaty,wearingherlong,darkhairupinahighponytail,herfadedblueT-shirtnotdoingmuchofajobcoveringherblackleggings.She’sgotfuzzysockson,anditlookslikeheranklesarealmostthesamesize.Shegrinsandherbrowneyesmeetmine,brightandhappy.Rightthen,Iamvery,verygladIcame.Sheeyesthebagsinmyhandswithsurprise.
“I…gotmorethanjustibuprofen.Figuredyoumightneedsomechocolate.Orwine.Especiallyifwe’rebustingoutthePictionary.”
Shehesitatesamoment,glancingatthebags.Crap.DidIoverstep?Butthetextswereflirty.OrsoIthought.AmImisreadingeverythingagain?ThenIrealizeshe’slaser-focusedontheheart-shapedboxesofchocolate.“YoubroughtValentine’schocolate.”
“Yousaidnoonehasboughtchocolatesforyoubeforeandthat’sacrime.Imean,youcanburnitifyouwant.Butit’sthegoodkind.”Inodatthebrand.“Orwecouldalsojusthavewineinstead.”Iofferupthebottle.Sheblinksfast,stillconfused.
“Youbroughtallthis.Forme.”
“Andthis—”Igrabtheplushdogtoyfromthebottomofthebag.“Foryourrescuedog.”
Sorabitesherbottomlip,andforasecond,Ithinkshemightcry.Thenshemovesinandletsherbigpit-mixhedgehiswayout.Woah,he’shuge.Stout.Intimidatinglooking.Hecouldtakeabiteoutofmewithoutreallytrying.
“Larry’sasoftie,really,”Sorareassuresme.
“Oh,hey,boy.”Ioffermyhand,buthereachesuptosniffandmissesmebyatleasttwoinches.It’sthenIrealizethathisperpetualwinkisbecausehe’smissinganeye.
“He’snotgoodspatially.Heneveradjustedtolosinganeye—raccoon,thesheltersaid,”Soraexplains,andsoImovemyhandsohecansniffit.ThenIholduptheroundplushtoyandfigureI’lltossittohim,andmaybehe’llcatchit.
“Here,boy.Here!Catchit!”Itossitintheair,andhejumpsuptogetit,buthemissesbyagoodsixinches.
“Hecan’tcatchthingsverywell.Orfetch,”sheadds,asLarryscramblestopickuptheplush,butmissesittimeandagain.Poordude.
Takingpityonhim,Ileaninandpickitup,thenmanagetoputitrightinhisgiant,openmouth.“Hereyougo.”Larryhappilytrotsofftoabackcorneroftheapartment.“Idon’twanttointrude.Ijustwantedtoseeifyou’reokay.”
Sorastudiesme.“Wanttocomein?”
“CanI?OrdoesthatviolateSoloFebruary?”
“GetinherebeforeIchangemymind,”Sorateases,andIhoptoit,followingherintohermodestvintagecondo.“Shallwehavewine?”sheasks.
“Ithinkit’samust.”
Thekitchenlooksnewish,butrarelyused,asthestoveandovenseempristine.Shelimpsovertothegraycabinetsandretrievesacoupleofwineglassesandthenabottleopenerfromadrawer.
“Letmedothat.Yourestyourankle.”
Shelaughsalittle.“I’mfine.”
“Youmaynothavebrokenanything,butyouneedtorest.”Imoveclosertoreachforthecorkscrew,andasIdo,Ibrushherarm.Sheflailsalittle,andIworryherweakanklewillbringherdown.Isteadyherwithonehand,andsheglancesupatme,eyesgrateful.Andsexyashell.Damn,but…thoselips.Big,plump,kissable.AndnowIknowtheytastelikecrèmebr?lée.Andforasecond,everythingstops,andwejuststareateachother,thepuredesiretautbetweenuslikeaguitarstring.
She’sgottofeelthat.Shecan’thelpbutfeelit.Right?
ThenIremembershe’sstandingonahurtankle.
“HowaboutIhelpyoutothecouch?”Ioffer.
“Icanmanage,”shesays,limpingalittle.ButIfollowher,actingashercrutch,justincase.Shesinksintotheblue-graycushionsandsmilesupatme.“Thankyou.”Hervoiceisbarelyawhisper.Ireluctantlyleavehertouncorkthewine.
“Ilikeyourplace,”Isay,glancingaroundhersmallbutneatlivingroom.Itworksaslivingroom/diningroomandpartoftheopenkitchen.Acompactbluesectionalandsmallmatchingarmchairsitinthemiddleoftheroom,andajungleofplantslinesthesmallhallwaytothekitchen.Shedoesn’thavemuchonherwalls,andthere’sanunpackedboxortwomakingtheplacefeelalittlelikeshejustarrived,butnotinabadway,Ithink.Herflat-screenTVstandsonaglassconsoletabletotheleft.Windowslinethebackoftheroom,andadoortotherightleadstowhatseemslikeabedroom,asIcanjustseethewhitecornerofanunmadebed.Theexposedredbrickonthewallbehindthecouchmakestheroomfeelwarmerandbrighter,asdoesthepinefloor.Iseeasmallsilverlaptopopenonherkitchentable.
“YouwritinganotherSoloFebruarypost?”Iask.
“Yeah,”shesays,andnods.“Thisone’saboutthejoyofspendingtimewithfriendsinsteadof…ondates.”
“Oh.That’sgood.”Iguessit’sgood.Arewefriends?Iwashopingformorethanfriends,butI’lltakefriends.
Ifillheroversizedwineglasseswithtwogenerouspoursandheadtothesofa.Sinceit’sanL-shapedsectional,ItaketheshorterendoftheL.
“Tohealingquickly,”Isay,offeringupmyglassforatoast.
“Amen,”shesays,andleansforwardtoclinkmyglass.Itakeasipofthedrugstorewine,relievedtodiscoverit’sdrinkable.Shedoesn’tseemtominditeitherasshetakesabiggulp.Westareateachotherforasmallbeatofawkwardsilence.
“Wantachocolate?”Iofferupthefirstgiantredheartfullofdelicacies.
Sheopensthelidofthegiantheart,tappingherfingeronherplump,pinklips.“Whichone?”shedebates,asshescansalltheoptions—light,dark,andwhitetruffles,allwithmysteryfillings.
“Well,youshouldeatthemall,”Isay.“IfthisisyourfirsttrueboxofValentine’schocolates,thenIthink,bylaw,youhavetotrythemall.”
“Well,Ihaveboughtsomemyself.OnFebruaryfifteenth,whenthey’reseventy-fivepercentoff.”
“Full-pricechocolatestastebetter.Andgiftedchocolate?That’salwaysthebest.Imean,it’sjustbasicscience.”
Soralaughs,herheadtiltedback,faceaperfectheartshape.Shetakesoneandbitesintoit.“Mmmm.Saltedcaramel.Ithinkyou’reright.”Sheglancesatmethroughherthick,prettylashes.“Wanttotryit?”sheoffersupthehalf-bittenchocolate.
“Hell,yes.”
Andthenshefeedsittome.
Itastetheburstofsaltysweetness.
“Delicious.”Iwashitdownwithwineandshedoesthesame,andbeforeIknowit,we’veeatenmorethanhalfthedamnbox,allwhiledebatingthemeritsofnougatversuscaramel.We’vealsodrainedourwineglassesandrefilledthemagain.Awarmbuzzsinksintomybrain.I’mfeelingmorerelaxed.That’sprobablyadangerousthing.
“CanIaskyouaquestion?”Isay,afterwe’vebothsharedanewmilkchocolatealmondtruffle.We’vesettledintothecouch,SoralayingonthelongpartoftheL,herfeettowardme,swollenankleelevatedonapillow,icepackonit(myidea),andme,backagainsttheshortendoftheL.Myleftarmsitsinchesfromhersockedfeet.Itfeelscomfortable.Cozy.Likewecouldrelaxtogetherforever.
“Sure,”shesays,lickingthechocolateoffherfinger.
Thebeesarebackinmybrain,buzzing,makingmefeellight-headed.It’sbecauseSoramighthaveshort-circuitedalltheneuronsinmyfrontallobe.
“Iknowyouvowedtogosolothismonth.”
Shetensesalittle.“Yeah?”
“Sodoesthatmeanyou’renotdating…thatotherguy?”
“Whatotherguy?”Shestraightensalittle,puttingthechocolatesonherdistresseddriftwoodcoffeetable.
IthinkaboutLanceBassandhowhishandwascuppedpossessivelyonherassintheproducesection.
“Soulpatch/shellnecklaceguy?”IknowIshouldn’tbringhimup,butIcan’thelpit.Ineedtoknow.
Sora’seyesgrowasroundasdishes.“Dan?Howdidyouknowabouthim?”
“Isawyoutwotogether.AtMargo’s.”
NowSorasitsup,backramrodstraight.“What?”
“Isawyou—andDan?—intheproducesection.BackaroundChristmas.Youtwoseemedfriendly.Ithought…”Idriftoff.
Butshe’sleaningeverclosertomenow,hunchedoverherlegs.“Wait,yousawmeoveramonthagoandyoudidn’tsayhi?”
AndthisiswhyIshouldjustkeepmymouthshut.“Well,Iwasn’tonehundredpercentsureitwasyou.”Lie.Terriblelie.“And…”Iwasachickenshitwhodidn’thavethecouragetosayhi.“And…Idon’tknow,youwereinandout.Quickly.”
“Iwas?”
“Yeah.Butthatguy.Ithought…youcoulddobetter.”
“Youdid?”Shefallsbackintothecouchcushions,armsaboveherheadinsurrender.“Youandmeboth.Turnsouthewasmarried.Liedtomeaboutit.ThenIthoughtIwouldjustgoalongwithit.Behisweeknightmistressorsomething.”Shecoversherfacewithbothhandsandblowsoutanexasperatedbreath.IalreadyhadalowopinionofSoulPatchbutnowit’sevenlower.Thesnake.
“Youdeservebetterthanthat.Muchbetter.Youarenoman’ssidechick.”
Hereyesgrowwideinsurprise,asifnomanhastoldherthisbefore.
“SothefirsttimeyousawmewaswithDan?Notwhenyougaveoutfreetortes?”
“Yeah.”I’malreadyindeep,sowhynottaketheplungetherestofthewaydown?“Youwerewearingaredwoolcoatandknee-highblackboots.Redlipstick,too.Lookingdownrightbeautiful,actually.”
Sora’smouthopenseversoslightlyinsurprise.Shestudiesme.“So,you’restalkingme?”sheteases.
Ishrug.“Kindof.”Imeethergaze.Thewinebuzzinginmyveinsmakesmefeelbold.
“Soundslikeyoukindofhaveacrushonme,JackMann.”
Now’smymoment.Now’sthetime.I’vegottotellher.
“Actually,thisisgoingtosounddumb…”Itakeadeepbreath.“Iactuallyhadacrushonyouinkindergarten.”
“What?”Shenudgesmyhipwithhergoodfoot.She’sgrinning.
“Yeah,well…Ikindofhadacrushonyou…allthroughgradeschool.”
Hergrinfades,eversoslightly.“Youdid?”Sheshiftsandhericepackfallsoffherankle.Shedoesn’tnotice,soIreachoverandgrabit,placingitbackgingerly.
“Yeah.”Istareattheceiling.ThisiseithergoingtobethebestthingIeverdidinmylife,ortheworst.There’snoinbetween.“Onetime,Ithinkitwasfirstgrade,ormaybesecond,youtoldBoyanDebnarhewasajerkwhoshouldn’tbullypeople.”
“Idid?”
“Yeah,hewassingingthatdamnPiggyJacksonginthecafeterialine.Youtoldhimhewasajerkandtostopit.”
“Idon’trememberthat.”
“Ido.Youwerethefirstkidtostickupforme.Maybetheonlykid.”IglanceatSora,wholooksasifshewantstohugme.“Eversincethen,anytimeIsawyou,itfeltlikemystomachwasfullofbees.”
“Isthatwhyyoudrewoneonmyyearbook?”
Ihadn’tputthattogetherbefore.“Yeah,probably.”
Shelaughsbutthengrowsserious.Herbrowneyesfocusonmine,andforasecond,IfeellikeIcanswiminthem.“Doesitstillfeellikeit’sfullofbees?”
“Yes.Bigones.Angry.”Hummingloudlyinmyears.Ormaybeit’sthewine.No,Ithink,lookingatSora’samazingbrowneyes.It’sSora.DefinitelySora.“SoimaginehowIfeelwhenmygrade-schoolcrushwalksintomygrocerystore.”
Soralaughs.“Eatsallyourtortesandthengetshorriblyembarrassedbyherex-husbandandhisnewgirlfriend.Andthenaccusesyouoftheft.Yeah,I’msureyouwereverygladtoseeme.”
“Actually,thatday,Irealized…”Itakeadeepbreath.Fine.“It’snotjustthatIusedtohaveacrushonyou.Ikindof…well…Istilldo.”
Nowthingsgetserious.Sorastaresatme,withoutblinking.Isshegoingtotellmetogotohell?HaveIoverstepped?
Butthen,shemovesslowlyovertomysideofthecouch,crawling,almostlikeasleeklionessontheprowl,lookinglikethesexiestdamnpredatorI’veeverseen.
“MaybeIhaveacrush,too,”shetellsme,hervoicelowinherthroat.Shemeetsmygazeandthenfocusesherattentiononmylips.Andsomethingintheairchanges.Itfeels…moredangerous,suddenly.Icanfeelherbreathonmyface,smellhercrèmebr?léelipgloss.
Andthenshepressesherlipstomine.Twelve
SORA
I’mnotsayingIhatemen.Onthecontrary,Ilovethemtoomuch.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
So,Jackmightbepatient,butIamnot.I’vebeencalledmanythings,but“reasonable”and“patient”and“mature”aren’tanyofthem.Andthat’swhyI’mtryingtoeatJack’sfaceoffbecausehe’sthesexiestmanI’veevermet.Imayhaveimpulse-controlproblems.Plus,Ihavejustenoughwinebuzzingaroundinmybraintothinkit’sadamnfineidea.Because…thissuper-hot,super-sexymantellsmeI’mbeautifulandhe’shadacrushonme?Sincekindergarten?
AndhenoticedmebackinDecember.Whatthehell?I’dbeensobusybeingdistractedbyMr.WrongthatI’dcompletelymissedMr.Right.
MytonguelasheshisandallIcantasteishimandwineandchocolate.It’slikeanorgasminmymouth.I’mlyingontopofhishardbodyandhishandsarerovingdownmycurves,andI’mhavingtheteenagemake-outpartyofmylife.AndthisiswhatI’vebeenmissingsinceFebruaryfirst.It’slikehavingthatfirstbiteofchocolateafterstarvingoneselfonatrendydiet.AndnowIknowthatthethingI’vebeendeprivingmyselfofistheverythingIneedtolive.Theverythingthatmakeslifeworthliving.
Ibreakaway,gulpinginair.Ishouldn’tdothis.I’vebeenencouragingpeopleallaroundtheworldtotakeabreakfromloveforthismonth,andhereIam,breakingmyownrules.
“Areyousureyouwanttodothis?”hepants,handsfirmlyonmyhips.“WhataboutSolo—”ButIhushhimwithafingertohislips.IamnotgoingtothinkaboutSoloFebruaryanymoretonight.
“Yes,Iwanttodothis,”Isay.“Hell,yes.”
Idivedownforanotherkiss,andourlipsmeldtogetherasifthey’retwohalvesofthesameheart-shapedchocolatebox.Isquirmagainsthisbody,andhegroans,grippingmyhipstighter,needinhisfingertips.Ifeelthatneedquiveringthroughmyownbodylikealiving,breathingthing,likeaforcethatwon’tbecontained.I’vewantedthismansinceIfirstlaideyesonhimatMargo’s.Nowhe’sbeneathmeonmyowncouch,pinnedbymybody,andIwanttokeephimprisonertherefortherestofhislife.
BeforeIknowit,I’verippedoffmyT-shirtandit’sonmyfloor,andinanothersecond,thelacybralettecomesoff,too.Jackstaresatmynippleswithakindofreverenceusuallyreservedforfineartinmuseums,ashefirstkissesoneandthentheother.Damn,Iloveamanwhoknowshiswayaroundanareola.Ishiverbeneaththeman’sexpertmouthandhands.Ifumblewithhisshirtbuttons,andhesitsup,withmetumblingbackabitonthecouch.Heliterallyripshisownshirtoff,thebuttonspingingoffandscatteringacrossthewoodfloorandIthinkImightjustdieofwantrightthere.Canthismangetsexier?ThenIseehisbarechest,strong,definedpecs,big,muscularshoulders,thekindIwanttobiterightnow.Justalittlenibble.That’sall,Itellmyself.He’sgotmilesofmuscle,andhe’sstout,too,hisabsnottheno-carbs,no-fun,ridgedkind,butthenot-too-skinny,not-too-fat,not-gonna-make-you-feel-unworthykind.Inshort,he’s100percentgrade-Athatman.
Ifeatherkissesdownhisneck,whilehecupsmygirlswithreverence.Ihaven’thadamanthisenamored,thisworshipfulofmybodysinceIdon’tknowhowlong.Ifever.
“You’regorgeous,”hewhispersinmyear.“Completelygorgeous.”
Thewordsfeellikeliquidmoltenlavastraighttomycore.Theylightmeupfromtheinside,poweringupallmybuttons,sendingelectricsparkstoeverynerveendinginmybody.Jackstandsthen,andIfighttheurgetozipdownhisflyandshowhimjusthowmuchIappreciatehim,butbeforeIcan,hereachesdown,andputsmyhandsbehindhisneck.Hisgazemeetsmine.
“Let’sgotothebedroom,”hesays,andthenhereachesdownbeneathmybuttandliftsme,andIlethim.Iwrapmylegsaroundhim,onlyvaguelyawareofthefactthatI’mwearingonlytightsandathongbeneath.
“Yes,”Icroak.“Let’sgo.”
I’mkissinghim,ourbarechestspressedtogetherashecarriesmetowardmybedroom.Jackkicksopenthedoorlikealumberjackwhodoesn’thavethetimeorpatiencetouseadoorknob.IonlyvaguelyregisterLarryashescramblesoutofthewayandrunsintothelivingroom.Jackkicksshutthedoor,andlaysmedownlikeaqueenheplanstoworship.
Hestandsatthefootofthebedandslowlyunzipshisfly,hisjeansdroppingtothefloor.AndIseehim.
Inallhisbareglory.Andthereislots.Andlots.Ofglory.
So.
Much.
Glory.
Ipushmyselfuponmyelbows,andmyjawdropssohardIcanhearthejointpop.
DidImentiontheglory?
“Isthisokay?”heasksme.AndIknowhemeanssex.Ingeneral.Becausehe’sgettingconsent,butitalsosoundslikehe’saskingifhisgloryisokay
“It’smorethanokay,”Imanage.OnlythendoIrememberthecondomsIkeepinmybedsidedrawer.“Uh…I’vegotcondoms…”Itrytoreachforthedrawer,preparingmyselfforthebacklash.The“Idon’tlikecondoms”or“Dowehaveto”or“Ireallydon’tlikethefeelofthem”discussionsthatusuallyfollowmyattemptstopracticesafesex.Mostguyscaveaftersmallpushback,butIhadonewhooutrightrefused.“Idon’tbelieveinthem,”hehadsaid,asifcondomswerelikeSantaClausororganizedreligion.There’snothingtobelievein.They’relatex.TheyprotectagainstabevyofSTDs.But,no,hewasadamant.SoIshowedhimthedoor.
Jack,however,doesn’tevenmissabeat.Hereachesforthedrawerandgrabsonesilently,oneofonlyafewmagnum-sizedswimmingaroundinthedrawerfromagaggiftIgotfromNami’sbachelorettepartylastmonth.IneverreallythoughtI’deverusethem,exceptmaybetotrymyhandatmakingballoonanimals.Inseconds,he’sgotitunsheathedandrolleddownhisimpressiveness.
IalreadyknewMarleywasonthesmallside.AndDanwasaboutaverage,butthis…thisinfrontofme.Hell,it’sawholeothercategory.Super-sized.
“Areyousureyouwanttodothis?”heasksme.“Ijustwanttobesureyou’resure.”Hehesitatesashestandsbetweenmyspreadlegs,hisglorycompletelyatattention.
“Yes,”Isay.“Oh,hell,yes.”
IwakeupthenextmorningfeelingwrappedintheperfectcocoonofsnugglywarmthandrealizethatJackhashisbeefyarmsaroundmeinbed,spooningmefrombehind,andthere’sliterallynotabetterfeelingintheworld.I’msore,theverybestkindofsore,fromanightfilledwiththebestsexI’veeverhadinmylife.Thekindofsexthatmakesmerealizeforallmyadultlife,I’vebeendoingitwrong.
Withthewrongpeople.
Becausethissex,thisamazing,electricsex,shouldnever,everbeboycotted.
IclosemyeyesandleanbackintoJack’sstrong,muscledchestandinhale,listeningtohisdeep,rhythmicbreaths.He’sstillsleeping.Thenmyphonedingswithanincomingmessage.
Ithinkaboutignoringit.Whybreakthisbeautifulmoment?WhyriskrousingJack?Butcuriositygetsthebestofme.IglanceatthefaceofmyphoneandseeArial’sname.
Hey,Sora.Greatnews.SoloFebruaryisgoingbananas.I’vegotyourextra-heftyfreelancecheck.ThoughtI’dstopbyandgiveittoyouinperson?Icandropbyyourcondoonmywaytowork?
Wait.What?
BeforeIcantextbackthatI’mindisposed,mybuzzersounds.
Itsoundslikeagoosedyingahorribledeath,andalso,takingmydreamsofafull-timemagazinewritinggigwithbenefitsdownthedrainwithit.Larrybarks,too,areflextohearingthebuzzer.Iglancebehindme,atJack’sbig,nakedbody.
IamprettysureifArialseesJackinmybed…thatcheckwillbecanceled.Immediately.
Isitup,feelinglikeacoldbucketofrealityjustfellonmyhead,asIscrambletoreachformyclothesonthefloor.Thenhobbleonmystill-tenderankletothedoorbuzzer,hittingtheintercom.Larrymeetsmeinthelivingroom,tryingtogettothedoor,butrunningintothesmallfoyertableinstead,makingtheglassbowlwhereIkeepmykeysandmailwobble.
“Hello?Arial?”
“Yes?Canyoubuzzmeup?”sheanswers.
“I’m…I’mnotdressed.”That’sanunderstatement.IhavenounderwearonandonlymyoversizeT-shirt,which,Inotice,isinsideoutandbackward.Plus,mycondosmellslikesexandwine.Larrybarksoncemore.Evenheagreesit’sabadidea.“Sosweetofyoutobringthecheckby,butyoucanjustleaveitonthemailboxes!”
“Oh?”Arialsoundsdisappointed.“ButI’vegotsomeothernewstotellyou.I’lljustbeonesecond?Ipromise?”
Damnit.Ican’ttellmybossno.Thatwouldseemweird.But…Ihaveanakedmaninmycondo,whichIdonotthinkshe’dappreciate.Ihitthebuzzer,andthenInoticemybedroomdoorisopenacrack,andsomehow,JackstillseemstobeasleepbecauseIseehisbig,baremanfoothangingoffthecornerofmybed.Irushoverandclosethedoor,andbythetimeIgettothefrontdoor,IhearArialonthesteps,andthenthere’saquickraponmydoor.Iswingitopen,holdingitlikeashieldinfrontofme.
Arial’seyeswideninsurprise.“Iamsosorry?Iknowyou’regettingdressed.Ijusthavethecheck,butIalsohavesuperfunnewsthatIwantedtodeliverinperson!”
“Youreallydidn’thavetocome.”Wouldn’taZoomcallandastampedenvelopehavedoneit?
“Iwantedto?BecauseSoloFebruaryislike,anamazingsmash?TheywantyoutogoonLet’sTalk!”
Iblink.That’smymom’sfavoritemorningshow.Ithinkit’severymom’sfavoritemorningshow.Theyofferabookclub,aStealthisDeal!segment,andreal-timemakeoversforstudioaudiencemembersatleastonceamonth.
“Theydo?”
“Yes!Oh,andhere’syourcheck?”Shehandsamanilaenvelopethroughthecrackeddoor.Itakeit.
“Oh,that’ssosweet.Sothoughtful.Okay,well,bye!”Iswipeitoutofherhandsandtrytoclosethedoor.
“Wait!CanIcomein?”
“Uh.No!”Arialjumps.“Imean,mystomach.It’snotfeelingsogreat.I’malittlehungover.”
“Itwon’ttakelong?”Arialpromises.“Ithoughtmaybewecouldchataboutwhatyoucouldwear?Imean,ifyouneedtoborrowsomethingfromTheCloset,Ihavetonsofoptions.”
Sheglancesovermyshoulderintomyapartment.Ilookbackward,too,afraid.That’swhenIsee…thetwoemptywineglassesonmycoffeetable.AndtheoverturnedboxesofValentine’sDaycandy…andevenworse,Jack’sverylargeblackboots,clearlynotmine,nearmycouch.Andhispeacoat.And…isthathisshirt?And…mybra?
Shit.Shit.Shit.
“Didyou…haveapartylastnight?”Arialasksinnocently,herblueeyessweepingtheroomandsettlingonJack’sboots.HowamIgoingtoexplainthose?
“Yes.Party.Galentine’s.”Igrin,anxious.
“Arethose…yourboots?”sheasks.“Theylook…big?”
“Uh.Yeah.My…uh…dad’sactually.Ikeepthemaroundfor…uh…shovelingsnow.”Lies.Somanylies.“AndIhaven’thadtimetocleanupsincethe…party.”
Oh,Lord.Larryisheadedovertomybra.Hesniffsatit.IprayArialhasn’tnoticedhe’sinspectingmylingerie.
“Thepartyfortwo?”
“Uh…yeah.Justonegirlfriend.”Coldsweattricklesdownmyback.Flopsweatbreaksoutallovertherestofmybody.Arialseesrightthroughme.Ack
Larry’sbackatthefrontdoor.Hedipsdownandlickshershoelaces.
“Larry!”Ipushhimbackin.“Sorryaboutthat,”IapologizetoArial.“Look,sorry.Mystomach!Oh,Iamsohungover…Ireallyneedtogo.”Ineedtoclosethisdoor.Now.
“Oh!Okay,wellthen,justletmeknowifyouneedanything?”Justthen,backinthebedroom,IhearJackyawn.Amonstrous,Tarzan-like,chandelier-shakingyawn.
ArialandIfreeze.Larry’sheadwhipsbackandhestaresatthebedroom.
“Whatwasthat?”Arialasks.
“Whatwaswhat?”Playingdumbismyonlyhope.Larrytrotsovertothebedroomandscratchesatthedoor.
“Thatsoundedlikeamanyawning.Inyourbedroom.”
“Oh?That?”Think.Think.Think.“Uh…probablymyneighbor.Mywallsarelike…paperthin.”
“Really?”TheskepticisminArial’svoicecouldfillaRussiannovel.
Itrytopushthedoorclosed,butArialisnotmovingherfoot.Herbrownbootstayswedgedintherelikeadesignerbootieofdoom.
“Sorry,butI’vegottogo.I’mgoingtobesick!”Ihearmybedroomdoorcreakopen,andpureadrenalinerushesintomyveins.“Youhavetogo!Sorry!”IpushArialbackastepandshewobblesbackovermythreshold,shocked.
“Whoa?”shecries,armspinwheelingasIslamthedoorshutandthrowmyselfagainstit,justasmybedroomdoorswingsopen.Jackcomeswanderingintomykitchen,cladonlyinhisboxerbriefs,darkhairtousled,sexybeardstacherumpled,andlookinglikethesexgodheis.I’mpanting,backagainstmyfrontdoor,andIputafingertomylips,gesturingforhimtobequiet.
“Um,Sora?”IhearArial’svoiceoutside.“Thatwas…uh,weird?Buthopeyoufeelbettersoon.I’llsendyouinfoonthetalkshow?Okay?Wecancoordinateyouroutfit?”
“Sorry!Mystomach!”Icry,hopingthatexcuseisgoodenoughforstrong-armingmyboss.
“Oh,uh?Feelbetter?”ThenIhearArial’sfootstepsretreatdownmystairs.ThankGod.
IglanceatthegorgeousandmostlynakedJackMann.
Thatwasclose.Toodamnclose.
“Uh…goodmorning?”heofferstentatively.“Iseverythingokay?”Thirteen
SORA
Theproblemwithsleepingwithsomeoneisthatitcloudsourjudgment.Accordingtoactualscience,thelateralorbitofrontalcortexislessactiveduringsex.That’sthepartofourmindsresponsibleforreason,decision-making,andvaluejudgments.Inotherwords,ourbrain.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Everythingisnotokay.IhavenoideawhatI’mgoingtodo.I’vejusthadthebestsexofmylife,duringamonthwhenI’msupposedtohavenosexwhatsoever.Because…theuniversehatesme.Becausethisisrottentiming.BecausehowcanIkeephavingsexwithJackMannandgiveArialthearticlesshewants,nottomentionkeeponfeedingthefans?Whoare,bytheway,fillingupeveryavailableDMwiththeirneedformoreandmoreandmore.
Myexispressuringmetogetwithher.CanItakeonenightoff?Whataretherulesof#SoloFeb?asksone.
Mymomjusttriedtosetmeuponablinddate,buthe’skindofcute.CanIreallyaskhimtowaituntilMarch?Isthatreasonable?asksanother.
Mybestfriendsayscasualsexisokayduring#GoSolobecauseit’saboutavoidingdeepemotionalcommitments.Trueorfalse?asksathird.
Canyou#GoSoloifyou’remarried?Thisreadergotanequalamountofblastingandsupport,withpeopledividedintotwocamps.So,now,itwasuptometoissueanofficialrulingfromonhigh.
It’salmosttoomuch.Peoplearereallytryingtonavigate#GoSolo,andthey’retreatingmeliketheultimatereferee.IguessIdidcomeupwithit,butamItheSupremeCourtondatingnow?Seriously?Me?
Thisisallwrong.
Nottomention,withmyown#GoSoloslipup,I’mincreasinglyfeelinglikeafraud,weighinginonargumentsonline,tellingpeopletheymuststaystrongwhenIdidn’t.
Still,I’vegotjustalittlelessthantwoweeksleftuntiltheendofFebruary,Iremindmyself.Icanjustsuckitup.Can’tI?
IsaygoodbyetoJackMann,evenasIworrysomeonemightseehimleavemyapartment.Butwho?Arial?ImadesuretowatchherwalkdownthestreetallthewaytotheLstop.Idon’tneedhercirclingbackandcatchingJackManninhismorningwalkofshame.Pammightratonme,too.Thatwouldbeterrible.Irememberherside-eyingJackinthehallway,andwonderifshe’splanningtoblowmycover.
I’mrackedwithguilt,andyet,Idon’treallyregretanything,because…Ijusthadthebestsexofmylife.Maybethere’ssomewaytostillgosolobutnotbeMann-free?
“Soundslikeyou’retryingtohaveitbothways,”saysStella.We’regrabbingaquicklunchnearbyatavegandiner.It’skosherandhealthy,whichStellaloves,andIhappentolovetheirsweetpotatofries,soitallworksout.Outside,abrutalFebruarywindkicksdownthestreet,knockingthesnowoffthetreebranches,aspassersbywaddlebythewindowbundledinheartywoolenlayers:ankle-lengthcoats,thickscarves,skicaps,andstripedmittens.Eventhedogsonleasheshaveontheirpuffycoatstoday.
“Well,ofcourseI’mtryingtohaveitbothways.AndJackMann?Allways.”Istretchoutmyankle,whichismuchbetter.There’sstillswellingandit’satadtendertowalkon,butIditchedthecrutchesandcanhobblemostplaceswithoutthem.Jack’stenderlovingcarethenightbeforemust’vespedupmyrecovery,becausenowIhardlyevenhavealimp.Amazingwhatahalf-dozenorgasmswilldo.
Stellapushesupthethickwoolsleevesofherchunkysweaterandsquintsatme.“Youdidn’ttellmeyousleptwithhim.”
“Whatdoyoumean?Ididn’tsleepwithhim.”Imayhaveonlymentionedthekissingpart.Ididn’tmentionthehim-buck-naked-in-my-apartment-when-Arial-arrivedpart.Orthepartaboutthemany,manyorgasmsachievedintheweehoursofthenight.“What!Me?No.”Istudythemenuasifit’sthefineprintofawinninglotteryticket.
“You’reaterribleliar.Also,youhavethat‘Ispentthenightmakinglovetoagorgeousman’vibe.You’reactuallygiggly.”
Igiggle.“No,I’mnot.”Igiggleagain.
“Irestmycase.”Shestaresatme.“Also,youhavestubbleburn.”
“Where?”Ireachuptofeelmyface.Ithoughtitwaswindburn.
“Everywhere.Evenyourneck.Andyourarms.Didhelickyoufromheadtotoe?”
“Maybe.”Ishiver,remembering.I’lllethimexfoliatemywholebodywithhisbeardstacheanydamndayoftheweek
Sheshakesherheadatme.“WhathappenedtoSoloFebruary?Tosolidarity?I’vekeptthepledge!”
“Iknow.I’msorry.”
“Yourreaderswillbedisappointediftheyfindout.”
Isinkmyfaceintomypalms.“Iknow,”Igroan,thinkingofthetwodozendebateson#GoSolothatIweighedinonjustthismorningalone.“Ican’tbetrusted.Ijustcan’t!”
Thewaiterdropsofftwoglassesofwater.“I’llberightbacktotakeyourorder!”hepromises.There’sonlyonewaiterforthewholediner,whichissurprisinglybusyat11A.M.onaweekday.ButI’minnorushtogetbackintothepolarvortexoutside,anyway.
“Thisisnotsomethingoutofyourcontrol,andIdon’tthinkit’slustthat’sdrivingyou.”Shetakesathoughtfulsipofherwater.“Ithinkit’sadesireforapproval.It’sbecauseinside,youdon’tfeelworthyoflove.”
“Isoundlikethesubjectofanafter-schoolspecial.”
“I’mserious,”Stellacontinues.“Yourdadwasshort-temperedwithyou,andyourmomisalwaystryingtoputyouonadiet,soyoulookformentotellyouthatyouaregoodenough,andyouseekthatapprovalfrommeninbed—especiallyassholes.”
“Jack’snotanasshole.”Ihaveherthere.Jack’sthenicestguyI’veevermet.Period.Fullstop.
“Okay,okay.”Stellaraisesherhandsinsurrender.“Jack’sdifferent.You’reright.Hedoesseemlikeamensch.”Shestudiesmeaminute.“Butareyousurethisistherighttimeforhim?”
“No.It’snot.I’msupposedtogosolo.”
“Right.Becauseyouweregoingtodosomesoul-searchinginFebruary,”sheremindsme.“Andnotjustrushintoyournextrelationship.”
“That,andbecauseitwasacatchyseriestitleforArial.”Isigh.“Also,itgetsworse.I’msupposedtobeonLet’sTalk!thisweek.Apparently,SoloFebruaryhassomanyfollowersthatI’vemadethelocalnews.”
“Seriously?”Stellalooksbothimpressedandalarmed.
“WhatifeverybodyfindsoutI’mafraud?”
“Hey,”Stellasays,pushingherthick,blackcurlsoffherforehead,asshesettlesintowhatIcallhertherapiststance:shoulderssquared,eyeslockedonmine,palmsflatonthetable.Shevibrateswithsincerity.“Youknowyouareenough.Justallonyourown.Youdon’tneedanybodyoranythingtosaveyou.Jacksoundsgreat,butifhe’sasgreatasyousay,he’llwait.Andgettingintoabindwhereyou’relyingtoyourbossandtotheLet’sTalk!audience,that’sjustnotgood.You’reonlyassickasyoursecrets.”
“Then,ifIjusthaveone,doesn’tthatmakemenotverysick?”
Stellasighs,shouldersslumping.“Ithinkyou’remissingthepoint.”
“AmI?”IknowIam.Deliberately.
Stellasucksinabreath.“I’msureJackisgreat—he’sjustnottheanswertoyourproblems.Youare.”
“Youknowyourtherapistspeakdoesn’tworkonme.”Thoughitdoes,kindof,andwebothknowit.
“Maybeyououghttodosomeself-care,benicertoyourself.Giveyourselfabreak.Also,youneedtoparentyourselfalittlemore.Maybemakehealthierfoodchoices,likelessbacon.”
“Iknowyourfeelingsonbacon.”
“Ijustthinkyoushouldmakemorehealthychoices.”
“Ifeel…”Iglanceattheveganmenu,suddenlycravingbaconwithmysweetpotatofries.“Likeeatingmorebacon.”
“You’reridiculous.”Stellashakesherhead,butshe’sgrinning,soIknowthere’snohardfeelings.Also,shealreadyknowsI’dmaketheworstpatientonearth.She’salreadytoldmethat
“Hey,mindifIinterviewyoureallyquickforthecolumn?Iliketheideaofdelvingmoreintothisself-carestuff.That’sperfectforSoloFebruary.”
Stellashakesherheadslowly.“Self-careisn’tjustforFebruary.Youshoulddoitallyearround!”
“Andthat,myfriend,isgoingtobetheheadline.”
WhenIheadbacktomyplace,ItakeitslowontheicyChicagosidewalks,asImeanderthroughmyeclecticneighborhood:halfnewcondos,halfoldbrownstones,allChicago.Thewinddiesdown,andthesunpeeksoutfrombehindtheclouds,andsuddenlyit’swarmerthantheusualFebruaryafternoon.JustyourtypicaltemperatureswingintheMidwest:onesecond,it’sAntarctica.Thenext?Florida.Thesunmeltsalittleofthesnowfromthesidewalk,makingthestreetgleamwetasifit’sjustrained,andafewbrownpuddlespoolattheintersections.Ileapoverthem,thankfulmyankleisnearlybacktonormal.
MyphonepingswithamessagefromJack
Hey,gorgeous.
Seeingthatmakesmefeelallwarminside.
Heyyourself,Itextback.It’sbeenonlyafewhourssincehe’sleftmybedandhe’salreadycheckingin?ThisseriouslymightbethemanImarry.
JustwantedyoutoknowI’mthinkingaboutyou.
I’mthinkingaboutyou,too.Nakedinmybed.
ItextitbeforeIcanstopmyself.
Mmmmm.Ilikehowyouthink.
Oh,boy,we’reonourwaytoasextingsession,andthat’snotgoingtoworkformehereoutonthesidewalkinChicago.Abort!
Wasjusttalkingaboutyoutomyfriend,Stella.
Ihopegoodthings?
ALLgoodthings,Iwriteandonlyfeelslightlybadaboutthelie.Jackdoesn’tneedtoknowaboutStella’shesitations.
Maybewecouldgettogetheragain?
Istop,deadstill,andglareatmyphone.
Also,Iforgottoask…todaybeingTHEholiday.Willyoubemyvalentine?
Ihaven’tever,inmyentirelife,hadamanaskmetobehisvalentine.Idon’tactuallyknowwhattosay.
Acarhonksatme,andIjump,realizingthatI’vestoppedinthemiddleofacrosswalk.Ithrowmyhandupinan“I’msorry”gestureandhurryacrossthestreet.
I’mnottoofarfromMargo’s,Irealize.WhatcouldithurtifIjustdroppedbytosayhi?Fourteen
JACK
Everyyear,webuyandsend145millionValentine’sDaycards.Imagineifwesent145millioncardseveryyearthatsimplysaid“You,alone,areenough”?
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
IthinkImightbeinlove.
Reallove.
Notfake,bullshit,realityTVlove.Andnotadorablekid-crushlove,either.
Real.
Freakin’.
Love.
Ican’tstopthinkingaboutSora.Everythingremindsmeofher.Likethewomanintheredcoat—likeSora’s—who’slingeringintheproducesection.Orthedisplaynearthebakeryofthepre-cooked,pre-packagedbacon—herfavorite.Orthesmalltableinfrontofthebakerycoveredinpinkandredheart-shapedcookies—thecookiesImadejustthismorning,andeachtimeIpipedaheart,IthoughtofSora.
Sora.
Sora.
Sora.
Everywhere,Sora.
Yeah,Igotitbad.
Dude.Onenightoflovemakingdoesnotamarriagemake.Ikeeptryingtotellmyselftoslowdown.
“Uh,excuseme?”aMargo’scustomerinapurplecoatasks.“Areyougoingtogetthoseeclairsor…?”
Oh,right.Myjob.
“Sorry,”Isay,contrite,grabbingherrequestedtwochocolate,cream-filleddessertsfrombehindthebakeryglass,andbaggingthem.Ihandthemoverandsheshakesherhead,disapproving.
IwatchherwalkawayandthenslipbackintoSoraworld.
Sure,it’sthesex.Theamazing,life-changingsex.Thewhite-hotchemistrybetweenusthat’simpossibletofake.
Butit’salsothatshe’ssmart.
Andfunny.
AndthemostinterestingwomanmaybeI’veevermet,maybe.Andthekindest.Andshe’sonlygottenmoresosincegradeschool.
Buttobehonest,Iwasalreadyalittleinlovewithheranyway.Iwasprobablyalwaysgoingtobeagoner.
AndnowI’vegoneandaskedhertobemyvalentine.
Likewe’rebothinsecondgrade.
Sometimes,Iwanttokickmyownass.It’snowondershehasn’trespondedyet.Whatdoesshesaytothat?
Hell,mightaswellhavesentheranotethatsaid:Doyoulikeme?Check“yes”or“no.”
Iamanidiot.
ThewomanalreadytoldmeshehatesValentine’sDay.Plus,wehaven’teventalkedabouttheSoloFebruarystuffandthefactthatherbossdidn’tseemallthatkeenonherbreakingit.
Notthatit’satopicofconversationtobebroachedinbed.
Because,I’mprettysure…shewasn’tdoinganythingsolothen.
IglanceattheclockinMargo’sbakery,whichremindsmeI’mstillonshiftforafewmoreminutes.IfIkeepdaydreamingaboutSora’sfine,finebody,thenI’mgoingtoburnallthecroissants.Plus,I’veonlygotamillionotherthingsthatneedmyattentionrightnow.There’stheGoldenChefAwardscomingup,andIreallyneedtowinthat$100,000cashaward,sinceitwillhelpmelaunchthebakery.There’salsothefactthatIjustgotthekeystothenewstorespace,whichIhavetoworkongettingintoshapeinthenextmonth.WegottaopenbyMay1standatleaststartmakingmoneyorI’mgoingtogobroke.
I’vegottocleanit.Paintit.Getitstocked.Hireafrontcounterperson—allinthenextmonth.AndhereIamdaydreamingaboutSora.
Well,because…she’sSora.
MyphonedingsandIpullitoutlikeI’minagunfightintheOldWest.Didsherespond?
No.Ifeelinstantdisappointment.
It’sMal.
Iwasexpectingyoutocall.AbouttheGoldenChefAwards.You’resupposedtobemyvalentine.Comeon,Jack-a-boo.Igotanewdress.
Aphotopopsuponthefeed.Yep.That’sMalallright.She’swearingasheerrednegligee,nothingunderneath.She’sgotagoodbody,I’llgiveherthat.It’stoobadthere’sanemptychestcavityfilledwithcobwebswhereherheartshouldbe.
Iignorethetext.
“Jack?”IglanceupandseeSorastandingontheothersideoftheglassbakerycounter.Istraighten,surprised,anddumpmyphoneinmypocket,feelingguilty,eventhough,technically,Ididn’tdoanythingwrong.Idefinitelydidn’taskforthattext!Myhearthammersinmychest.
IfocusonSora,who’swearingherformfittingredwoolcoatandawhitecashmerecap.Herlipsperfectlymatchherrichredlapel.
“Sora.”Igrin,unabletohelpmyself.“Gladyoucameby.IthoughtIscaredyouoffwiththat‘bemine,’Valentine’sstuff.”
Shelaughs—uncomfortably.“YouknowhowIfeelaboutValentine’sDay.”
“Yeah.Iwashopingtochangethat.”
Shemeetsmygaze,startled.“That’salongroad,”shesaysafterabit.Okay,backoff,Jack.Treadcarefully.
“Well,whydon’twestartwithchocolatechipcookiesamples?”Inodattheopendisplaycaseinfrontoftheglassbakerycounter.
Soragrabsthetongsanddigsintothecookies,pickingthebiggestone.Sheplucksitfromthetongsandtakesahealthybite.Damn,thewomandoesnotmindeating.Lovethat.Alsoloveherlipson…prettymuchanypartofmybody.Lady’schoice.
“Thankyou,”shemurmurs,mouthfull.
“I’mgladyoucameby.Iwasthinkingaboutyou.”Likeeveryminute.
“Youwere?”
“Yeah.”Igrin,goofy.Andshegrinsback.
Thereitis,thatconnectionbetweenus.There’snomistakingit.It’slikeapantingdog,desperateforattention.
Damn,Ihaveitbadforthiswoman.
Soraletsoutanexaggeratedsigh.“Ishouldn’tevenbehere.”Sheglancesupatme,lookingpained.“Myboss,Arial,forastart.SoloFebruary.”
Oh.Right.That.
“IthoughtwekindoftotallydemolishedSoloFebruary…lastnight.”I’mconfused.
“Wedid.That’stheproblem.”Shestaresatme,worried.
“But…youdon’twanttoloseyourjob.So…”I’mconnectingthedots.
Shebitesherlip.
“Yeah.So.”Sheshiftsuncomfortablyfromonefoottotheother.
“Listen,Igetit.”Idon’twanttoputSorainapositionwhereshehastochoosebetweenherjobandme.
“Youdo?”She’sshocked.“You’reokaywiththis…or…not…this?”Shegestureswildlybetweenus.
Ilaugh.“There’sreallyonlytwomoreweeksinFebruary,”Isay.“Andthen,Iassume,afterthat,yourbosswon’tcarewhoyoudate?”
Shethinksaboutthisamoment,tappingherchinwithoneglovedhand.“Yes,that’strue.”
“Okay,then.Icanwait.”
“Youcan?”Sheshakesherheadindisbelief.“You’resure?”
“Yes.Absolutely.”I’dwaitmonths.Hell,I’vealreadywaitedyears,ifyouthinkaboutit.
“Thesedays,guyswon’twaitfiveminutesonSpark.”
“Well,I’mnotmostguys.”Ithinkaboutallthefish-facedcleavage.Nah,I’mgood.I’mtiredoftheflatness,thesamenessofallthosemanyprofilesonmydatingapps.
Westareateachother,andasmallsmileteasesthecornerofSora’slips.
Idon’twanthertogo.Shedoesn’twanttoleave.It’slikewe’retetheredtogetherbyaninvisiblecord.
“So,doyouhaveanyplans?Fortonight?”
“Valentine’sDay?”shescoffs,offended.“Well,Ican’tgoouttoeat,becauseeverysinglerestaurantwillbemobbed.Can’tGrubDashbecause,see:allrestaurantsbeingpacked.And,Ijustchecked—there’snohorrormoviemarathonlikethereoughttobeoncabletonight.SoI’llprobablyjustgohomeandrewatchTheShiningagain.”
“EvilhauntedhoteldoesscreamValentine’sDay.”
“Imean,it’sthenextbestthingtoamaskedkillerwithachainsaw.”Shelingersatmycounter.“Do…youhaveplans?”Shesaysithaltingly,asifworriedaboutmyanswer.DoesshethinkIwouldjustfallintobedwithherandthengooutwithanewwomanthenextnight?I’mnotthatmuchofajerk.Butthatdoesn’tmeanIcan’thavealittlefun.Atherexpense.
“Well,Idohaveadate.”
Shestiffens.“Youdo?”Shetriesdesperatelytolookuninterested.
“Withabeautifulbrunette.”
“Oh.”Soraglancesdownatherfeet,notmeetingmygaze.“Ifiguredaguylikeyouwouldn’tbestayinghome.”
Guylikeme?Wonderwhatshemeansbythat?
“Iamjustgivingyouahardtime.I’mbabysittingmyfive-year-oldniece.”Igrabmyphonefrommypocketandpullupapictureofherinpinkheart-shapedsunglassesandicecreamdrippingfromhernose.Apicturetakenoutsidelastsummerwhenshe’dsomehowmanagedtogethericecreamconeon90percentofherface.
Sorablinks.“Oh!Oh,God.”Shelaughs,brightersuddenly.“She’sadorable.Really.”
IglanceupandseeI’mattheendofmyshift.
“Wanttocomeovertomybrother’shouse?Helpmebabysit?I’mwatchingherwhileIanandhiswifegoout.”I’malreadytakingoffmyapron,hopeliftinginmychest.
“Idon’tknow.Isthatadate?”Shehesitates,bitingherredlip,andlookingabsolutely100percentfuckable.
Shewantstocomewithme.Icanseeitinhereyes.Allsheneedsisalittlepush.
“Hell,no.It’sajob.Evenyourbosswon’tseeanythingwrongwithbabysitting,wouldshe?”
“Iguessnot,”sherelents.
“Trustme.It’snotsafeforyoutostayhomealonetonight.”
“It’snot?”
“Yeah,no.”IshakemyheadvigorouslyasItakeoffmybaker’shatandstickitonthehook.“Youknowthat,justlikeThanksgivingandChristmas,Valentine’sDayisalikelyholidaytobehitupbysomesleazyex?Yourphonewillbegoingoffallnight.”
“Ohno.Youthink?”Soralooksworried.
“Oh,I’msure.Startingatten,you’llbegetting‘Uup?’Maybeeven…”Ilowermyvoiceandglancearoundthestoreasifworriedoneofherexesmightjumpoutfromthecerealaisle.“Dickpics.”
“Ugh.”Sorawrinkleshernose.“Notthose.”
“Iknow.Ifyouwant,Icanrespondtothem.Idon’tmind.”IwouldlovetotellthemwhattheycandowiththoseX-ratedpictures.
Shelaughs.“Areyougoingtounderminetheirself-esteem?”
“Absolutely.”Igrabmycoatfromahooknearthebakeryandputiton,slappingawoolcaponmyhead.
“Soyou’rejustgoingtomakemyexesfeelbadlyaboutthemselves.That’syouronlymotive?”Shelaughsasshefollowsmedownthebakeryaisle.
“Ofcourse.”Ipretendtobeaffronted.“WhyelsewouldIwantyouwithmeallnight?”
“Icouldthinkofoneortwothings.Also,theymightnotinvolveclothes.”
Nowit’smyturntolaugh.“ThatisnowaytotrytokeepyourSoloFebruaryvow.”
“Iknow.I’veneverbeengoodwithwillpower.”
“Well,Alliewillkeepusbothinline,anyway.Also,soyouknow,shewillinsistonpaintingyournails.It’sariteofpassage.Beprepared.”Fifteen
SORA
ThebestthingyoucandoonValentine’sDayisstayhome.Don’tletthecommerciallovemachinewin.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Westandonhisbrother’sporchinfrontofatinybungalowinEvanston,thesuburbjustnorthofChicagowhereJackandIwenttogradeschool,patientlywaitingforthedoortoopen.Ourbreathcomesoutinbigpuffs,andIamoddlynervoustomeetmoreofJack’speople.Maybehesensesthis,becauseJackreachesoutandtakesmyhand,squeezing
Okay,somehelpingJackMannbabysithisadorableniecesurelydoesn’tviolateSoloFebruary,asthere’stechnicallyalittlegirlinvolved.Anadorable,preciouslittlegirlwhoflingsopenthedoorandsquealsassheclapshertiny,tinyhands.
“UncleJack!”shecries,jumpingintohisarmsandsqueezinghisneckforallshe’sworth.It’ssodamnsweet,Inearlygetacavity.Sheglancesoveratme,bigdoeeyesassessing,herpinksequinedbowspinningherpigtailsadorablyinplacecatchingthefoyerlight.
“I’mAllie!”shesays.“MyteachersaysIcan’tshakehandsbecauseofgerms,butwecandoelbowbumps!”SheoffersupheradorableelbowandItapitwithmyown.
UncleJacklaughs.“Goodcall,”hesays.“Allie,thisisSora.”
“Hey,Allie.”Ielbow-bumpher,noticingshe’swearingastackofaboutfifteenglitteryrubberbracelets,someglitterylipgloss,andshoesthatlightuppinkandpurpleeverytimeshemoves.“Iloveyourshoes!”
“Thankyou,”shesays,andthenblinksupatme.“SoisUncleJackyourboyfriend?”shesaysinthebluntwayonlyyoungchildrenandoldpeoplecangetawaywith.
“Well,uh…”Idon’tknowhowtoanswerthat.
“Sorapleadsthefifth,”Jacksayseasily.“Comeon,Allie,where’syourdad?”hesaysashecarriesherinside.Ifollow.
“Hey,Sora.”It’shisdoctorbrother,Ian,who’sshruggingintoablazerinthefoyer,andlookinglessdisheveledthanwhenIlastsawhimintheER,unshavenandinhisscrubs.“How’sthatankle?”
“Doingjustfine,”Isay.“Thankstoyourfinecare.”
“IsthatJack?”comesafemalevoiceandIlookuptoseeAllie’smomstandingonthestairs,lookinglikeshe’sreadyforacovershootwithperfectamberskin,tastefulmakeup,andherjet-blackhairwornstraighttohershoulders.She’spartAsianlikeme,andIfeelinstantlylikeshecouldbemylong-lostsister.ShehasAllie’sbrowneyes,andisdressedinaformfittingmauve,knee-lengthdressandstilettoheels.Whensheseesme,herwholefacelightsup.
“Sora!”shecries.“Jacktoldusallaboutyou.”Hedid?Iglanceathim,buthegivesmeanunreadablesmile.Kyliemovesquicklydownthestairs.“Butshe’sevenprettierthanyousaid!”KyliesendsJackascoldinglookasshereachesthelanding.“I’mKylie.Ian’swife.”Iholdoutmyhandforashake,butshebatsitawayandpullsmeintoabighug.“We’rehuggers,”sheexplains.“AndI’mso,soveryexcitedtomeetyou.”
“Me,too!”SoJackhasbeentalkingaboutme?Ilikethat.
“Sora!Sora!”criesAllie,grabbingmyhand.“Doyouwanttoseemyroom?”
“OfcourseIdo,”Isay.
“UncleJack!Come,too.We’llplayspa.”
Jackgrinsatme.“Toldyou,”hewhispersaswefollowAllieassheboundsupthestairs.
Anhourlater,Jackhashishairupintwoshortpigtailsandhe’swearingbigplasticpinkclip-onearringsandamatchingnecklace,aswellasapinkfeatherboathat’sfartoosmallforhim.Allieismeticulouslypaintinghisfingernailswhatshecalls“princesspink”andallthewhileJackpatientlysitsathertinylittleplaytable,withtheheart-backedchairs,andletsherdoexactlywhatshelikes.
Istiflealaughashewiggleshiseyebrowsatme.Idon’tthinkI’veeverfoundamanasadorableasIdonow.
I’msittingatthetable,too,butAlliejustputlittleglitteryheartstickersonmyalreadypaintednails,tellingmeshelikedmypalepinkandthatIhave“verygoodtaste.”It’ssweetseeingAllieworkingsohard.Herlittlepinktonguepokesoutfrombetweenherlipsassheconcentrates.
“HowoftendoyougiveUncleJackamakeover?”IaskAllie.
“Everytime,”shesays.“Heneedsit.Hedoesn’twearanypink.”Shewrinkleshernoseindisapproval.
“Whattheprincesswants,shegets,”Jacksays.“Idon’twanttobefedtoanydragons.”
Alliejustgiggles.“You’resilly,UncleJack.”Thensheswishesonelastswipeofnailpolishonhisleftpinkienail.“Alldone!”shecries,andJacklooksdownathisnails—whichareonlypartiallycoveredwithnailpolish,asmostofitlandedonhiscuticles.I’veneverseenamansopatient,orsowillingtoplayalongasJack.WhenItrytothinkaboutMarleyorDangettingdressedupinafeatherboa,Ican’tevenimagineit.Jackwouldseriouslymakeanexcellentdad.He’ssopatient.Sokind.
“Beautiful,”hesays.“AmIapretty,prettyprincessnow?”Hekeepshisvoicecompletelyserious.That’sthebeautyofit.
Alliestandsupandstudieshim,serious.“Wait,”shesays,andrunsofftothecornerofherroomwhereshedigsoutasparklingsilverlight-uptiara.Thenshegingerlyplacesitonhishead.“Nowyou’realldone,”shesays,anddoesacutelittlecurtsyinfrontofhim.Shegiggles,coveringhermouthwithbothhands.
Alliedigsoutanothercrownfrombeneathherpileofstuffedanimalsinthecornerandputsitonherownhead.“IgotthisinthehospitalwhenIwassick,”shetellsme.
“Whatwaswrong?”Iask.IglanceatJack,whosuddenlyseemsserious.
“Ihad…”Allielowershervoice.“TheBadStuff.”
“Shehadleukemia,”Jackexplains.
Iblink,shocked.Allielookslikeanyotherhealthylittlegirl.Ican’timaginehersickinahospitalwith…cancer.
“Shewentintoremissionlastsummer.YoukickedthatBadStuff,kiddo.”Jackstretcheshisarmsoutforahug,andshegiveshimabigone.
Alliegiggles.“Isuredid.”Shelooksatme,greeneyeswide.“YouknowwhatIcalltheBadStuff?Icallitabadword.”Shelooksaroundasifthefour-letter-wordpolicewillbustdownthedoor.“IcallittheS-word.”
Well,cancersureisshitty,that’sforsure.
“What’stheS-word?”Jackasks,guardup.
Sheglancesatme,andthenatJack,andlowershervoicesowecanbarelyhearher.“Stupid,”shewhispers,asifshe’sreallycursing.Makesmyheartwanttoexplode.
“Cancerreallyisstupid,”Iagree,andshegigglesatmyuseoftheword.
“Yousaidabadword!”shecries,andclapsherhandsinglee.Whenshe’sgrown,she’sgoingtobeavery,veryfundrunk.
Thedoorbellringsthen.
“Pizza’shere,”Jackdeclares,standingup,notbotheringtotakeoffhisjewelryorhistiaraashemovestothestairs.
“Pizza!Pizza!Pizza!”chantsAllie,tearingdownthestairsafterJack.
Afterhepaysthepizzadeliveryguy,hegrabstwopizzaboxes—Allie’ssmallcheeseandourstoshare—andsetsthemdownonthecounter.Inafewminuteshe’sgotAlliesetupinthebreakfastnook,withcheesepizzaandherfavoritecartoonsonthesmallflatscreenonthecounter.Thenhemotionsmeovertocheckoutourorder.Heopensittorevealaheart-shapedmeatlovers’pizza—completewithbaconcrumbles.
“Iknewitwouldn’tbeValentine’sDaywithoutbacon,”hesays.
Iwrapmyarmaroundhisshoulders.Hepullsmeinforaquick,tenderkiss,andwithAllie’sattentionelsewhere,Ikisshimback,histinyfeatherboaticklingmythroat.Ifeelashiverofdelightallthewaytomytoes,andallIcanthinkaboutislastnight,whenwethoroughlyexploredeachother’sbodies.Howeasyitallwas,howseamless.HowIfeelathomewithJack,now,naked,anytime.
“Thismightjustbethemostromanticthingamanhaseverdoneforme,”Isay.
“Youneedtogetoutmore,”Jackquipsasheoffersmeapaperplate.Igrabapieceofpizzaatthepointoftheheart.Jackoptsforthreesquareslicesfromthemiddle.Histiarafallsforwardalittle,andhegentlytakesitandthefeatherboaoff.
“So,”Isay,voicelowsoAlliecan’thearme.“Leukemia?”
Jacknods,solemn.“Yeah,itwasbad.AndIanisworrieditmightcomeback.Butdoctorssaythat’sjustatwentypercentchance.”
IfeelmyhearttightenasItakemypizzaandslideontoanearbybarstoolnearthekitchenisland.“Thatwouldbeterrible.”
“Iknow.AndIanworriesaboutallthechemoshehad,howthatwillaffecther…lateron.”Jack’stoneissomber,hismoodsuddenlyturningserious.Icantellhe’sworried,too.
Hegrabshisownpieceofpizzaandsitsonthestoolnexttome.Hislegbrushesmine,andIlikethecontact.Warm.Steady.Nice.“ButIsayshebeatit,andwe’vegottobegladshedid,andenjoyeverydaywithher.”Henodsathisniece,growingsomber.“Onlythebigguyupstairsknowshowmuchtimewehave.Gottomakethemostofit.”Alookofpuredeterminationcrosseshisface.Ilovethathe’snotlettingasetbackdefinehisfamily.Ittakescouragetochoosetobeoptimistic.
“You’rebrave,”Isay,reallyseeingJack.Heisbrave.Heissomanythings.
“Iam?”Helookssurprised.“Whydoyousaythat?”
“Imean,ittakescouragetofacesomethingterrible,likecancerinthefamily,andkeeplookingforthebrightside…”IrealizeasI’msayingthesewordshowperfectlytheyfitJack.Danwasscared—scaredhiswifewouldfindouthe’salouseandhasagirlfriendinthecity.Marleywasscared,terrifiedofsettlingdownwithonewomanlesthemisssomething.“Youarejustaboutmakingthemostofthemoment.Ithinkthat’sbrave.”
Jackmeetsmygaze.“Inlife,badtimescome,”hesaysafterabeat.“Iknowthatbecauseofallthoseyearsofbullying.IalwaystoldmyselfthatIcan’tcontrolwhatotherpeoplesayordo,butIcancontrolme.WhatIdo.HowIfeel.So,youhavetomakethemostofthegoodtimes.WhatI’mreallyscaredofisregret.Lifeistooshorttositonthesidelines.Ithinkyoushouldgoforwhatyouwant.”
Hestaresatme.Ifeeltheheat,themeaningofhisgaze,allthewaytomytoes.Canitallreallybethiseasy?Canlovejustfallintoplacelikethis,likethelastpieceofajigsawpuzzle?
“Youalwaysknowwhatyouwant?”BecauseIdon’t.Rarelyever.
“Iknowsomethings.LikeI’mgoingtoopenmyownbakery.”
“Youare?That’s…awesome.”Ithinkaboutalltherisk,too,howsofewnewbusinessesmakeit,but,oncemore,Jackisnotafraid.He’sexcitedabouttheprospectofwrestlingtheodds.Icanseeitonhisface.“Well,then,thisisahappyValentine’sDayforyou.”
“Itis.Becauseyou’rehere.”Hestaresatme.Istareathim.Thismightbeoneofthesweetestthingsanyone’ssaidtome.
IhavethesuddenurgetoswipethepizzaboxesoffthecounterandmakeoutwithhiminawaythatwouldverylikelyscarAllieforlife.Butthatwouldbebad,soinstead,Itearmygazeawayfromhisandshovemorepizzainmymouth.
“Ican’timagineyoueverhavingabadValentine’sDay,”Imumble,mouthfull.SomeoneassexyandwarmasJack?Someonewho’sbothastronglumberjackandanadorableuncle?Please.I’msurprisedwomendon’triphisclothesoffwhilehe’swalkingdownthestreet.
Jacksnorts.“Nottrue.IhavetheworstValentine’sDaysofalltime.”
“Idon’tbelieveyou.”IglanceoveratAllie,chompingonpizzaabsentlywhileshewatcheshershowaboutsomekindofcomputer-animatedanimalfamily.
Hesighs,lookingalittledefeated,ashetakesanotherbite.Acrumbofcrustfallsintohisbeardstache.
“Uh…youhavealittle…”Ipointtomychin.
Heswipesatitwithhisnapkin,grinning.“DidIgetit?Orarewegoingtoneedarescueteam?”
Ilaugh.Ilovethiseasyfeelingbetweenus.LikeI’veknownhimallmylife.Which,Iguess,Ialmosthave.“No,yougotit.Okay,sothisallegedlybadValentine’sDay?I’mgoingtoneeddetails.”
“Lastyear,theweekofValentine’sDay,IworkedasapastrychefatAlestra.”
“Thatfive-star,one-meal-costs-your-whole-paycheckplace?”Iraiseaneyebrow,impressed.It’sthekindofplacethat’sbookedmonthsinadvance.Youneedtobeacelebrityorafriendofthemayor’stogetatablethere.
Helookssheepish.“Yeah,workeddirectlyundertheMichelin-starchef,PierreBenoit.”
“Wait.I’veheardofhim!He’sontheFoodieNetwork.”
“YouwatchtheFoodieNetwork?”heasks,surprised.
“DoyouthinkIlovebaconbyaccident?”Ilaugh.
Jacklaughs,heartyandloud.Wegrinateachother,goofy.
“WhatwasIevensaying?”Jackasks,afterabeat.
“YourworstValentine’s.”
“Right.”Hefrownsasifhetastessomethingrotten.“So,Valentine’sDayisanyrestaurant’sbignight.Pierrenaturallyaskedmetowork.ButMalwasupsetaboutthat.”
IperkupatthementionofMal.I’vebeenwantingtoaskhowitended,andIhaveafeelingI’mgoingtofindout.“What?DidshethinknobodywantsdessertsonValentine’sDay?”
Jacklaughs.“IpromisedtotakeheronthemostromanticdateofherlifeonFebruaryfifteenth,butshejustwouldn’thaveit.ItwasValentine’sDayornothing.Shesaideveryonewouldhavealreadypostedtheirpicturesanditwouldbetoolate.AndthreatenedthatifIwentintowork,she’ddosomethingIwouldn’tlike.”
“Wow.”Petulantmuch?
“So,whileI’matwork,shetextsmeaphotoofherself.”JackglancesatAllie,stillwatchingTV,andlowershisvoice.“Inbedwithherbrother-in-law.”
Myhandfliestomymouth.“OhmyGod.Noway.”
“Yeah.Thatreallyhappened.”Henodshishead,afrustrationlineappearingbetweenhiseyebrows.“Needlesstosay,I’mbesidemyself.Idon’tevenfinishmyshift.Irunhome.”
“Whathappened?”Mystomachtightens.
“Well,Iwastoolate.He’sgone.Iconfronther.Sheadmitsthey’veslepttogether.Weargue.Shetellsmethatshehadtogetmyattentionsomehow.”
Imusthaveanincredulouslookonmyface,becauseheadds,“Shehadaroughchildhood.Herparentsneglectedher.Sometimes,sheactsout.”
“Withhersister’shusband?”Icry,outraged.
“Well,shehasissueswithhersister,too.”Jackflashesmeawrysmile.
“Clearly.”Ishakemyhead,dumbfounded.NamiandImightbickeraboutsmallstuff,butneitheroneofuswouldevercrossthatline.“There’sactingout,andthenthere’sbeingachild.Atsomepoint,we’readults,andwehavetotakeownershipofoursh—”IpauseandglanceatAllie,whohasjustatthatmomenttunedintoourconversation.“—stuff,”Ifinish,flashingherasmile.Alliejustnods,andturnsbacktotheTV.
“Butanyway,itgetsworse.Turnsout,herbrother-in-lawisoneofPierre’smajorinvestors.Hethreatenedtopullhissupportfortherestaurant,soPierrehadnootheroptionbuttofireme.Idon’tblamePierre.Idon’t.Hefeltterribleaboutit.”
“That’sawful,Jack.”I’mgratefulthathetrustsmeenoughtosharethis.He’sletmehavemyfirstpeekbehindthecurtainstrungacrosshisheart,andnowIseehe’salsobeenlivingwitholdscarsmadefromdeepwounds.
“Maljustneverreallygotwhyitwasabigdeal.Shealwayssaidwithhermoney,Ididn’tneedtowork.NevermindthatIloveworking.ThatItakeprideinit.Icouldn’ttrustheranymore,soIcalledoffthewedding.”Jackexhales,andhisshoulderssag,hiswholebodyseemingtofoldundertheweightofherdismissinghisprofessionand,thus,dismissinghim.Thebitternoteinhisvoicemakesmeworryhestillcaresalittleaboutwhatshethinks.
“Youcalledoffthewedding?”Ikeepmyvoiceneutral,eventhoughI’msurprised.IactuallythoughtMalmighthavedonetheleaving.BecauseIrememberMalatthegrocerystorethedayJackandIreconnected.Thelunchplansthatwereneverexactlyexplained.Afterthisterribleendtotheirrelationship,howcouldtheyevenbeonspeakingterms?
“Idid,”hetellsme,jawtwitching.“Itwastherightdecision.”
“Definitely.”Ihesitate,wonderingifIshouldaskifhestillhasfeelingsforMal.Butthatquestionseemstoodirect.Toodangerous.IfIpoketoomuch,Imightsendhimrunning.Menhaveghostedmeforfarless.I’velearnedthehardwaythatmenshareonlywhattheywanttoshare.Ifyouaskformore,you’regreedy.Demanding.Difficult.
Ofcourse,Jackseemsdifferent.Theicelooksthickenoughtowalkon,butdoIreallywanttoriskitbytrying?
“Haveyouthoughtabouttakingupcountrymusic?”Ioptforaflippantjoke,anorangeliferingthatIhopewillfloathimtothesurface,awayfromhispainfulpast.AwayfromMal.IhatetoadmitthatI’mjealousofanytimehespendswithher,evenifit’sinhismind.
“Often.”
“WecouldwriteasongabouthowwepreferbeertoValentine’sDay,”Ioffer.“Itwouldbeahugehit.”
Jacklooksupandmeetsmygazeoncemore,andthesadnesshasvanished.Thatplayfulsparkhasreturned.Ifeelrelievedthathedoesn’twanttolingerinthatoldhurt.Maybehehasputittorest.Afterall,thereareamillioninnocentreasonshecould’vehadlunchwithMalthatday,andIfeelsillyforsecond-guessingit.
“IthinkitdefinitelyneedstobepickuptrucksandwhiskeyarebetterthanValentine’schocolatesandchampagne.”
“Ilikethatevenbetter.”
Jacktakesmyhandinhisanddrawsalinedownthecenterofmypalm.Ishiver,gladasmuchforhistouchashisattention,nowsquarelyfocusedbackonme.
“WhatkindofnameisMal,anyway?ShortforMalorie?”Iask,eventhoughIdon’treallycareabouttheanswer.I’mintentlyfocusedonJackstrokingmyhand.
“ShortforMalort,”hesays.
“She’snamedafterthebitterliqueurpeopledareeachothertodrinkonSt.Paddy’s?”Isnortalaugh.ActualreviewsofMalortcallitthetasteofturpentineandsadness,withahintofgrapefruit.
Jackgrins,andbeginstomassagemypalmabit,remindingmejusthowwellhemassagedotherpartsofmyanatomy.“Yep.HerparentsarepartSwedish.AndMalort,asyouknow,isaSwedishbrand.Theythoughtitwascheeky,Iguess.”
“Turnsout,thenamereallydoesfit.”
“Yeah,well.”Jackshrugs.“Shekindofhadterribleparents.It’swhyshe’shadsomanyissues.”Heclearshisthroat.“Speakingofghostsofexespast,”hesays,changingthesubject,“whatwasthedealwithyouandMarley?”O-kay,well,tablesturned.Nowit’smyturnforshow-and-tell.Itugmyhandbacktome,andJackreleasesit.
“Imean…”Jackbacktracksquickly.“Youdonothavetoanswerthatquestion,obviously.Idon’twanttobenosy.”Hehesitates.“Okay,that’salie.Iamabsolutelybeingnosy.Ijustwonderedwhyyoutwogotmarried.”
“Pregnancyscare,”Isay,butthatanswerdoesn’tsoundlikeenough.It’stheflippantanswerIgivetoacquaintancesorcoworkerswhomightask.It’snotthewholestory.“Itwasn’tjustascare,”Iadmit.“Iwaspregnant.”
Jack’seyeswidenandhesitsverystill.
“Whathappened?Imean…ifyoudon’tmindmeasking?”Jack’sface,open,warm,hiseyestelegraphingtomethathereally,trulywantstoknow.There’shisheadyfocusagain,thewayhemakesmefeellikeI’mtheonlythingintheworldhecaresabout.
Ifeelmythroattighten.“Inthemiddleofmysecondtrimester,whenIthinkeverything’sgoingtobefine,Igoinforanormaldoctor’sappointment,butshecan’tfindtheheartbeat.Theydoanultrasoundand…”Ifeelthetearschokeme.Istillcan’tbelievealltheseyearslater,thewoundfeelssofresh.“Thebabyhaddied.Inutero.Weneverknewwhy.”Isniffbackstupidtears.Mystomachfeelstight.Uneasy.“Marleywantedtocelebrate.Hewassohappy.ButIwas…”Irememberbeingcurleduponthecouch,notbeingabletogetupfortwostraightdays.“Iwasdevastated.”
Jacksqueezesmyhand.Hisfingersfeellikealifeline.
“Hewascelebrating.Mymomandsisterthoughtitwasgoodnews,too.”Ishakemyhead,disagreeingwiththemevennow.“ButeventhoughIknewitwasn’ttherighttimeformetohaveababy,Ireally,reallywantedthatchild.EvenifnowIcansaythatit’sprobablybestMarleyandIweren’tparents,I’mstillmourningherloss.”
“Thebabywasagirl?”
Inod.Jackgrabsbothmyhandsnow,andit’shisturntomakesureIdon’tsinkbelowthesurfaceofthepast.Heswingshisstooltotheside,sowe’reknees-to-knees.Helooksatme.Reallylooksatme.
“I’msorry,Sora.Sosorry.Sometimes,Idon’tknowwhythingshappenthewaytheydo.Sometimes,thingsjustaren’tfair.”
Inod.AndI’mstupidlyrelievedhedidn’ttellmeIhaveplentyoftimetohaveanotherbaby.ThatI’myoung,likemymomtoldme,thatI’llhaveotherboyfriends,likeNamitoldme,orthatthiswasablessingindisguise,likeallmyfriendstoldme.Itsuredidn’tfeellikeablessing.Feltlikeapunchintheface.FeltliketheonethingItrulyknewIwantedinalltheworldwouldneverbemine.
“Theworstpartisthatwestayedmarriednearlyfourmoreyearsafterthat.”Ishakemyhead,rememberingthatdarktime.
“Why?”Jackasks,surprised.
“Inertia,”Isay.“Iwasinsuchadarkplaceafterthemiscarriage,nothingseemedworthdoing.Ishould’veleftMarley,but,honestly,Ijustcouldn’tworkuptheenergytodoit.Nothingseemedtomatter,sowhynotstaywithMarley?MarleystayedaroundbecausehelikedthattogetherwecouldqualifyforamortgageandthatIpaidmorethanmyshareofthebills.I’dcometofindoutlaterthatbeingmarriedhadn’treallysloweddownhisdatinglifeany.So.There’sthat.”
Jackshakeshisheadslowlyandmakesadisapprovingsounddeepinhisthroat.Helooksatourclaspedhands.“Well,then,he’sprobablynotgoingtochangeforhisnewgirlfriend.Oranyoneelse.”
“Probablynot.ItseemsobviousnowthatIshould’velefthimrightafterthemiscarriage,but,honestly,Ijustwentonautopilot,”Isay,andasthewordstumbleout,IrealizeI’veneverreallytalkedatanylengthaboutthistimeinmylife.“WhenMarleygotitinhisheadweshouldbuyacondo,Isaidyes.WhenafriendofafriendputmeintouchwithArialatSlickforfreelancingopportunities,Iwentaheadwithit,ignoringthatsmallwarninginmygutthatmakeupandfashion,asawesomeastheyare,justweren’treallywhatIwantedtowriteabout.Iwasinadarkplacewherenothingseemedtomatter,sowhynotjustlettheworlddecidethingsforme,youknow?IfIcouldn’tcontrolwhathappenedtomyownbody,orbaby,thenwhyevenbothertryingtocontrolanything?”
Jacksqueezesmyhandsandnods.Hedoesn’ttrytotalkmeoutofmysadness.Hejustsitswithmeinit.TalkingtoJackisnice.Hedoesn’tmakemyproblemsseemlittle,butatthesametime,doesn’tletmewallowinself-pity,either.It’sthatdelicatebalancehemanagestostrikeeverytime.Jackflashesmeakillersmilethatlooksevenwhiteragainsthisbeard,andthesparkleinhiseyesmakesmystomachdocartwheels.
“Hewasn’ttherightmanforyou,”hepresses.
“Idon’tknowifthereisone,though,”Iadmit.
“Igetit.Really.Ido.”Herubsthetopofmyknucklewithhisthumb.“ButIthinkwecanliveourlivesafraid,orwecanliveourliveslikewedon’tknowwhattomorrowbrings.Becausewedon’t.”Hegrowssilent.“Imean,lookather.”HenodstowardAllie,who’sswingingherfeetbeneathherchair,eyesgluedtohershow.“Shegotareallyroughdeal,butshe’snotbitter.She’snotafraid.She’salittlepinkglitterPowerpuff.”Heglancesatme,browneyessoulful.“SoI’mnotgoingtobeafraidofbrokenhearts.Thatjustcomeswithliving.Justariskwealltaketofindhappiness.”
“Youmakeitsoundsosimple.”Heslipshisthumbdownthesideofmyhand,andIfeelelectricpulsesstraightuptomyelbow.
“Forme,itissimple.”Jackleansincloser.Iwanttobelievehim,Ido.“Youdeservetobehappy.”
“Ido?”
“Forstarters,youweresonicetomeingradeschool.Younevermadefunofme.”Hiseyesgleamed.“It’soneofthereasonsIcrushedonyousohard.You’realwayslookingaftertheunderdogs.”
“Really?”YetIfeelwarmedbyJack’scompliments,aheatthatwarmsmefromwithin.
“Youadoptedaone-eyedpitbullfromthepound!Youhelpelderlycustomersinthestore.Youhaveanamazingheart.”
JackgazesatmeasifIshouldwintheNobelPeacePrize.Ihopehealwayslooksatmelikethat.
Idon’tthinkIdoanythingallthatoutoftheordinary,butIguessitistruethatIhaveasweetspotforoutsiders,maybebecauseIoftenthinkofmyselfasone.
Heinterlaceshisfingerswithmine.“Iknowyou’redoingtheSoloFebruarything,andIrespectthat.Ido.”Heglancesatourhands.“I’llwaitaslongasyouwantmeto.”
“Youwill?”
“Ofcourse.”
Ourgrinsfadeasseriousemotiontakesover.I’mleaningintohim,andhe’sleaningintome.DangeroushopeflaresupinmychestandIdefensivelytampitdown.Can’tstartchasingrainbowsandunicornsnow.WhatwouldthedemandinghordesofSoloistshavetosay?
“Areyougoingtokissher,UncleJack?”asksAllie,whohasabandonedhershow,nowoncommercialbreak,andhasboundeduprighttous,andislookingfromJacktome,expectantly,huggingastuffedpinkrabbittoherchest.Webothchuckle,theseriousnessofthemomentgone.
“That’snoneofyourbeeswax,kiddo,”Jacksays.
“Youshouldkissher,”shedemands.
“Doyouwantustokissordoyouwantdessert?”Jackchallenges.Allieconsidersthisseriously,asifweighingwhichcollegeapplicationsheoughttofilloutfirst.
“Dessert,”shefinallyanswers,deadlyserious.
JackkicksopenaboxfromMargo’sthatcontainsheart-shapedchocolatechipcookies.
“Heartsaremyfavorite!”shedeclares.“Soarechocolatechips!”ShepadsbacktoherchairnearthekitchenTV,commercialbreakdone.
“She’sadorable,”Isay.
“She’srelentless,”Jackcorrects.“Whenthatsugarhighwearsoff,she’llbeback,thistimeaskingwhenweplantogetmarried.”
Ilaugh.IloveAllie.Ilovethismoment.Isuddenlywantdozensofothernightsjustlikethisone,stretchingoutforweeks,ormonths,ormore.
Jackoffersmeacookie.Itakeit.“Idowonder,though,like,howstrictisSoloFebruary?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Iask.Suddenly,IfeelI’mrightbacktolookingatallofmyDMs,thelogjamofquestionsfromreadersaboutthetechnicalitiesof#GoingSolo.
“I’vegotthisblack-tiething.TheGoldenChefAwardsonFebruarytwenty-eighth.I’mupforBestPastryChef.It’skindofabigdeal.LikeanAcademyAward,sortof.Butforchefs.”Hedigsinhispocket,andpullsoutanivoryinvitationwithtwogolden-edgedtickets.
“You’reinvitingmetotheOscarsofbaking.”
Hegrins.“Yeah.”Heshrugshisshouldersasiftoshowit’snobigdeal.“Iwantyoutogowithme,butIrespecttheSoloFebruarything.AndIdonotwanttocauseproblemswithyourboss.”
“Yeah.”Goingonablack-tiedatemightjustcauseproblems.Notjustwithher,butwiththeseriousSoloistsoutthere.
“Buthere,taketheticket.You’reundernoobligationtogo,atall.ButifI’mnotgoingwithyou,Idon’treallywanttogowithanyoneelse.”
Myheartfluttersashehandsmetheticket.
“Nomatterifyougowithmeornot,ifyousticktoSoloFebruaryornot…youshouldknowthatwhateveritisbetweenusrightnow?It’snotcasual.Notforme.”
Imeethisgaze,darkandserious.
“Ithink…IthinkI’mfallinginlovewithyou,Sora.”Sixteen
SORA
Lovecomeswhenyouleastexpectit.That’swhytheyneedtomakesecuritysurveillancesystemsfortheheart.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Okay.
Hesaidhe’sfallingINLOVEwithme.Say…what?HowcanhebeontheedgeofL-bombterritory?It’sbeenananosecond.Imean,Iknowwe’veknowneachotherforever,butmostofthatwaswhenwewerekids,andnottomentionabigchunkinthemiddlewherewedidn’treallyknoweachotheratall.Butheseemssosure.Soconfident.
Idon’tknowwhattodo.I’mfreakingout,ifI’mhonest,becauseJackseemsliketherealdeal.That’stheonlywaytodescribehim:hot,selfless,genuine,wise,andhe’sintome.
Maybehe’s…myone?
Ifidgetwiththegorgeous,gold-linedinvite.MytickettotheGoldenChefAwards.Ican’tbelievehegaveittome.Ofallthewomeninthecityhecouldinvite,heinvitedme.
Howisthatevenpossible?Peopledon’tfallinlovethatfast.Dothey?
AquickGooglesearchtellsmethatthere’sactualsciencethatsaysallyouneedisthirty-sixpersonalquestionsandonehour.
O-kay,somaybepeopledofallinlovethisfast.
I’mliterallyhummingtunestomyselfwhileIheadtothekitchentobrewcoffee,daydreamingaboutJack,whodrovemehomelastnight,andthenwalkedmeuptomyapartment,andkissedmegentlyatmyfrontdoor.Iwantedtoinvitehimin,buthehadanearlymorningatthebakerytoday,andbesides,Iamtrying—sortof—tokeepmy#GoSolopledge.
BecausetheSoloFebruarymessageskeeppouringin.
Help!Igotsmashedandwenthomewithsomeonelastnight.CanIstill#GoSolo?
Mycoworkeraskedmeout.CanIgoAND#GoSolo?
Idon’tknowifIcandothis.#GoSoloisjustsohard!!Anytipsforthoseofusoutherehangingbyourfingernails?
I’mwadingthroughthehundredsofmessagesfeelingliketheworstkindoffraud.I’mpretendingIhavealltheanswerswhenclearly,Ihavenone.
IamalsoabouttobeonLet’sTalk!I’llbediscussinghowI’vetakena#GoSolovowwhenI’mnotatallsureIplantokeepit.OrthatIamkeepingit,anymore.IfeellikeI’mlivingadoublelife.
Thenagain,howdifferentisthisfromthetimeIrankedconcealersforourspecialcosmeticsissue?Iworkfromhome.Ibarelyshower,muchlesswearmakeup.Please.
ButwitheveryquestionIanswer,every#GoSolodebateIweighinon,thatnaggingguiltjustgetsworse.
AndrememberhowJacksaidhe’sfallingforme?Fallingforme.
IneedtotellhimI’mgoingtogoonLet’sTalk!But…whatamIgoingtosay?“You’refallinginlovewithme,great.I’mgoingtogoonnationalTVandtrashloveandrelationships.Rememberhowyouspentalloflastnighttryingtoconvincemetogiveloveanotherchance?So,Iguesstheanswerisno.By-eeee!”
Larrytrotsovertomeinthekitchen,neverwantingtomisstheopportunityImightdropfood,andtriestocomeandleanintomyleg,butmissesitandhitsthecabinetdoorinstead.Poorguy.Ireachdownandscratchhimbehindtheears,andhelooksupatme,hispermanentwinkon,andlollshistongueout.Arialcallsthen.
“Lovethe‘babysittingonValentine’s’piece?Socute?Yes?But…onequestion?Whoisthefriendyoureferto?‘Friend’sniece’?”
Damnit.Whydoesshehavetoaskquestionslikethat?Doesshethinkshe’smyeditororsomething?“Uh,justafriend.”
“Canweidentifyher?”
“Uh,no.No,myfrienddoesn’twanttobenamed.”Becausesheisahe,that’swhy.Youcan’tputaManninaSolopiece.IrealizeI’mskatingthelinehere.Buthell.Itwasacutepiece.PlayingPretty,PrettyPrincesssurebeatswallowinginself-pity,andshouldn’tweall,nomatterourage,respectourinnerprincess?
“Okay?”Arialsays,backingdown.“Justneededtoask?Thecopyeditorswillbeonmeaboutthat.Oh,andI’vegotgoodnewsforyou.IftheLet’sTalk!segmentgoeswell,mybosssayswemighthaveafull-timestaffpositionforyou.”
“Forme?”Fulltime.Benefits.Beingabletoseeamedicalprofessionaloutsideofadrugstorequickclinic.“Really?”
IglancedownatLarry.Thiscouldmeanallthegoodkibble.Forever.
“Yes!Theyaresoexcitedaboutyou?They’retalkingaboutyoubeingoursinglescorrespondent?”
Mystomachdrops.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Just…reportingonthesinglelife?Maybewecouldcallit‘Yas,SingleQueen’?”
“Oh.Wow.”BeingasinglescorrespondentwouldmeanI’dneedtostaysingle.Maybeforever.IthinkofJack.“I’llthinkaboutit?”
“Okay.I’lltrytobeinthestudiotomorrow?It’ssoexciting!”AndArialhangsup.
So,Iwanttodosomethinggoodintheworld.Butwhatisthat?SoloFebruary?Isthatevenagoodthing?Womenempowerment,yes,andallthoseladiesthatkeeppostingcommentssureseemfiredup.Thatisagoodthing,right?SowhydoIkeepthinkingaboutJack?WhydoIkeepthinkingthatwhileIcanbeagreatversionofmyselfwithouthim,thatIdon’twanttobewithouthim?
Andthenthere’sthemorningshow.Tomorrow.
IshouldtellJackI’llbeon.But…Idon’t.ThereneverseemstobetherighttimetobringupthefactthatI’llbeonamorningtalkshowpontificatingonwhymensuck.IfearJackmighttakeitpersonally.Orworse,thathe’llvowtowatchtheshow,andthenI’llfeelallself-consciousabouttalkingaboutthepowerofbeingsingle.SoIdon’tlietoJack.Ijustdon’ttellhim.Isthisbad?Probably.
AllIknowisthatI’vealwayswantedtowritesomethingimportant,andIdon’tknowthatthisisimportant,butIdoknowthatI’vehadmorereadersforthisthananythingelseI’veeverwritten.Andthathastomeansomething.
I’dratherjustneatlycompartmentalizemySoloFebruaryworkdiaryandmypersonallife,andneverthetwainshallmeet.It’skindoflikewhenIbingeoncookiedoughicecreamatmidnightwhenI’mtryingtodiet,handilyleavingitoffmycalorie-countingapp.I’mprettygoodatputtingproblematicbehaviorsinlittlesilos.
Besides,howmanypeoplereallyevenwatchLet’sTalk!?
Okay,soit’sonemillionpeople.Onemillionpeoplewatch,giveortakeahundredthousand.Andthehostscombinedhavetwomillionfollowers,soImightbeintrouble.I’mstaringat“funfacts”onthewallofthegreenroomofthelocalaffiliatemorningshow,thewindhowlingoutside,andtheskiesfilledwithsnowthatthreatenasecondFebruaryblizzard.There’salreadythreeinchesofthewhitestuffontheground,whichIsloggedthroughtogetinsidethebuilding.Theslushiscurrentlymeltingofftheheelofmystilettobootintoapuddleonthefloor.
Thegreenroomislovely,thoughnottechnicallygreen.It’scharcoalgray,withmodern-lookingfurnitureandfreebagelsandcreamcheeseandacoffeemakerofferingvanillaandmochaflavorsofjoe.Isitnervouslytwistingmypursestrap,wonderingwhyIeveragreedtobeontelevision.AndwhatifJackfindsout?OrsomeoneJackknows?
Ishouldtexthim.Now.ButwhatwouldIsay?“Oh,funnything,I’monLet’sTalk!rightnow!Whydidn’tImentionitbefore—oh,huh.Funny.Ijustforgot!”
Crap.
Iglancedownatmydesignerblack-and-whitedress,courtesyofArialandtheSlickcloset.Itwasoneoftheonlysamplesthatwasn’tasizedoublezero,butitfitsprettywell,Ithink.AndI’mwearingred-soledstilettobootsthatprobablycostmorethanmyrent.IfeellikeI’mlookingprettydamnawesome.Butthat’sonlybecauseI’musedtowearingwornflannelpajamabottomsandthatdamnfadedTurkeyTrotsweatshirt.Plus,whatisthisrelentlessstabbingacrossmyribcage?Irealizeit’sbeensolongsinceI’vewornabrathatI’veforgottenwhattorturedevicestheyare.
“Sora?”asksaperkytwenty-somethingwearingasmockandholdingmakeupbrushes.
“Yes?”Myvoicecomesoutasadrycroak.
“I’mGabrielle.I’llbeyourmakeupartist.”Sheblinks,hopeful.“Wanttocometomakeup?”
“DoIever!”I’msorelieved.Mymakeupisadisaster.WhenItriedtoglueonmyfakeeyelashesat5:30A.M.,itbecameahotmessrealfast.A)Icouldn’tgetthemtoadhereproperly,andB)whenItriedtofixtheleftone,itdroppedintothetoilet.Ergo,nofakelashes.Imightaswelljustwearanametagthatreads“I’mamoleperson.”
Gabrielle’saleggybrunettewhoweighsninetypoundssoakingwet,andassheleadsmetoadirector’schairinfrontofagiantmirrorlitwiththekindofbigroundbulbsthatwillshowmeallofmycloggedpores,Iworrythatshe’sgoingtotellmeIneedtoexfoliate.Withasandblaster.Instead,shesurprisesmewithawarmsmile.
“Youknow,I’m#GoingSolo,too,”shetellsme,powderingmyintenselyoilyforeheadwithabrush.“You’re,like,myhero.”
“Iam?”
Ican’tbelieveGabrielleandIhaveanythingincommon.She’sgorgeous,tenyearsyoungerthanme,andprobablycan’tgoanywherewithoutliterallyfightingofftheattentionofattractive,richpeople.
Shenods.“Seriously.I’vebeenhavingsomuchtrouble.Myboyfriend…”Sherollshereyes.“Ex-boyfriendnow.Heopenedcreditcardsinmyname.Maxedthemout.Ruinedmycredit.”Gabriellegentlyplacesonefalseeyelashonmyrighteye.
“No!That’sterrible.”
“TheworstpartwasthatIthoughthewassogenerous.Givingmegifts.Takingmeonvacations.Buthewasusingmymoneythewholetime.Canyoubelievethat?”Shefixesmylefteyenow.Gabrielleisbetweenmeandthemirror,soIcan’tseemyself.Shepicksupabrushfromhersmalltableandswipesabitofcolorfromhereyeshadowpalette.
“Well,youdeservebetter,”Isay.“Ihopeyouknowthat.Youshouldjustdateyouforawhile.”Icloseoneeyeandthentheother,asshegentlyswipesoneyeshadow.
“Oh,Ihave,andI’vebeenlovingitsomuch,andIjustwantedtothankyou.”Shebacksawayforasecondtogaugeherwork,thenshedipsherbrushintomoresilvershadowandgoesbackin.“Youreallyhelpedmeout.You…youevenwrotebacktomelastweek!”
“Idid?”
“Yeah,Iaskedyouabouttipsonstayingstrong,becauseImetthissupercuteguyandwasso,sotemptedtocheat.”Sheputsdowntheeyeshadowandsearchesforblush.Sheswipessomeonmycheeks.
“Oh?Really?”Ifeelahotflashofguiltatthebackofmyneck.“WhatdidIsay?”
“Yougavemethisawesomepeptalkaboutstayingstrong,anditreally,reallyworked.Youtoldmethatworkingonmyselfwasmoreimportantthansomehookupwithaguywhoprobablywould’vejustghostedmelater.”
“Yeah.”Ismileweakly,vaguelyrememberingreplyingtohermessage,oneofprobablyhundredsI’vegonethrough.WhatifI’dsteeredthispoorwomanawayfromherJack?AndwhatifGabrielleeverfoundoutthatwhileIwasbusygivingherapeptalk,Iwasnotlivingbythesamehighstandards?Ifeltsotorn.ShouldItellherthetruth?Ugh.No.Ican’t.ButIshould.Ibitemylip.
“Areyou…uh,okay?”Gabrielleasksme,becauseIhavenopokerface.“Youlookalittlepale.”
“I’mfine.”Iblink.“Justnervous.”
“Don’tbe.”GabriellemovessothatIcanseemyselfinthemirror.I’manewwoman.Ibarelyrecognizemyself.
“Wow,”Isay.Turningmyfaceonewayandthentheother,studyingGabrielle’sworkinthemirror.“You’re…amazing.”
“It’sallyou,honey,”shesays.“Anddon’tworry,peoplehavebeentalkingaboutyoubeingonallweek.Everyone’sgonnaloveyou.Like,therewasalineoutthedoorandaroundtheblockfortheaudience!Andthatneverhappens.”
IswallowasImeethergazeinthemirror.“Aline,really?”
“Yeah,theygothereearlytoseeyou.”
“Oh.Good.”Gulp.
“Okay,it’stime!”criestheproducer,amiddle-aged,baldingmanwhopopshisheadintothemakeuproom.Thebutterfliesinmystomachjoltawakeasiftheyalllandedatthesametimeinabugzapper.Pop,pop,pop!Idon’twanttodothis.Iwanttorunoutofthestudio.WhatamIdoinggoingontelevisionthat’sinnationalsyndication?Itakeadeepbreath.
“You’regonnadogreat!”Gabriellepromisesme,asshegivesmyarmasqueeze.Theon-airlightflicksonnearus.Theroaroftheapplausefromthestudioaudiencemakestalkingnowimpossible.Thankyou,Imouthtoherasshefadesbackintothedressingroom.Whentheapplausediesdown,Ihearthehosts—VeronicaandEric—introducingme.Frombehindthesmallsoundstage,IcanseethebigwindowsshowingMichiganAvenue,whicheventhisearlyinthemorningissomehowalreadyfilledwithtourists.Frommypositionattheside,IcanseeVeronica
MyheartpoundsinmychestandIclosemyeyesandwishthreetimesIwasbackinmycondowithLarrywhenIhearmynamecalledandtheaudienceeruptsinmanic,almostpsychotic,applause.Oh,God.It’stime.MyfeetgobeforeIknowwhatI’mdoing,andI’mwalkingandwavingattheaudience—whichis99percentwomen—andthey’reontheirfeet.I’mgettingastandingO.I’venevergottenthismuchapprovalfromanyonebeforeinmylife.Gabriellewasn’tkidding.Thesewomenarehereforit.
I’mtemporarilystunnedbythewarmthoftheapplause.Igetthatthereareflashinglightsandastagemanagerwithhisarmsupandhandswagglingtogetthemtocheer,buttheydon’tneedmuchencouragement.
Iwobbleuptothestagewithoutfalling(thankGod)andheavemyselfuponthebarstools(arethesesevenfeettall?).Andalmostmanagetokeepmykneestogether.VeronicaMartinezlooksflawlessbeneaththehotstudiolightswithherperfectlong,darkhair,herporelessskin,lashesformiles,andaperfectmauvelipglossthatIsuddenlyfeelImusthaveinmymakeupbag.EricLittell,aformersportsreporter,wearsaT-shirtandacheckedblazer,hisblond,curlyhairshornshort,andabig,fatchiponhisshoulderIcanseefromhere.Bothhaveteethsowhitetheylookradioactive.
“Welcome,”Veronicatellsme.“IhavetosaythatIamsoexcitedtohaveyouhere.Andsoisouraudience,right?”Anotherhigh-pitchedscreechgoesupfromthecrowd.Iglanceoutwardtotheaudienceoncemore,butthehotstudiolightsmakeithardtodiscernfaces.“OfcourseErichereisn’tsoexcited.”
EriclookslikehewantstopunchVeronicafullinthefaceandthenhigh-kickherintoacorner,goingcompleteMMAonherperfectlystyledself,whichmeansthesetwohaveslepttogetherbefore.Thedesireforhatesexisburningbetweenthemlikethefirstsignsofaherpesoutbreak.
“Well,Imean,we’retalkingaboutSoloFebruary,right?Ican’thelpbuttakethatpersonally.Ifallwomendecidetogosoloorwhatever,thenwhatamIgoingtodowithmyFridaynights?”
TheaudiencegivesEricsomepityahsOh,poorEric.He’ssomewhereinhislatethirties,alocalcelebrityandanavowedbachelor,andprettymuchisawalkingadvertisementformaletoxicity,whichprobablymeanshisDMsarefullofinterestedwomen.
“Noteverythingisaboutyou,Eric,”snipesVeronica,barelycontainingherdisdain.“Now,Sora,you’vebecomequitetheonlinesensation.TellusaboutwhatinspiredyoutostartSoloFebruary.”
“Haveyoumetmen?”Ijoke,andtheentireaudienceeruptsintitteringlaughter.Iglancetentativelyatthem,noticingalltheirexcitedfaces.Aretheyreallysoexcitedtoseeme?“But,seriously,I’dhadastringofterriblerelationships…”ItellthemaboutDan,andalittleaboutMarley,andgetalotofsympatheticahsatalltherightplaces.“AndthenonedayIthought,whydoIneedavalentine?Imean,baconismyfirst—andcouldbemyonly—love.”
Lotsofcheersforthatone.Ialsofeelapangofguilt.IfJacksawthis…wouldhebeoffended?Wouldhethinkit’sfunny?Ugh.Andwhataboutallthesewomenintheaudience?WhatwouldtheythinkiftheyknewaboutJack?They’droastmealive.Abeadofnervoussweattricklesdownthesmallofmyback.
Focus,Sora.Getyourheadinthegame.
“Soyou’reseriouslyreplacingmenwithbacon?”Ericscoffs.
“Baconissomuchbetterthanmen,right,ladies?”Iraisemyfistandgetsomehootsandcheers.
“Butcomeon,isn’tthisjustman-hating?”Ericisn’tgoingtoletmegetoffwithallsoftballquestions.Hedoesn’tlikeanythingaboutthissegment.Orme.Well,noproblem,Eric.Yourcolognesmellslikeeaudepompousass.Andyou’rewearingenoughofittosanitizehalftheChicagosewersystem.
“It’snotabouthatingmen,it’saboutlovingyourself,”Isay,tryingtokeepmyvoicelight.Severalladiesapplaud.“SoloFebruaryisforeveryone,soyouswearoffrelationships.It’snotjustaboutcisstraightwomenswearingoffcismen.Orwhomever.It’sreallyaboutfocusingonone’sself,gettinginabetterframeofmind.Imean,Ilovemen.Theyjustdon’talwayslovemeback.”Morelaughs.Andone“Amen!”Ericlooksoutattheaudienceandasubtlefrownpuckershislips.He’snothappy.Heglancesbackatme,andhisgazetellsmehe’sjudgingeverythingaboutme:abouthowI’mnotasslimorastallorasNordicashelikes.He’swondering,butnotsaying,whyIwouldbotherwithSoloFebruarysinceheisn’tinterested,andhecan’timaginewhowouldbe.AllofthisIgleanfromhisbeadylittleblueeyes.
“Yes,butdoesn’titfeelalittledesperate?”
“Howso?”Ifeelguarded.Likethisisatrap.
“Well,Imean,aren’tyoujustplayinghardtoget?”Ericjustshakeshisheadasifhealreadyknowsalltheold“tricks”womenplaywhenthey’retryingtoseriouslytellhimno.
“Hardtoget?”Iecho,astonished.“But,goingsoloisn’tabouthavingpeoplechaseafteryou.It’saboutreallyworkingononeself.”
“Honestly,Ithinkyou’rejustpushingtheproblemonmen.Everthoughtifmendon’tlikeyou,thenthat’sayouproblem?”
Theaudienceletsoutagaspandafewlongooooooohsabouttheburn.Okay,Eric.Wannaplaythetoxicmasculinitygame?Ilovethisgame!Myturn!
“Theproblem,”Isay,“ifwe’retalkingaboutstraightmen,isthatsomeofthem”—I’mtalkingaboutyou,Eric—“thinktheyhavearighttoeverythingtheywant.Theythinktheycanshowupandbeassholes”—Oops.IsworeonliveTV—“andweshouldstillfawnalloverthem.We’resupposedtojusttakewhattheygiveusandbegrateful.Butthat’sjustnotgoodenoughanymore.Whyarewealwaystyingourselvesintoknotsforthem?Whydotheygettocallalltheshots?Whydothey—withalltheprivilegetheygethandedatbirth—gettotelluswe’refat?Orourboobsaren’tbigenough?Orthatweshouldlikesportsmore?Orthatweshouldlikethebeerstheydrink?Orthatwedon’tmakethesalariestheymakebecausewedon’tnegotiatehardenough,eventhoughwhenwetrytodothat,theytellusnottobebossyorpushy?”
Severalloudladiesintheaudiencehoot.
“Wecan’twin.Wedresstooprovocatively,thenwe’reaskingtogetassaulted.Wedresstooconservatively,andthenwe’redowdyanddon’ttryhardenough.Butwhenwetrytoohard,we’rehighmaintenance.We’reaskedtobecool,notbeliketheothergirls,butthenwhenweare,we’retoomanly,too…whatever.”
Eric’sbeginningtolookalittlepanickednowandheshould.
“Thethingssomeofuslike—romancesandrom-comsandfizzypinkchampagnearestupidandsilly,butthethingssomeguyslike,likeloudactionmovies,sports,andbeerareimportant.Nobodyispayingmillionsofdollarsforafifteen-secondadforarom-comChristmasmovieoncable.Buttheyshould.”
Someoneintheaudienceshouts,“Preach!”
“Wegoonjuicecleansestoclearourbodyofjunkfood,butwhataboutjunkmen?Oursoulsneedacleanse.Weneedtogetallthosetoxicmenoutofourlivesbyfasting.Attheendofthirtydays,we’llbeabletoseethemforwhattheyare:entitled,privilegedjerkswhoaremessingwithourlivesbecauseweletthem.”Itakeadeepbreath.“Andwe’renotgoingtoletthemanymore.”
TheaudienceroarswithapprovalandleapstotheirfeetinthunderousapplausethatseemstoshakeEric’schair.
ThenIglanceatEric.“And,Eric,I’dsay,withallduerespect,thatmaybeifyouseethisassomethingthat’sourproblemandnotyourproblem,thenmaybe,quitefrankly,thatistheverydefinitionofayouproblem.”
“Oh,shegotyou.Shegotyougood.”VeronicabeamstriumphantlyatEric.Helooksdownathisnotecard,faceflushedred.HowdoyoulikebeingcalledoutonliveTV,Eric?Didsomeofthattoxicitybounceoffofmeandsticktoyou?
Iglanceupandmygazefallsonthewindowleadingoutside.ShoppersonMichiganAvenuehavestoppedandarewatchingthesegmentthroughtheclearglasswithaclearpictureofthestudio.Frontandcenter,Isee…afamiliarfigurethere.JackMann,standingatthewindow.He’sinjeans,ahoodie,andhispeacoat,histhickdarkhairstuffedbeneathabeaniecap,hisjawlinesharpenoughtocutthatdouble-paneglass.He’sawalkingreminderthattherearegoodguysoutthere,anditmightnotbefairformetopaintthemallwithsuchanunforgivingbrush.
“So,howhaveyoupersonallybeendoingwiththechallenge,Sora?”Veronicaasksmerightatthatmoment.
“Me,personally?”Jackwavesatme.Iswallow.“Fine.Doingfine.”
“So,nodatesforyouuntilMarchfirst?”
“That’sright,”Isay,andnod,evenasIrememberJack’sasktotheGoldenChefAwards.ThelastweekendinFebruary.“I’monehundredpercentdate-free.Don’twantadate.Don’tneedadate.”
Idon’tevenknowwhatI’msayinganymore.I’mjustbabbling.Theaudienceleapstotheirfeetwiththunderousapplauseandafewhootsandhollers.Itwashes,tinnyandempty,overme,asIfightbackahotflashofguilt.Ifeellikeanimpostor.
Veronicathanksmeforcomingontheshowandsendsustocommercialbreak,andassoonasthecamerasareoff,Ericcursesandleavestheset.Veronicaturnstome,beaming.
“Youkickedass,girl.Lovewhatyou’redoing,”shetellsme,andvigorouslyshakesmyhand.“Galentinesforever.”
Ilaugh,theguiltstillthuddinginmyears.I’mafraud,Iwanttotellher.ImighthaveputEricinhisplace,butI’mnotthecrusadereverybodythinksIam.ButbeforeIcanworkupthenervetoblurtoutthetruth,Veronica’sbackstudyingherscriptandatechguywhisksmeawaytountanglemefromthemicattachedtomydress.Afewsecondslater,I’mstandingoutsidethestudioontheicysidewalk,snowflakestwirlingaroundme.Cabshonkonthestreet,andabigbuslumbersby,kickingupblacksmokeintothewintryair.Ifindmyselfglancingaround…andIrealizeI’mlookingforJack.
WhatamIgoingtotellhim?Howmuchoftheshowdidhehearorsee?Myinsideschurnwithindecision.
Ihearmynamecalled.JackMannisbehindme.
“Oh…uh…Jack.Hi.”Ifeelablushcreepingitswayupthebackofmyneck.God,themanisgorgeous.Puresexmachine.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmeyouweregoingtobeonTV?”Heshakeshishead.“Iwould’vebeenwatchingfromthestart!Theydidn’tevenhavethesoundonouthere,soIcouldn’thearyou,butyoulookedgreat!Can’tbelieveyouwereonLet’sTalk!That’shuge.”
“IknowIshould’vetoldyou…itwaskindoflastminute.”WhyamIlying?Let’schangethesubject.Fast.“Whatareyoudoingdowntown?”
“Oh,Pierrelivesnearby.Iwasjustgrabbingcoffeewithhim.”
“SoloFebruary!”arandomwomanonthesidewalkshoutsnearby.Shemakeseyecontactandraisesherfist.Irealizethenthattheaudiencefromthemorningshowisfilteringoutintothestreet,whichisquicklygettingblanketedinafreshcoatofsnow.Igetahighfivefromamiddle-agedwomanwhothenglaresatJackasifhe’samaggotwigglingthroughrottengarbagefromaleakydumpster.
“Thankyouforthat,”shetellsme.“You’veinspiredme.”
Anotherladyshouts,“Mensuck!”
Jacklooksather,uneasy.
“So,haveyougivenanythoughttotheGoldenChefAwards…”Ack,hereitis.Momentoftruth.AmIpickingSoloFebruaryoverJack?ButhowcanIpickJackwiththesidewalkliterallyfilledtothebrimwith#GoSolofollowers?
Herubsthebackofhisneck.He’ssodamnbroadandtallthatheseemslikeamanwhocouldchopdownpinetreeswithhisbarehands.Justkarate-chopthosesuckers.
“Aboutthat…”
Jack’sfacefallsjustalittle.HeseemstoknowalreadywhatI’mgoingtosay.
Afamiliarfacepartsthecrowdthen.
“Sora?Thatwassogood?”Arialcomesboundinguptousonthesidewalk.Wheredidshecomefrom?She’swrappedinageometricscarfandadesignerpuffyjacketwithanasymmetricalcollar.“Didyouseeme?Iwasinthebackcorneroftheaudience?Igotinlate,soIcouldn’tcometothegreenroom.”
“Uh,no,Ididn’tseeyou,”Isayasshewrapsmeinatighthug.Ifeelwhite-hotpanicrundownmyspine.ItrytotelegraphamessagetoJack:run.Hide.Jack,however,justlooksatme,confused.
“Wearegoingtobeevenmoreviral?Isthatathing?”Ariallaughsatherownjoke.ThensheseesJackforthefirsttime,craningherneckuptotakeinhisimpressiveshoulders,whichhavebeguntotakeonsnowflakeslikeamountainrange.
“Uh…Arial,meetJack.Jack,thisismyboss…Arial.”
Jackgrins.“Oh,nicetomeetyou,”hesays,offeringamassivepaw.Arialtakesitcautiously,agleamofunderstandingandasharplookofdisapprovalinhereyeasshelooksathimandlooksatme.
“My?Youaregood-looking,aren’tyou?”sheremarks.
“Uh.OnlyondaysIshower?”Jackshrugsamanlyshoulder.Hisself-deprecationmakeshimsexier.
“Howdo…uh,youtwoknoweachother?”Arialasks.
“Wewenttoelementaryschooltogether.We’rejustoldfriends,”Iadd,quickly,dismissively.Jackshootsmealook.Ican’treadit.
“Friends?”
“Yeah.Justfriends.Imean,comeon,wewereinkindergartentogether.”I’mmoredefinitivethistime,exceptthatIdoreadthelookonJack’sface.Loudandclear.He’sdisappointed.Somethingmore.Hurt.
“Oh,good.”Arial’srelieved.“Comeonthen,Sora.Ithoughtwecouldgrabcoffee?Nicetomeetyou,Jack!”
ArialpullsmeawaybeforeIcansayapropergoodbye.Jackstilllooksalittlestunnedandconfusedasheturnsawayfrommeonthesidewalkandwalksaway,shouldersslumpedindefeat.Iwanttocallafterhim.
ButIdon’t.Seventeen
SORA
Ineedtodatemyself,andpracticeonme,becausehowelseamIeversupposedtogetbetteratdating?Andbybetter,Ijustmeannotbeingsoterribleatit.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
IspendthenextcoupleofdayswishingI’dhandledeverythingdifferently.
ItextandcallJack,feelingrotten,buthedoesn’treturnmytexts.Ormycalls.It’sfull-onradiosilence.Themoreheignoresme,themorefranticIget.Ican’thelpfeelinginmygutthatI’veblownit.JustwhenI’msureIhave,heanswersmycall.
“Hey,Ijustwanttosaysorryabout…”Ibegininarush.I’minbed,Larryatmyfeet.Snowfallsoutsidemywindow,whiteagainstthedarkeningFebruarysky.
“Youdon’thavetoapologize,”Jacksays,buthestillsoundsalittle…off.Alittleguarded.I’vemadehimthisway,too.Thisismyfault.
“Ihadtokeepupappearances.Infrontofmyboss,”Itrytoexplain.
“Iknow.”
“Hey…I…”IshouldjusttellhimIlikehim.BecauseIdo.Maybemorethanlike.Butthere’salsotheproblemofhisawardshowattheendofthemonth.“Ijustwantedtotalktoyoubecause…”
“Youcan’tgowithmetotheGoldenChefAwards,”hefinishes,soundingresigned.“IsawtheLet’sTalk!segment.Don’tneedadate.Don’twantone?”
“Jack,Iwasjust…itwasfortheshow.It’snotthatIdon’twantonewithyou.It’s—”
“Igetit.”Jackisquicktoanswer.“Say,howaboutwejusttakealittletime.Iwon’tbotheryouanymoreuntilMarch.”
“Jack,youdon’thaveto—”
“Ithinkit’llbebest,”hesays,soundingmoredefinitive.“Ijust…I’dratherseeyouwhenyou’retrulyfreetobeinarelationship.Itkindoffeelslikeyou’re…Idon’tknow…embarrassedofme.”
“Iabsolutelyamnot!”
“ItjustfeelslikeI’masecretyouhavetokeep,orthatI’msomeoneyou’reseeingontheside,anditdoesn’tfeelthatgreat,”headmits.
Shit.Igetwhathe’ssaying.Iamhidinghim.HidinghimfromalltheSoloFebruaryfans.
“You’renotontheside.Notatall.AndIdon’twantyoutofeelthatway.”
“Iknow.That’swhyIjust…thinkit’sbestifwewaituntilMarch.Thenmaybeitwon’tbeweird.”Jacksoundssad,butfirm.He’sthoughtaboutthis.He’scometoadecision.It’snowIrealizethatholdingoffonseeingeachotheruntilMarchisn’tanask.It’safirmstatement.He’sdrawingtheline.Notme.
“Okay,”Iagree,reluctantly.It’sjusttwoweeks,butasIhangupthephone,suddenly,itfeelsliketwolifetimes.
Forthenexttendays,Jack’sasgoodashisword.There’snotexting.Nocalls.Itrytextinghimafewtimes,butonlygetresponseslikeathumbs-up,ornoneatall.He’sseriousabouttheMarchdeadline.Ugh.Whatiswrongwithme?WhydoIletotherpeopleinmylifeconstantlysettheboundaries?IfIthinkaboutitasecond,that’sverylikelytherootofallmyproblems.Insteadoftakingresponsibilityformyownlackofrealself-controlorlackofactioninkeymoments,I’dletDadreinmeinwithhistemper,orMomwithherbodyissues.Ishould’vebeentheonetojustbehonestwithJack.Totellhimwedidneedtowait.ButIdidn’t.
AndevenasmoreandmoremissivesfromSoloFebruarypourinfromfans,Ijustfeelemptierandemptierreadingthem.CanItellthemallthatgoingsoloisright?Somanyofthemseemtohavefoundsomeonetheywanttodate.WhoamItostandintheirway?ShouldIreallybetellingGabrielle,oranyotherSoloist,whotodateornottodate?WhydidIeverthinkIwasqualifiedtogiveanyoneelseadviceinthefirstplace?
AsI’mconsideringthis,anewmessagedingsonmyphonefromNami.She’sbeentextingmeaboutthebridesmaids’dresses,soIknowthat’sexactlywhatthisisabout.AndI’vebeenavoidingtryingonmybridesmaid’sdressliketheplaguebecauseI’vebeenchowingdownonbaconandretainingwaterliketheHooverDam.I’venotgottenanywherenearascaleforfearI’dsteponitanditwouldscreambloodymurder.
Whyhaven’tyoucometotheshopyet?
Isigh.Iwill,okay?
When?
Soon.
Howabouttoday?
Bossymuch?
I’vegotalottodotoday,Itext,hopingshe’llletitslide.Shedoesn’t.
OMG,Sora!Please!IaskyoutodoONEthing!
Okay,bridezilla.Technically,shedidn’taskmetodojustonething.Shealsoaskedmetobringadate,andnotdancewithanelderlygreat-uncleduringthecouples’dance.
Fine.I’llcometoday.
Ithinkthatwillbetheendofit.Butit’snot.
Great.I’llpickyouupinanhour.
It’sonlywhenI’minthedressingroomandattemptingtotryonthedressthatIrealizeImighthavegoneoverboardonthebaconthismonth.I’mstartingtosweatbulletsinsidethetinygraydressingroominthefancybridalstoredowntown.It’sthekindofexpensiveshopwherethesalesclerkoffersyouchampagnethemomentyouenterthedoor,becausethemarkupmorethancoversthecost,andbecauseyou’regoingtoneedalcoholwhenyoulookatyourfirstpricetag.
Currently,Istandinsideoneoftheenormous,cedar-lineddressingrooms,whichjustmightbebiggerthanmybedroomatmyapartment.Iamguzzlingdownallofmyfreechampagneinhopesthatsomehow,thealcoholwillsaveme.Istareatmyselfinthemirror,hairamess,dressonlyhalfwayon,justuptomyhips.Ihaven’teventriedzippingthezipperyet.There’smilesoflightbluefabric,andwhy,ohwhy,didNamipicksuchafitteddress?Ibeggedhertogoflowy.Beggedher.Shewentsuck-to-your-skinfishtailflarebecausetheotherbridesmaidslovedit,theoneswhowearadoublezeroonabloateddayandconsiderakalesmoothiea“splurge.”
Igivethedressanotherhardtug.Nope.Noway.Ican’tgetmyhipsinhere.NomatterhowhardItry.Thisisn’tfitted.It’smorelikeaphysicalassault.Iwanttopresschargesagainstthisdress.
Ihearagentleraponthedoor.
“Doyouneedanyassistance?”asksthesaleslady,concerninhervoice.
Igrabthedressfirmlyandsuckinwithallmymightandyank.Amazingly,itgetsovermyhips.NowIneedtotrytogetmyarmsinthetinylittlearmholesthatseemtoosmallformywrists.
WishIhadmorechampagne.
I’mstartingtoreallysweatnow,whichdoesnot,asIhope,helpmeslidemyarmsintothearmholes.ButeventuallyIdoit,andnow,Imusttacklethezipperattheside.
“Uh…justgivemeaminute,”Ipant,glaringatmybareskin,andthetwofullinchesthatdamnzipperisgoingtohavetoswallowifit’sgoingtomaketheteethmeet.Imightneedmorethanaminute.Istarttuggingatthezipperanditgivesahigh-pitched,terrifiedsqueak.
Aharderknockcomesnow.It’sNami.
“Sora.”That’sherWTFtone.“Letmein.”
“No,”Icry,tuggingatthezipper.Comeon,baby.Comeon.Youcandothis,zipper.Youcan.Myfingers,slipperywithpanicsweat,losetheirtractiononthetinyzipperhandle.Damnit.IknewIshould’vebroughtpliers.
Igetthezipperatleastuptothebottomofmyribcage,butmygirlsrevolt.There’snowaythey’regoingtogetsuckedintothis.They’vegrownbigger,too,asitseemstheylikebacon.Quitealot.
Damnit.
Iglanceatthewhitefurrystolehangingonthehookofthedoor.Well,I’lljusthavetocoverupwiththatandhopeNami—andtheseamstress—don’tnotice.
Namiknocksagain,harderthistime.“Sora!Comeon!”Hervoiceishigh-pitchedandclipped.She’spissed.
“Coming!”Isayandwhipthefurrywhitestolearoundmyarmsandopenthedoor.Theglareofthelightsonthethree-waymirrorhitsme,blindingmeforasecond.Iblink,andwhenIcanfocusagain,IseeNamiglaringatme.
“Whattooksolong?”sheasksme,suspicious.
“Nothing,”Isay.
“Come,”saystheseamstress—averytiny,veryoldPolishwomanwearingblackslacksandasilkblousethatmatchesherall-whitehair.Shemotionstothesmall,carpetedplatforminfrontofthewallofmirrors.Iinch-walk,becausethedressissodamntight,andwigglemywaytoit,feelingthezipperteethpressingintomysidefat.Imanagetogetupontotheplatformwithoutrippingtheseam—asmallmiracle—andasIlookatmyself,IrealizethesedresseslooklikesomethingElsafromFrozenwouldwear,exceptI’mnotblondorskinny,andIdon’thaveamazingicysuperpowers.Though,thewayNamiglaresatme,Ithinkshewantstofreezemerighthere.
“Let’stakethisoff.Yes?”Theelderlyseamstressgrabsholdofthefurrywhitestole,herwizenedhandssurprisinglyagile.ButIdon’tletgo.
“Wedon’tneedto.It’sagreataccessory.”Iholdontoitlikeit’sadoorfromtheTitanicfloatinginthefrozenAtlantic.
“Takeitoff.”Theseamstressfrowns,herwrinklesgrowingdeeperonherface.IhesitateandtheseamstressandIlockeyesandIcantellshe’sconfused.Itrytocommunicatesilentlythatallsheshoulddoisbackawayslowly.Letthisgo.Youdon’twantthisheat,lady.Believeme.AndI’mnottheonlyoneNamiisgoingtoyellat.Becausewhenshegetsangry,it’slikeanuclearmeltdown.Sheradiatesiteverywhere.JustlikeDad.
“Sora!Don’tbelikethat.Takeoffthestole.”Namifoldsherarmsacrossherchestandglaressomemore.Shealreadyknowswhat’scoming.AndsodoI.
Reluctantly,Ishedthestole.Namigaspsaudiblyandherhandfliestohermouth.Theseamstress,whohasnodoubtseenitallinthisdressingroom,appearsunflappable.
“Sora!Whatthehell!”Namicries,assheseesmyfattyfleshhangingoutofthesideofhertoo-tightElsabridesmaiddress.Sheclaspsthezipperandtriestomoveitup.Goodluck,sister.
“Sorry.Imighthavegoneoverboardonthebacon.”
“ItoldyouthisstupidSoloFebruarywasabadidea.Damnit!Icannotbelieveyou!”Herfingersslipoffthezipperandshebreaksanail.Shestaresathernailsinhorror.Shesticksherfingerinhermouthandstaresdaggersatme.“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthis.”
“Itoldyounottogoformfitting!Itoldyouweshoulddoflowy.”Sheneverlistens.Icanfluctuatetenpoundsinasingleday,forgoodness’sake.Namionlyeverlosesorgainsmaybeanounce.
Theseamstressapproachesmeandstudiesthegapinthezipper,takingthemeasuringtapefromaroundherneckandmarkingmyskin.Shestudiesthezipper.
“Well,Ididn’tthinkyou’dstuffyourfacewithbaconallmonth!Imean,areyoutryingtohaveaheartattack?LikeDad?”
Herwordshitmelikeablow.It’saclear,below-the-beltfoul.“Hey,that’slow.”
Namiswallowswhatshewasgoingtosaynext.Butshe’sstillangry.Sheblowsoutafrustratedbreathandpacesinfrontofme,panting.“Isupposeyoudon’thaveadateyet,”shesays,angerinhervoice.
“No,nottechnically.”
“Great!”Shethrowsherhandsintheair.“So,thecouples’danceisruined.Thisisjustfantastic.”
“Nami—”
“Thisissolikeyou.You’realwaysso…so…careless.IsweartoGod.”
ItellmyselfNamiisunderstressandshe’stakingitoutonme.
“Thisisjustlikewhenyoucrashedtheminivan.”Namiisfiredup.Eyesflashing.
“Ohno.Notthisagain.”
“Momwasgivingmetheminivanformysixteenthbirthday,butyouwerehomefromcollegeandjusthadtouseit,andthenyoutotaledit,onedaybeforemybirthday!”
“Adogranoutintheroad!Iswervedtomissit.”
“Fine.AndwhataboutmyiPhoneinninthgrade?”Hercheeksflushredwithanger.ItellmyselfI’mtheeasytarget.SheknowsI’lllovehernomatterwhat.She’sjustventing.
“Ididn’tmeantodropitandcrackthescreen.Itjustslipped.”
“AndmyfavoritecashmeresweaterthatGrandmaMitsuyegavemeformytenthbirthday?”Hervoicegetsevenlouder.
“That’snotfair.”Imighthavetrieditonandstretcheditouthorribly.“Youalwaysstolemyclothes!Icouldneverborrowyoursbecausetheyneverfitme!”
“Herewego!”Shethrowsupherhands,mirroringmyfrustration.“AllI’msayingisthatifyouwerealittlemorecareful,alittlemoreconsiderate,thesethingswouldn’thappen!It’slikeyou’retryingtoruineverything!”Inherfury,shesnagsaheelonthepristinewhitecarpetofthefittingroomarea.Shecatchesherself,butthestumblemakesherangrier,especiallybecauseIhavetoswallowasnicker.“Don’tlaugh,”shewarnsme.
“Thenstopholdinggrudges.”
“Dadheldgrudges.Ican’thelpit.”
Webothglareateachother,alifetimefullofresentmentsbubblingtothesurfacelikeabloatedwhale.Ilovemysistertopieces,butsometimes,IjustwanttokickherhardintheshinslikeIusedtodoatagefive.Agoodscuffleandthentheargumentwouldbeover.
“I’llfixit,”theseamstresstellsus,movinginNami’sdirection.“Noproblem.”
ButNamiseemsnottohear,ornottocareabouttheseamstress’sefforttobarterapeaceaccord.
“Ijustcan’tbelieveyou’rebeingsoinsensitive,”Namisnapsatme.“Thisismywedding.It’sgottobeperfect.ForMitch.”
“Please,”Imutterbeneathmybreath.Mitchwouldn’tcareiftheweddinghappenedinanicehotel,orthebackofacourtroom,or,hell,inthebedofapickuptruck.He’sthelastmantobeworriedaboutappearances.
“Whatdidyousay?”Nami’slaser-focusedonmenow.
“Nothing,”Imurmur,notmeetinghereye.
“AreyoutryingtosaysomethingaboutMitch?”
“Well…”Ihesitate,thinkingaboutthewhatever-you-want-babe,yes-manlumpthatisherfiancé,Mitch.He’suninterestedinpolitics,books,movies,travel,oranythingnotrelatedtofootball,beer,orvideogames.Hellno,he’snotworththeeffort,andI’vethoughtsofromthebeginning.NamilovesMitchbecauseshecandresshimuplikeaKendoll,helooksgoodincouplephotographs,andhe’ssafe.Butisheworthyofher?No.He’snot.
ButIcan’tsayallthis.CanI?
ButthenIdon’thaveto.Namifillsintheblanksforme.
“Youhesitatedtoolong!”shecries,accusing.“Youdon’tlikeMitch!”
“I…”IglanceatNami.Icouldlie.Smoothallthisover,buthaven’tIbeentellingallthepeoplewhoare#GoingSolotobelessaccommodatingandstandupforthemselves?Plus,I’mtiredoflying.I’mtiredoflyingtothem,andtoJack,andtoeverybody.TheleastIcandorightnowisbehonest.
“No,”Iadmitatlast.“Idon’tparticularlylikeMitch.”
NamilookslikeIslappedher.
Eventheseamstresspausesinherfussingovermyzipperandstepsback,aworriedlookonherwrinkledface.
Namiglaresatme.“What’swrongwithMitch?Nameonethingthat’swrongwithhim.”
“He…doesn’tworkthathard.”Idon’tknowhowtosaythiswithoutsayingit.I’mtryingtobediplomaticaboutthefactthathehaslessambitionthanyourtypicaleggplant.
“That’snottrue!Hehasajob.”
“Workingforhisuncleataplumbingsupplycompany,”Itrytogentlypointout.
“Dadwasaplumber,there’snoshameinthat.”
“It’snotthejobIhaveissuewith.It’sthathisunclegavehimthejobbecauseeveryotherjobheeverheld,hegotfiredfrom.Fornotshowingupontime,ornotshowingupatall.”
“Theydidn’tappreciateMitch’spotential,”Namisays.Wow.She’sreallynotseeingthetruth.
“Hefailedoutoftwocolleges.”
“He’sacreativetype.HewantstolaunchachannelonTwitch,makingmillionswithhisgameplay!”
Irollmyeyes.Mitchhasbeenbraggingabouthowhe’llbemakingmillionsonedaywhenhe’sneverliftedafingertostartachannel.
“Yeah,buthasheeverevenmadeasinglevideo?”
“He’sworkingonit!”Namisays,defensive.
“He’llneverdoitbecauseitinvolveswork.Andhehatestowork.”ThiscomesoutblunterthanIintend,butI’malreadyangryandthewordsareoutbeforeIcanstopthem.
“Ilovehim.”Nami’seyesblazefire,promisingretribution,butI’mintoodeepnow.“Andhe’saskedmetotakechargeofthewedding,becauseheknowsI’lldoitright.”
“No,he’saskedyoutobeinchargebecausehe’slazyandplanningaweddingtakeswork.Plus,Idon’tthinkhereallycaresaboutthewedding.”I’veseenthebored,indifferentlookonhisfaceasNamidraggedhimtoonesiteafteranotherforpotentialweddingreceptions.“Thisisallyouridea.Nothis.Hedoesn’treallycarewherehegetsmarried.Orhow.Helikesthatyoumakeallthedecisionsforhimbut,Nami,that’snotarealpartner.”
“Heisarealpartner.He’ssweet.He’ssupportive.”
“Hejustneverdisagreeswithyou.There’sadifference.Ifhewerereallysupportive,he’dhelpyouwiththeplanning.Withanything,really.”
“That’snottrue.You’reonlysayingthatbecauseyou’rejealous.”Namijabsamanicurednailintomychest.Ithurts.
“I’mnotjealousaboutMitch.”Farfromit.
“You’rejustjealousbecauseallyoucouldevergetwasMarley.Andeventhen,it’sonlybecause—”
“Don’tsayit.”Iglareather,daringhertobringupthepregnancy.Ifshedoes,IsweartoGod,hershinswon’tbetheonlythingI’llkick.Shehesitates.Sheseemstoknowshe’sgoingtoofar.Sodoestheseamstress,becauseshehissessomethinginPolish,shrugshershoulders,andbacksslowlyoutoftheroom.“Look,Nami,I’msorryIhurtyourfeelings.Icouldhavelied.ButIwantedtobehonestwithyou.”
Namisniffs,indignant,andcrossesherarmsacrossherchestandturnsawayfromme.Icanseetheangerflareacrossherperfect,porelessfaceinthethree-waymirror.
“Well,aslongaswe’rebeinghonest,”shesays,andwhirlstofaceme,red-faced.“HaveyoulookedatMarley’ssocialmedialately?”
What?WhyissheonMarley’ssocialmedia?
“Whyareyoufollowinghim?”I’d“un”-edMarley(un-friended,un-followed,un-whatever-ed)oneveryplatformalongtimeago.
“Ijustneverstopped.”
Thisfeelslikeabetrayal.“You’refollowingmyex-husbandonline?Whatthehell,Nami?”She’sscrollingthroughherphone.Ithinkshe’sgoingtoshowmesomethingIdon’twanttosee.
“Iwasn’tgoingtoshowyouthis…but…”Shehandsmethephone.IknowIshouldn’ttakeit.Ishouldn’tlook
Butcuriositygetsthebetterofme.It’sasadfactthatifIwereacat,I’dbedeadninetimesoverbecausecuriositywould’verunmeflatover,stabbedmemultipletimes,ortossedmeoffahigh-risebalcony.
ThefirstthingIseeisaphotoofMarleyandLululemon.They’rebothgrinninglikemorons,lookingtoodamnhappyforpeoplewhosubsistonadietofkaleandkombucha.Plus,MarleyhasbustedouthisPharrellWilliamshat,whichisaterriblelookonhim.
Lululemonisgrinning,whichlooksunnaturalonherbecauseinthegrocerystore,allIsawwasapuckeredfaceofdisapproval.SoIdigdeeperintothephoto,tellingmyselfit’sjustsoIcanmercilesslypokefun.They’refacingeachother,holdingapapercutoutofredhearts—threeofthembetweenthem.Iscrolldowntothecaption,anditreads,We’resoexcitedtosay…OurLittleValentineisontheway!
OurLittleValentine?ThenInoticeMarleyhashisscrawny,clammypalmonLululemon’snonexistentstomach.Whatthe…mother-effing…what?
Ifeelsuddenlynauseous.
Oh,God.MarleyandLululemonwillhaveaspawn.
IglanceatNami.“Howlonghaveyouknownaboutthis?”Iask.
“SinceValentine’sDay.Ididn’twanttobetheonetotellyou.”
Idon’tknowwhatmakesmeangrier:thatshestillfollowsMarleyorthatsherefusedtobeagoodspyforme.Ifeelawholebunchoffeelingsrisingupinme,noneofthemgood.I’mrightbackinthatplacerightaftercollegewhereIpeedonastickandthereweretwolinesinsteadofone,whenMarleyaccusedmeoflyingtohimaboutbeingonthepillandthenhestompedoutoftheapartment.Ithadn’tbeenanInstagrammomentwithfreakin’rosefiltersandcutouthearts.
ThenIlookatthephotoagain.IknowwhatI’mlookingfor,andIfindit:Marley’sgrandmother’ssolitaireonLululemon’sperfectlymanicuredleftringfinger,theoneI’donceworn.Eighteen
SORA
Whodoesmarriagereallybenefitanyway?Men.Allthestudiesshowthatmenlivelongerandhealthierifthey’remarried.Women,however,livethesameamountoftime,withorwithoutaman.Sowhydowethinkweneedonesobadly?
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
I’mnotsurewhat’sworse:thatMarleyandLululemonwillhaveababyandgetmarried,orthatIcare.Ishouldbefar,farandawaydonewithMarley—whoevencareswhathedoeswithhislife?But,Irealize,Ido.Idocare.Becausehestoodupbeforeahundredstrangersatcityhallandtoldmehe’dlegallybemyhusband.Nevermindthatithadbeenapregnancythatgothimthere.Ihate,too,thatIdon’tgettocallJackaboutit,becauseI’mrespectinghisdesiretosteerclearofmeuntilIcangetalittlebitofmyshittogether.
MynextSoloFebruarypostisdarkanddire.
Igottheworstnews—myex-husbandisgettingremarried.Andhisfiancéeispregnant.Andtheylookstupidlyhappy.And,confessiontime,IhadamiscarriagethatI’veneverreallygottenover.There,Isaidit.Thishasdredgedupallkindsoffeelingsinme,allkindsofbadfeelings,whenIwastryingsohardtobepositive.Toworkonmyself.Butnow,Iwonderif,nomatterwhatIdo,I’mjustalwaysgoingtoendupsadandalone.
Isthereanypointtoanything?
Thedarknessthatcameovermeafterthemiscarriagefeelsasifit’sedgingclosertomeagain,thatpitch-blacknothingness.Itfeelssuffocating.
Then,mylaptoppingswiththefirstcommenttomynewarticle.Andthenanother.Andanother.
Hanginthere,sister.
Weallgotdarkdays.
Justlikeyoutoldus…Keepondoingthisforyou!
Thecommentspileup,oneafteranother,theSoloistsjumpingtomyaid.I’mtouched,andItearup.Icanbarelyreadthecomments,they’recomingsofast.
Yougotthis.
It’sbadnow,butit’llgetbetter.
Beenthere.Donethat.HavetheT-shirt.Hanginthere.
Don’tgiveup.Webelieveinyou.
Thiscommunity,thisamazingcommunity,makesmefeelnotalone.AndIloveit.Ilovethem.Allofthem.
Anddon’tforgetwhatyoutoldus:takecareofyourself.Self-care!
They’reright.Ihavetosnapoutofit.AsmuchasIwanttodrownmysorrowsinbacongrease,Iwon’t.ThespecterofDadisreal.Heneverreallytookcareofhimself,alwayscarriedextraweight,andscoffedatsalads,callingthem“rabbitfood.”Healsodiedofaheartattackatagefifty-nine.DespitewhatNamimightthink,Idon’t,actually,wanttofollowhimdownthatroad.
MaybeI’ll…makeasalad.Foronce.LarrysniffsaroundthekitchenasIcutupgreens.Itrytofeedhimacucumber,buthesniffsatitandlooksatmelikeI’vegonecrazy.MaybeIhave.
“Ifnobodyisevergoingtotakecareofme,I’llhavetostart,”ItellLarry,whowhines.Thenheheadstothedoorbuthitsthefoyertable,again.Heneedstogoout.Idragmyselfawayfrommyhealthylunch,stuffmyfeetintomywornUggs,grabmyparka,indireneedofawash,andlumberouttothefrigid,subzerocoldsnap,thecoldwindblastingmesohardIcan’tbreatheforasecondortwo.That’sbrisk,baby.Larrywhines,headstohisfavoritepatchofsnow-coveredgrass,anddoeshisbusinessquickly,eagertogetbackinsidetothewarmthofourapartment.Overnight,wegotadustingofsnow,justenoughtowetthetoesofmyboots.
Itrudgeinside,Larryonmyheels.AsIstompthesnowoffmyboots,Irealizeit’snearlynoon,andIfeelhowthisSaturdayisstretchingemptyandterribleinfrontofme.TonightisJack’sbigawardceremony.IwishIweregoingwithhim.That’sthetruthofit.I’mwallowinginpity,whenIgetatextfromMom.
I’mcomingover.Bethereinfiveminutes.
What?Mom,I’m
ButbeforeIcanfinishthetext,Ihearmybuzzersound.Irushtomydiningroomwindowandlookdown,seeingMom,bundledinherankle-length,puffywhitedowncoatthatmakesherlookliketheMichelinMan.Shehitsthebuzzeragain,impatient,andlooksupatme,herhoodfallingback.Shepointstothedoor.
Reluctantly,Ibuzzherup.Sheclompsupstairstomyapartmentandletsherselfin.Shedoesn’tevenhavehercoatoffbeforeshelaunchesintoatirade.
“Whathappenedwithyoursister?”shedemands,fullgunscockedandreadytoblaze.So,Namiwentandtattled.Figures.She’sbeendoingthatsinceweweretoddlingaroundinPull-Ups.
“Uh,well…thebridesmaiddressdidn’tfit.”IbracemyselftohearthelectureabouthowIshouldbedoingFlyFitwithhermoreoften,abouthowweshould’vebeendouble-dieting,likeshe’dwantedtodoallalong.
Butshewavesoffthatfaultwithadismissiveflipofherhand.Shedoesn’tseemtocarethatIgainedweight.Interesting.
“ShetoldmeyousaidsomethingmeanaboutMitch?”Momplopsdownonmycouchasshetakesoffherscarfandhat.Well,justmakeyourselfcomfortable.Larrycomesovertogiveherasniffhelloaboutsixinchesofffromherknee.Shegiveshergrand-dogaperfunctorypatonthehead.
Isigh.“Yeah.”
“Whatwasit?”Shesoundsreadytogroundme,exceptshecan’tanymore,Iremindmyself.I’mafullyfunctioning,independentadult.
“Itoldhershecoulddosomuchbetterthanaguywithzeroambitionwhokeepsbraggingaboutagamingchannelthathe’llnevercreatebecauseyouhavetoactuallydoworkforitandhe’sthelaziestpersonI’veevermet.”
Momfallssilentandpensive,asshelacesherfingerstogetherinherlap.IbracemyselfforthecominglectureabouthowIneedtobeabettersister,andthinkaboutmysister’sfeelings,andrealizetheimportanceofaweddingday,andmakeitthespecialonce-in-a-lifetimeoccasionshedeserves,andblah,blah,blah.Nami’sthefavoriteanywayand…
Instead,Momletsoutalongbreathofair.“Oh,thankGod,”sherevealsinahushed,conspiratorialtone.“IthoughtIwastheonlyone.”
Holdeverything.
“Wait…what?”Idon’tunderstandwhat’shappening.“IthoughtyoulovedMitch.”
“Oh,Godno.WheneverIvisit,hejustdrinksbeerandplaysthosedarngameswhereherunsaroundshootingaliens.”Sherollshereyesindisdain.“He’snotonlyswimmingintheshallowendofthegenepool,it’sactuallyaninflatabletoddlerpoolfromWalmart.”
“Mom!”
“Youthinkyou’retheonlyonewho’ssassyinthefamily?Thinkagain.”Ihaveasuddennewandprofoundrespectformymom.“I’vebeenwonderingifdullnesscanbepassedtomygrandchildren.Hemakescouchpotatoeslookdynamic.”
“Ican’tbelievethis,”Isay,sinkingdownintothecouchnexttoher.“Yourealizewecould’vebeenmakingfunofMitchbehindhisbackforyears?Somuchwastedtime.Howcomeyoudidn’tsayanythingbeforenow?”
“Whydidn’tyou?”Momcounters.
Isendherasharpglance.“Seriously?YouthinkIwantedtobethenailthatgetshammereddown?Noway.Iwasn’tgoingtospeakup.”
“IguessIdeservethat.”Momsighs,shakingherhead.
“DidyoueverthinkabouttalkingtoNami?”
“ToNami?”Momlooksatme,darkeyeswideindisbelief.“She’dexplode.Youknowshedoesn’tdowellwithcriticism.Thattemper…”
“Dad’s.”
“Don’tIknowit,”Momagrees.“Nobodyinthisfamilydoeswellwithconflict.”
“Tellmeaboutit.Anytimetherewasafight,Dadwouldjuststartyellingtogeteveryoneelsetostopyelling.”IrememberDad’sexplosiveburstsoftemperatthedinnertable.Inthecar.Onfamilyvacations.Everywherewewere,prettymuch.
Momlaughsalittleatthememory.Shesighsagain.“That’swhyIalwayssaid‘thenailthatsticksoutgetshammereddown.’”Shecoversherhandwithmine.“Iwasjusttryingtoprotectyou.FromDad’stemper.Hewasalwaysoverworkedandunder-slept,andhehadashortfusetobeginwith.Ithoughtifwealljustsatstillandquiet,thenitwouldpass,andwe’dallbeokay.”Momglancesatme.
“Isthatwhyyoualwayswarnedusaboutbeinghammereddown?”Iblink,astonished.“BecauseofDad?”
“Yes.WhyelsewouldIsayit?”
“Idon’tknow…”Irubmyneck.“Ithoughtyoujustdidn’twantustotakerisksingeneralorsharewhatwereallythoughtaboutanything.Imean,that’swhyIneverspokeupaboutMitch.”
Momblinks,shocked.“WhywouldyouthinkIdidn’tcarewhatyouthought!OfcourseIwantedtoknowwhatyouthought!”
Thisisnewstome.“Yeah,butwhenwe’dtalkbacktoDad,youtoldus‘don’tbethenail.’SoIthoughtitwasjustbadtospeakup.”
Momsighsandpincheshernose.“IwasjusttryingtoprotectyoufromDad.Themoreyoutalkedback,theangrierhe’dget,andIjust…Ijustdidn’tthinkitwasworthit.ButmaybeImadeamistakethere.Maybeweallshould’vejustshoutedandscreamedandgottenallourangerout.Inevermeantthatyoushouldcensoryourselflikeyoudo,Sora.Inevermeantforyoutofeellikeyourfeelingsweren’tasimportantaseverybodyelse’s.Andforthat,I’msorry.”
Ithitsmethenallatonce:anepiphany.NamihandledDad’stemperbyfuelingherown.IhandledDad’stemperbystayinginert,quiet,andnotmakinganysuddenmoves.Itexplainsalotaboutme.LikehowIgetstuck.Likehowbeingstucksometimesfeelssafeandwarmandcomfortable,evenwhenIknowit’snot.Likeafterthemiscarriage.
“Iamsorryhewassoshort-tempered,”shesays,soundingalittlesad.“Hedidn’tmeantotakeitoutonyoukids.Itwasn’tyourfault,youknow.”
“Oh,Iknow,”Isay,eventhoughrightupuntilthismoment,I’mnotsureIdid.
Sheputsherheadonmyshoulder.“Iloveyou,Sora.Soverymuch.Youknow,youalwayswerethewiseone.”
“Me?Pffft.”Still,Ibeamatthecompliment.“So,I’myourfavorite.NotNami?”
“Idon’tplayfavorites!”Momprotests,butIknowshemeansme.
IglanceatMom.“DidyouhearthenewsaboutMarley?”
“IshemovingtoSiberia?”Momasks,hopeful.MomisnofanofMarley.
“No.Heknockeduphisgirlfriend.”Sayingthisoutloudmakesthisstupidlyreal.“They’regettingmarried.”
“Lord!Hasthatmaneverheardofacondom?”Momcluckshertongueindisapproval.Thenshereachesouttograbmyhand.
“WhenItoldMarleythatIwaspregnant,heyelledandshoutedatmethatI’dtrickedhimandthenstormedoutofourapartment.”Ihatethatmemory.“Itwasn’tanInstagrammoment.”IshowherthephotoofMarleyandLululemon.Theywereconsiderateenoughtomakeitpublicsoaquicksearchbringsitupeverytime.Shefrowns.
“Youdon’tknowthatthisis,either,”Momsays,handingmyphonebacktome.“Youdon’treallyknowhe’schanged.Whoknowswhathappenedadaybeforethisphoto?”
“True.”TwomonthsafterIpeedonthatstick,wegotmarried.Nearlythreemonthsafterthat,Ilivedthroughthathorribledayatthedoctor’soffice.Thedamnworriedlookontheultrasoundtech’sface.Something’swrong,isn’tit?I’daskedher.
“You’rebetteroffwithouthim.Youknowthat.”
“Iknow.Ijustwanthimtobemiserablewithoutme.”
“Oh,heis.He’salwaysbeenmiserable.Miserableexcuseforaman.”
Thismakesmelaugh.Ah,Mom.Wedon’thaveaperfectrelationship,butwhenthingsgetreallytough,Icanalwayscountonhertobeinmycorner.Always.Momreleasesmyhand.“Youknow,Iknowyou’regoingsoloforFebruaryorforhoweverlongyouwant.Buteventually,Iknowthatyou’llfindsomeonemeantforyou.”
IthinkofJackandwonderifIalreadyhave.“Iactuallymetsomeone,Mom.Ibrokemy#GoSolovow.”Theconfessioncomesoutinatorrent.“Andhe’sgotthisbigeventtonight,andIshouldbethere,butnowIthinkI’vescaredhimoff.AndImadeapromisetoArial,tomyreaders…”
“Whynotjustwriteaboutit?”Momasks,simply.“Whynotjustadmitthestruggleyou’regoingthrough?Justadmitthatyoubrokeyourvow.Levelwithyourreaders.Onceyoudothat,youcanshowupforJacktonight,withafreeconscience.Justadmitwhat’sgoingon.”
“That’llmakemethenail,though.”
“Weshouldallbethenailsometimes,”shesays,withadismissivewaveofherhand.“That’stheonlywayanythingevergetsbuilt.”
I’vegotarealsecretconfessiontomake.…Ihaven’tbeenentirelyhonestaboutgoingsoloIstarttyping,thewordsflyingoffmykeyboard.IfeelnervousenergyinmyfingersasItype.I’mfinallycomingcleantoalltheSoloists.Ihavenoideahowthey’regoingtotakeit,butIatleasthavetotrytolevelwiththem.
Imetsomeone.Actually,Ijustreconnectedwithanoldfriend,awonderfulfriend,someoneIusedtoknowinkindergarten.ItoldhimIvowedtogosolo,andhetoldmehe’dwait.Buthe’sgotabig-dealawardsthingforworktonight,andIdon’tthinkit’srightformetoleavehimalonebecauseI’vesetanarbitrarytimetoworkonmyself.SoloFebruaryhasbeenamazing,andI’mso,sogladit’shelpedsomanyofyou.It’shelpedme,too.Helpedmetotakecareofmyselfalittlemore.Tomakesmarterdecisions(aboutwhoIdateandwhatIeat),andtojusttakecareofmyselfalittlebitbetterthanIhavebeen.
Buttherealjoyofitwasmeetingallofyou.You’vebeensowonderful,sosupportive.
So,I’mleavingtheSoloFebruarychallengealittleearly.Iknowafewofyoumightbeupsetbythis,buthearmeout.Sometimes,theuniverseworksinsurprisingways.Sometimes,whenyoustoplooking,youjustmightfindtheperfectmatch.
It’snotsomethingIeverinamillionyearsimaginedwouldhappen.Butitdid.
AndIoweittomyselftoseewherethiswilllead.
Wishmethebest.
IsendthearticletoArialbeforeIcanchangemymind,eventhoughIknowsheprobablywon’tevenreadituntilSunday.ThenIcallJack.
“Hey,Idon’tknowifit’stoolate,butI’dlovetobeyourplus-one,”Itellhisvoicemail.“Iwanttobethereforyouonthisreallyimportantnight.Ithink…Ithink…”
Iwanttosay:I’mfallinginlovewithyou,too.ButIpausetoolong,andthevoicemailbeeps.“Ifyou’rehappywithyourmessage,pressone…”
Crap.Ideletemymessage.Itryagain.
“Hey,uh,Iwanttobeyourplus-onetonight.I’vedecided—”
Ack,deletethat.
“Yo!IwannagototheOscarsofBaking!”
Delete.
“Hey!RaceyoutotheOscarsofBaking?”
Deleteagain.Deleteall.
Ugh.
ThenIwriteanddeleteaboutadozentexts.I’mrunningoutoftime.Ineedtojustdecideonone.
Hey.Iquitthe#GoSolochallengeandwanttobeyourplus-onetonight.Ifyou’llhaveme!
IgetanautoresponsefromJack’sphone:I’mdrivingrightnowandunabletoanswermytexts.I’llgetbacktoyouwhenit’ssafe!
Iglanceatmywatch.He’sonhiswaytotheawardsalready.It’snearlytime!
Myphonerings,andIperkup,hopingit’sJack.Instead,it’sArial.
“Hey,Sora?Igotyourarticle?”Hervoicesoundsalittletense.Alittlelessupbeat.Shedoesn’tlikethearticle.“Anduh,Idon’tknowhowthisisgoingtogo?AreyoureallyendingSoloFebruaryearly?”
“Yes.Ididn’twanttolieanymore.”
“Okay,butI’mnotsureourreaderswilllikethis?Theyreally,reallydigtheideaofSoloFebruary.Andyou’rekindoflike,saying,uh…nevermind?Like,uh,forgetit?”
TheoldSorawouldcaverightnow.TheoldSorawouldagreeandoffertochangethearticle.ButthenewSora…
“Iseewhyyoumightfeelthatway,”Ibegin.“Butthat’snotthepointofthearticle.Thepointiseveryonehastochoosethepaththat’srightforthem.”
“Yes,butthereadershavechosentogosolo?Andtheymighthateitifyouduckoutearly?I’mjustwarningyou?”
Ihavethatoldfamiliarfearaboutstickingmyneckout.ThenIthinkaboutthefactthatbeingquiethasn’tgottenmeanywhere,either.IfI’dspokenupwhenMarleyhadn’tpaidhisshareofhouseholdexpenses,orwhenDanhadn’tbeenaroundonweekends,maybeIwould’veendedthosebadrelationshipsearlier.
“IknowI’mbeingthenail.ButI’vejustgottodoit.”
“Uh,thenail?”Arialasks.
“Nevermind.Longstory,IjustmeanI’vegottosticktomygunsonthisone.”
“Okay,butifthereadersrevolt,Idon’tknow?”Iknowshemeansthatifthisgoessouth,shedoesn’tknowifthefull-timejobofferstillstands.Igetit.
“Iunderstandit’sarisk.”
“Ifyou’resure?”
“I’msure.”
Now,allIhavetodoisgetdressedandheadtotheGoldenChefAwards,whichstartinlessthananhour.
ItakeJack’sticketwithmeinmytinyblackclutchbag,asItakearidesharetotheHancockTowerontheMagnificentMile.I’vegluedonmylashes,andpouredmyselfintodoubleSpanxandmyoldstandby,aflattering-for-allA-lineblackdress.I’mwearingmylongdarkhairwavyandloose,andI’vegotGrandma’spearlson.IliketothinkIlooklikeanAsianAudreyHepburn,andItrytoavoidmirrorstokeeprealityatbay.I’vegotredstilettosonmyfeetbecause…whynot?Theymatchmywoolcoat.Whocaresiftheweatherladypredictsablizzardlater?IneedtolookgoodnowandIrefusetowearsnowbootsbecausethatwouldbelikeadmittingdefeattowinter.NotthisMidwesterngirl.
I’mcursingSaturday-nighttraffic,becauseI’mevenlaterthanIfearedI’dbe.IrushinsideHancockTower,pastthegiantroundreflectingpoolinthecenterofthelobby.It’sempty.TheceremonyisbeingheldattheswankySignatureRoomontheninety-fifthfloor,andsignspointtoroped-offareasneartheelevatorsforGoldenChefAwardsticketholders.That’stechnicallyme.Idon’tseeJack.Theceremony,Irealizewithacoldsweat,isalreadyunderway.Ishowmytickettotheelevatorguard,andhewavesmeforward,intoasuper-fastcar.MyearsinstantlypopasIridethefastestelevatorinNorthAmerica,speedingfromthefirstfloortotheninety-fifthinthirty-eightseconds.Thenthedoorsopentoaglittering,gorgeous,golden-huedrestaurantwith360degreesoffloor-to-ceilingwindows.IsuckinabreathasIseethecityofChicago,lightstwinklingtooneside,andthelarge,darkexpanseofthelaketotheother,abigsilverhalfmoonreflectedinitscalmwaves.
“Wow,”Imanage.
ForgettheSearsTower.OrWillisTower.Orwhateverthey’recallingitthesedays.ThisisthebestviewinChicago.Verywell-dressedpeoplepacktherestaurantwiththeamazinglyhighceilingsandthegolden,flatteringlowlightthatwashesoverthediningroom.Beautifullydecoratedtablesdotthehugediningroom,allcarryingexpensivebottlesofSignatureRoom–labelchampagneinbuckets.TheGoldenChefhatlogoseemstobeeverywhere,andit’sallgorgeouslydecorated.It’stheperfectspot,Ithink,foragrandromanticgesture.
Awardsarebeinghandedoutfromasmallstagenearthewindows,andIhopeandpraythatIhaven’tmissedJack’sevent.Iglancearoundtheroom,lookingforJack.Whereishe?Therestaurantislow-lit,andtherearesomanydark-hairedmenintuxedos,Ican’tfindhim.Utensilsclinkaspeopledigintotheirappetizersfromtheprixfixemenu,andotherssipchampagnefromcrystalflutes.IrealizeIrecognizemanyofthesepeople.They’refamouschefsfromalloverthecountry.Actually,theworld.SomearerealityTVstars.Thereareafewothercelebritiesaswell,fromChicago-areashows,andafewfromHollywood.It’sabigdealtobenominated,clearly,andI’msoproudofJack.
“CanItakeyourcoat,miss?”amaninatieasks,andIrealizeI’mnearthecoatcheck.
“Oh,sure.Thankyou.”Hetakesmyredwoolcoatandhandsmeaticket.Ikeepscanningthecrowd.Onthestage,awomanacceptsanawardforBestSousChef,thankingherfamily.
Where’sJack?
Andthen,Iseehimontheothersideoftheroom.He’ssittingatalarge,roundtableoften,thechairnexttohimempty.Helooksfantasticinhistuxedo,hisfullerbeardlookingclippedandcoifed,andinshort,likethesexiestsuperspybakerI’veeverseen.Hiseyeswideninsurpriseasheseesme.PleaselethimnotbethinkingthatIcleanupwell.MentendtorefertomelikeI’macrabfisherman—shockedwhenIrollintoarestaurantwithoutplasticoverallsandgaloshesandnotsmellinglikedeadfish.
Iwaveathim,andhewavesback,buthestilllooksstunned.Didhenotgetmymessage?Ihesitate.Isthisbig,grandromanticgestureamistake?ThenIseeawomanwalkingtoJack’stable,wearingathin,shimmerygoldgown,andcarryingamatchingclutch.She’swearinghergoldenhairinfingerwaves,soshelookslikeastarfromglamorousoldHollywood.Irecognizeherimmediately.
Mal.
Jack’sex-fiancée.
Shesitsrightdownnexttohim.Inhisplus-oneseat.Anddrapesherarmaroundhisshoulders.Nineteen
JACK
Loveissupposedtosolveallourproblems,butwhatifitjustcreatesthem?
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
“Whysostiff,Jack?”MalwhispersinmyearasIstrugglewiththeabsolutenightmareunfoldingbeforemyveryeyes.
Ican’tbelieveMalshowedup.
But,frankly,I’mmoresurprisedSoradid.
Ijust…didn’tthinkshewould.I’mstunned.Malnexttome.Soraafewfeetaway.Sure,IgotSora’smessageaboutwantingtocometonight,butI’llbehonest,Ididn’tgetmyhopesup.Howmanytimescanaguyberelegatedtosecondplacebeforehegetsthemessage?IreallythoughtwewereBig-LLove,eventhoughshewastellingmeandthewholeworldthatshedoesn’tevenbelieveinBig-LLove.
I’mjustthisbigpatheticpuppytryingtomakewomenlovemewhocan’tloveatall.
ButnowthatIseeherstandingthere,IseeshedoesbelieveinBig-LLove.AndGrandRomanticGestures,orshewouldn’tbehere.
ButnowI’mgoingtoloseher.
BecauseofMal.
Andmyowndoubt.
“Whatthehellareyoudoinghere?”IhisstoMal,eventhoughIknowwhy.She’sbeenthreateningtocomeforweeks.Ididn’ttakeherseriously,butIshouldhave.
“Presentinganaward,”shesays,feigninginnocence.“IknowsomeonewhoknowssomeonewhorunstheGoldenChefs.Why?Isthisseattaken?Orcan’tIsithere?”
“No,youcan’t.”Butit’salltoolate,Sorahasseenher.Andshe’sclingingtomelikeadryersheet.IwatchtheblooddrainingfromSora’sface.
“Jack-a-boo,”shepurrs.“Theseatwasempty.Ijustwanttokeepitwarm.”
Ishrugheroff,shootingtomyfeet,butthedamageisdone.It’stoolate.Sora’sturnedonherheel,alreadypushingbyawaiter,andheadedbacktotheelevators.
“Sora!”Icry,andafewpatronsturnandstareatmeasIchaseafterSora.“Sora,wait.”
Soradashespastthecoatcheck,nearlyknockingovertheattendant.Icatchherrightbeforetheelevators.
“Sora,wait.”
Shewhirls.“YoucouldhavetoldmethatMalwasyourplus-one.Thatshe’sthereasonyouwantedtowaituntilMarch.Youcouldhavejusttoldme.”
“She’snot.Ipromise.There’snothinggoingonbetweenus.”
“Soyousaid.”Sora’svoicedripswithdoubt.AndIdon’tblameher.
“Iknowhowthislooks,butyouhavetobelieveme,Ididnotinviteherhere.”
“What’sshedoinghere,then?”Soraputsahandonherhip.
“She’sapresenter.Shehasconnections.”Itsoundslikeaweakexcuse.Idigupmoretruth.“She’sbeenthreateningtobemyplus-oneforweeks.Itoldherno,butshedoesn’ttakenoforananswer.”
Sorastaresatme.“Whydidn’tyoujusttellmethat?Whykeepitasecret?”
BecausethenI’dhavetoadmitthatMalandIslepttogetheraweekbeforeIbumpedintoSoraatmyfreesamplestable.ThatthereasonwhyMalthinksshecanbemyplus-oneatallisbecauseImadeaterriblemistake.ButIdon’twanttotellSorathat.ItwouldjustconfirmherfearsthatI’mnotoverMal.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmethatyouweregoingtobeonthatmorningshow?Thatyou’drecommittedtoSoloFebruary?”Later,watchinghersegmentonlinebashingloveandallmen,callingbothawasteoftime,hurtmorethanI’dliketoadmit.
Webothstareateachother,realizingthetruth:neitheroneofushasbeentotallyhonestwiththeother.Itshakestheveryfoundationofeverythingbetweenus.
“Don’t‘whatabout’me,”Sorawarns.“Thisisdifferent.”
“Sora,please,Iknowmenhaveliedtoyouinthepast.ButIamnotlying.MalandIarenotdating.”
“Andnow,toannouncetheawardforBestPastryChef,Igiveyou…theheiresstotheStarrHotels,MalStarr,”avoiceacrossthespeakersannounces.
“Thisismycategory,”Iadmit.
Soracringes.“Mal’sgivingoutyouraward?That’swhatshe’spresenting?”
“Ididn’tknowshewas.”ButIgethowridiculousIsound.Eventomyself.AndhowdidInotseethiscoming?Ofcourseshe’dpullstringstopresentmyawardcategory.
“Howcouldyounotknow?”Painandaccusationflashinhereyes.
Mal’salreadyonstage.I’vegotoneeyeonher,andoneonSora,andI’veneverfeltsodivided.Sorastalkstothegildedelevatordoorsandjabsthebutton.
“Sora,please.Justwait.Fiveminutes.”
“Ican’t,Jack.Ijust…”Sora’seyesarefillingwithtears.
“Fine.Thenlet’sgosomewhere.Let’stalk.I’llcomewithyou.”I’ddoanythingtomakeherstopcrying.Anything.
“AsthesoleheirtotheStarrfamilyfortune,”Malbegins,“I’vebeenveryfortunatetoeatatsomeofthefinestrestaurantsintheworld.Myfamilyownssomeofthem,anditwasmylatefather’sfavoritepastimetotalktothepastrychefsinourkitchens.Heusedtosayifahotelcouldn’tservegooddessertstoitsguests,thenitmightaswelljustbearoadsidemotel.”
Amurmurofchucklesripplespolitelythroughtheaudience.
“Please,Sora.”
“Jack,Idon’tthinkthere’sanythingtotalkabout.”Sorajabstheelevatorbuttonagain.
“I’msoveryhonoredtopresenttonight’sawardforBestPastryChef,”Malcontinues.She’scallingoutthenominees.“AndtheGoldenChefgoesto…”Shecracksopenthewhiteenvelope.“JackMann.”
Soralooksatme,eyessad.“Goon,”shetellsme.Theelevatorsding,announcingthearrivalofanelevator.
“No,Sora,wait.Just…”Thespotlightisonme.Everyoneisapplauding.ButI’mnotmoving.Theelevatordoorsslideopen.
“Whilewewaitforthewinnertomakeittothepodium,”Malsays,“IjustwanttotakethisopportunitytoannounceJack’snewendeavor.Withhisprizemoney,wearegoingtoopenabakerytogether.Comingnextmonth!”
Theapplausekicksupanotch.ButSora’seyeshaveturnedcoalblack.
“She’sbackingyourbakery?”Hervoiceisweakanddefeated.Theelevatordoorsbegintoclose,butIstopthemwithahand.
“No.”Ishakemyhead.“Absolutelynot.She’sbeenthreateningtogetinvolved,butItoldherno.”
ButMalisstilltalking.
“We’resoveryexcitedtobeannouncingtheopeningofJackMann’s—thenewGoldenChefwinner—casualnewbakery,completewiththefullbackingofStarrIncorporated.Starrnowownsthepropertyandwillbeworkinghand-in-handtolaunchJack’snewbakery.”
IfeellikeI’vebeenhitbyaMacktruck.Thelicenseplatereads“MalStarr.”Everythinginmyfieldofvisiongoeswonky,andIbarelyheartheapplauseoftheaudience.
Thiscannotbehappening.
“Goonandacceptyouraward,Jack.”Sorapushesmyhandfromtheelevator,justasMalappearsbymyside.
“He’salittleshy!”shejokesassheloopsherarmthroughmineandtugsmehard.I’mjust…shell-shocked.TheelevatordoorsslideshutonSora,hereyesshiningwithtears.Irecovertoolate.Ijabuselesslyattheelevatorbutton,butthecarisalreadygone.
“Comeon,Jack-a-boo.Yourpublicawaits,”Malwhispers,holdingthemicrophoneagainstherhip.“ItoldyouI’dbuyyourbakeryifyoudidn’tbringmeasyourplus-one.”Hervoiceisbarelyanaudiblehiss.
Itakethemicrophonefromher.Myearsring.Isuddenlyfeelnauseous.
“Thankyousomuchfortheaward.I’msograteful.”Anotherelevatorslidesopen.“ButIhavetogo.”
TheelevatordoorsopenandIstepin.Inthirty-eightseconds,I’mbackonthegroundfloor.Irunout,lookingforSora.Whereisshe?Notinthelobby.Notnearthemodernreflectingpool.Nowhere.IrunthroughtherevolvingglassdoorsandfindmyselfinthefrigidFebruarynight,franticallysearchingonewayandthenanother.IseeSora,sanscoat,walkingawaytothecorner.
“Sora!”Icall.Whatisshedoing?She’sgoingtofreeze.Ijusthavemytuxedojacketonandthecoldalreadyslipsstraightthroughthefabric,likeghosthandsagainstmyribs.Iruntoher—she’sworkinghardtogetawayfromme,thoughherstilettosandtheicysidewalksslowherdown.
CabsandridesharesrushbyonMichiganAvenue.Sheflingsupherarm,tryingtosignalone.Twocarsspeedbyalreadycarryingpassengersinthebackseats
“Sora,wait.”Igrabherelbow,whichfeelslikeice.“You’regoingtocatchcold.”Ishrugoutofmyjacketandthrowitoverhershoulders,butassheturns,Iseethetearsstreakingdownherface.
“Youcould’vejustbeenhonest.ThatMalisbackingyourbakery.”
“She’snot.Ipromise,she’snot.”
“Ijust…Ican’tbelieveyou.”Sobschokehervoice.Icanbarelyunderstandwhatshe’ssaying.“You…liedtome.”Sheflashesherphoneinmyface.She’sfoundaphotoonMal’ssocial.It’saselfieMaltookofus.Onthatnight.Thatstupidmistakeofanight.She’slickingmyface.We’rebothdrunk.Atthebar.ThenightItookMalhome.Damnit.Ican’tdenythat.
“See?Thatlookonyourface.It’strue,isn’tit?”
“Sora.Please.Let’stalkaboutthis.”Acabslidestothecurbbesideus.
“No.”Sheopensthecabdoorandslidesin.“Ican’tbelieveyou’rejustlikealltheothers,”shesays,damningme.SheslamsthedoorbeforeIcansayanotherword.Andthenthecableavesme,jacket-less,insubzerowindchill,standingaloneonMichiganAvenue.Twenty
SORA
Ifyou’relookingforsomeoneelsetotellyouwhoyouare,theyaregoingtogetitwrongeverytime.Onlyyoucandefineyou.Nooneelsecan.#GoSolo.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Jackcallsmanytimesthatnight.Andthenextmorning.Isendthemalltovoicemail.Ijust…can’t.Ican’tanymore.That’stheplaintruthofit.ButthephotoofMallickinghisface…thepossessivewayshe’dtakenholdofhisarmattheawards,thefactthatshesatathistable.WhatamIsupposedtothink?It’sDanalloveragain,andmewanderingaroundabanquethallthatishostinganelectricians’unionmeetinginsteadofabarmitzvah.Andit’sMarley,too,sputteringonabouthowsextingisn’tcheating—technically.AndChris,tellingmehewasgoingtoCancúnwithabuddyfromcollege,butthenbustinghimselfwhenhesentapictureoftheviewfromhisbalcony,failingtonotethattheframeincludedaneon-yellowthongbikinihungouttodryovertherailing.
Alittlevoiceinsidemyheadwhispers,Thisiswhatmendo.Youknewhewastooperfect.HewasgoingtosaveValentine’sDay,andnowhejustreinforcedwhatIthoughtallalong:it’sthedevil’sholiday.HowcouldIbesogullible—again?HowcouldIbelievethatJackwouldn’tbejustliketherest?Ishould’velistenedtomygutearlyon.IthadbeenwarningmeallthistimeJackwasn’toverMal.
IthinkaboutMarley.AboutDan.Aboutmyrottenluck.I’mspiralingdownintoapitypartyevenasI’mchokingbacktears.WhydidIeverletJackin?WhydidIbelieveafteralifetimeofevidencethatmenjustlie,lie,lie,thatI’dfinallyandatlonglastfoundonewhowouldtellmethetruth?
Mynoseissoredandrawthatit’speeling,andI’msoincrediblysadthatIdon’tknowhowI’lldragmyselfoutofthis.I’vebeenbrokenheartedbefore,butneversuckerpunchedquitelikethis.
Ican’tevenimagineconsideringJackhasanexplanationthatwillmakeeverythingokay.It’sexhaustingmetoeventry.
I’msotired.Sobone-tired.Ofthelies.Ofhopingitwillbedifferentthistime.Beingoptimisticisfreakin’exhausting.Putaforkinme.I’mdone.I’mtiredofbeingduped.Andtheonlywaytostopbeingdupedistostopbelievingwhateveryonetellsyou.
Infact,tostopbelievinganyone.Ever
LarrywandersovertothecouchwithhistonguelollingoutandIcrushhiminabearhug.Atleastdogsareloyal.Fromhereonout,thiswillbetheonlymaleinmylife.
Icryintohisfur,acutelyawarethatI’vebeenherebefore.Larryknowsthedrill.Heturnsandtenderlylicksmyface.Miraculously,hisdepthperceptionworksrightthen.Hedoesn’tevenmissthistime.Hegetsitonthefirsttry.
AtleastLarrylovesme.
Sniffling,IswipemyfacewithpapertowelsbecauseI’moutoftissues,andIrealizeI’vebeenderelictinkeepingmycondowell-supplied.Thefridgestandsempty,andLarry’sbowlbarelyhaskibbleinit.AndI’mnoteven100percentsureIhavetoiletpaper.
Myphonerings.IfumbleforitandseeArialcalling.
“Hello?”Ianswer,myvoicesoundinglikeIswallowedacheesegrater.Ugh.Theuglycryingjagstilllingers,apparently.
“Sora.”Arialsoundsserious.Zeroquestionmarksorupwardlilts.Uh-oh.
“Yes?”Isituponmycouch.Larry,whohadbeenzonkedoutnexttothecoffeetable,raiseshisheadatthesoundofmyvoice.
“Haveyouseenthereaction.Toyourpiece.”
“No?”NowIsoundlikeArial,withallmysentencesendinginanupwardlilt.What’shappening?“Isitbad?”
“It’snotgood.”
IfranticallypullupSlick’spageandseeabillioncommentsaboutmy“takeyourownroad”post,thatIabsolutely,positivelywishIcouldtakeback.HowstupidIsoundinit.Howna?ve.
Andthecommentsarebrutal.
Youcouldn’tevenmakeitthefullmonthforSoloFebruary?Areyouthatdesperateforvalidation?
Or…
Ican’tbelieveIbelievedyouwhenyoutalkedaboutempowerment.Youwerejustusingittogetwithsomeone.Howpathetic.
And…
Ibelievedinyou.Youletmedown.
Howcouldyou?Seriously!Howcouldyou?
Youshouldbecanceled.Immediately.
Hatethis.Hateyou.
Quitter.
Liar.
Fraud.
It’snowonderyoucan’teverfindanyonetoloveyou.You’repathetic.
ThewarmcommunityI’dbuilthasturnedcoldandhorribleandmean.Allthepeoplewhoheldmeuparenowtearingmedown.Ineverthoughtthey’dturnthisfast.Therearehundredsofthousandsofdislikes.
“You’regoingtohavetofixthis.”Arialsoundsstoic.
“Letmeworkonit.I’llgetyousomethinginacoupleofhours.”What,Ihavenoidea.
“Good,because…Idon’tknow,Sora.Ifwecan’tdodamagecontrolnow,thennojob.Nobenefits.”
Iactuallydon’tknowthatIcare.TheSoloFebruarypeoplehateme.Jackbetrayedme.Mylifeisdesolateandempty.WhocaresaboutajobthatI’mnotsureIevenwantedinthefirstplace?Larrylicksmyelbow.
“Don’tworry.I’llfixit,”Isayanyway,eventhoughI’mnotsurehow.
IhangupwithArialandimmediatelyheadtomyfeeds.It’sgettinguglyfast
#GoSoloFraudistrending.Wow,it’sbrutaloutthere.PartofmeknowsIdeserveit.But…ouch.
Ahardknockcomesonmydoor.Larrybarks,confused.Therewasnobuzzer,sohe’snotsurewhattomakeoftheknock.Asmallpartofmehopesthat,somehow,it’sJack.Another,largerpartofme,dreadsthatpossibility.
Iheadtothedoor,Larryonmyheels,andpeerthroughthepeephole.Pamstandsonmywelcomemat.
Isigh.Really,universe?Icrackopenthedoor.PamliterallyjumpsbackwhensheseesLarry.Maybeshereallyisafraidofdogs,andit’snotjustsomehatevendettashe’sgotwithme.
“He’sreallyfriendly,”Itrytoexplain.
“I’vegotyourdogfoodbox.”Pamshovesadentedfarm-to-tabledogfoodboxatme,andIgrabit.
“Ican’tbelieveyoubroughtmeLarry’sbox,”Isay,shocked.Iwould’vethoughtshewould’vetakenthisdirectlytothedumpsteroutback,givenherhatredofdogsandLarryinparticular.
“Justtryingtobeagoodneighbor.”ThosearethewordsIsaidtoherafewweeksago.Andshe’snotbeingsarcastic.Wow.
“Thanks,”Isay,andmeanit.
“DidyoureallyquitSoloFebruary?”sheasksme.
“Yeah.”Isigh.Iwonderifshe’sgoingtopileon.
“Peoplearebeingbrutaltoyouonlinerightnow,”Pamnotes.Now’sthetimeshecangloat.Sure,whynot?Ideserveit.
“They’renotbeinganymorebrutaltomethanI’mbeingonmyself,actually,”Iadmit.“Itwasastupidmistake.TheguyIbrokemysolovowforliedtome.”
Pamletsoutadisgusted-soundinggrunt.“Don’ttheyall?”Shesighs.“Stupidmen.Thomwasaliar,too.Hespentourmortgagemoneyonawomanhewashavinganaffairwith.Shewasacollegesophomore.Canyoubelieveit?Acollegekid.Nineteenyearsold!Nineteen!Hehelpedpaysomeofhertuition.”
“Seriously?”Ihadnoidea.
“Yeah.Itwasmyfaultfortrustinghimtopayallthebills.Wewereonemissedpaymentawayfromforeclosure.ButIgoteverythingbackontrack.Hadtodipintomy401(k),though,afterIkickedhimout.”
“Oh,Pam.Iamso,sosorry.”
“Well,you’vebeenthroughthewringer,too.WithMarleyandnow…thisnewguy.”
“Listen,aboutMarley…”Istart.
“It’snotyourfault.”Pamwavesastiffhandatme,tostopwhateverI’mgoingtosaynext.“He’sjustonemorejerk,justliketherestofthem.”
“Yeah.”
Wesmileweaklyatoneanother,aWikipediaofshareddisappointmentspassingbetweenus.
“Hey…aboutLarry,”sheadds.“Idon’thaveanythingagainstLarry,exactly,Ijust…IgotbittenbyadogwhenIwasyounger.Neverreallygotoverit.”
“Oh.”NowIkindoffeellikeanass.“I’msorry.”
“IknowI’mkindofirrationalwhenitcomestodogs.”Pamshrugs.
“Larryreallyisasweetheart.Ipromise.He’dneverhurtyou.Wanttopethim?”
PamglancesatLarry’ssnoutthroughthecrackeddoor,hesitant.“Idon’tknow.”
“Onlyifyouwantto.Youcanlethimsniffyourhand.Imean,youdidluguphisfancykibble.”
PamglancesatmeandthenatLarry.ShereluctantlylowersherhandtoLarry.Hegivesitasniff,followedbyaslobbery,full-tonguelick.Shejumpsbackabit.
“Ew,”shesays,butshelaughsalittleasshewipesthebackofherhandonhertights.
“Helikesyou.”
“Great.”PameyesLarry.ButdoIsee…asmiletuggingatthecornerofhermouth?“Okay,well.Thiswillpass.Soon,peoplewillbeangryatsomeoneelse,andthey’llmoveon,andthisnewguy,you’llforgethimandmoveon,too.You’llhandleit.Becausewe’rethekindofwomenwhojusthandleourshit.”
Shenodsatme,andInodback.
ThismightbethekindestthingPamhaseversaidtome.AndherencouragementcamerightatthemomentIneededitmost.
“Thanks,Pam.”
“Well,I’vegottogetbacktomylaptop.I’vegotameeting.Haveagoodone.”
“You,too—and,uh,thanks,”Isay,shuttingthedoorasshetrotsbackdownthestairs.Well,willwondersnevercease?DidLarryandIjustcallatrucewithPam?Huh.Thatwasasurprise.Ithinkshefeltsorryforme,nowthatalltheSoloFebruarypeoplewantmyheadonapike.Still,I’lltakethepity.She’sbeenthroughitandsohaveI,andmaybeweareprettydamntough.
IkickthedoorshutwithmyfootandripopentheboxwithLarry’sgourmetsamplebricks,infusedwithonlythefreshestandmostorganicandexpensiveingredients,cookedbysomecelebritycheffordogs,andpackedwithonlythefinestdryicetokeepitcool.Atleast,atlonglast,IcanfinallygiveLarrythetreathetrulydeserves.Larrytrotsovertosniffthebox,butmisses,againbyaboutsixinches.Ipulloutavacuum-sealedbrick,andwaveitunderLarry’snose.Hesmellsit,cautiously.
“You’regoingtolovethis,Lar.Alltheinfluencerdogsareeatingit.You’regoingtobetrendy!”Itakethebrickovertothekitchen,noticingitdoesseemtohaverealchunksofmeatandpeasinit,whichIguessisgood,butotherwise,itjust…smellslikedogfood.Also,it’sanunpleasantshadeofmudbrown.Iglanceatthebrochureinsidethebox,theonewiththeadorablelittlefluffywhitedogwithonepawraisedinanticipationofherownersettingdownherfreshlunch.Thatdog’sbowlreallylookslikeithascarrotsandchunksofsteakinit.Hmmm.Well,we’vegotit,sowhynotgiveitashot.IopentheplasticpackageandspoonalittleintoLarry’sbowlforataste,andthenplaceitdowninfrontofhim.Hesniffsatit,sixinchesoffagain,butthensitsdownandglancesupatme,skeptical.
“Youdon’tlikeit?”Ican’tbelieveit.
Itakeaspoonfulandputitrightuptohismouth.Helicksatit,suspiciously,andthenshiftsawayfromit,turninghisheadtooneside,asifIjustofferedhimkale.Heflashesmeaguiltylookwithhisonegoodeye.
“Youreallydon’tlikeit.”Ican’tbelieveit.Onetruffle-infusedlambbrickcostsasmuchasaGrubDashfromthelocalbarandgrill.IsuspectLarrywouldratherhavethedoublecheeseburger.WhatamIgoingtodowithaboxfullofcurated,hand-hewndogbricks?
Larryliesdowninfrontofhisbowlandputshisheadonhispaws,lookingcontrite.Iguesshejustdoesn’thavefancytastes.Still,IfeellikeIcan’tevendosomethingniceformydogwithoutitbackfiring.
Ican’tevenmakeLarryhappy?
Mylifeisamess.Twenty-one
SORA
Nooneiscomingtorescueyou.You’regoingtohavetoclimbondownfromthattowerbyyourself.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Ihideinmydraftycondoandjustkeepalowprofile,avoidingeverysocialmediaplatformeverinvented.ThelastthingonearthIwanttodoisopenmylaptopandletallthathorrible,horriblestuffclawitswaybackinfrontofmyeyeballs.Alreadythecriticismshavebeencirclingmybrain,liketermiteseatingawayatmyself-esteem.
You’resuchafraud.
Ican’tbelieveIevenreadasinglestupidwordyoueverwrote.
It’swomenlikeyouwhokeepotherwomendown.
Shameonyou.
Thiswasallasham.#GoSolomeansnothingnow.Thanksfornothing.
TheworstpartisthatnothingtheycouldeversayisworsethanwhatI’mtellingmyself.Theythinkthey’rehardonme?TheyhavenoideawhatI’mtellingmyself.Ishould’venevertrustedJack.Ishould’veseenthiscomingamileaway.IhadsomethinggoodgoingwithSoloFebruary,andIletaguydistractme—again.
AllIcanthinkaboutisJack.AndseeingMalhughisshoulders,andthedeep,bittertasteofbetrayallingeringatthebackofmymouth.
IcallStellabecauseIneedadvice.PreferablyfromsomeonewithaPhD.inbehavioralpsychology.
“Youshouldbetakingbettercareofyourself.Haveyoueveneatentoday?”Stellaasks,takinginmyappearance,asshewalksintomycondo.Which,tobehonest,Ihaven’tevenbotheredtocheck.Sheglancesatmyfeet.“Areyouwearingonlyonesock?”
IlookdownandseeIam,indeed,wearingonemint-greensock,andtheotherfootisbare.Ihadn’tevennoticed.
Ihughertightlytomeanddon’tletgo.
“Okay,okay.We’regoingtogetthroughthis,”shesays,huggingmebackamomentbeforegentlypeelingmeoffher.“Firstthingis,let’sfindyourothersock.Oranyothersock.Nextthing,let’sgowashyourfaceandcombyourhair.”
IrealizeIhadn’tbotheredtodoeithersincecominghomefromtheGoldenChefAwards.OnequickglanceinthemirrorandIseedeepblackstreaksofmascaradownmyface.I’mamess.Iglancedownatthebathrugandseemyothermint-greensockthere.Itugiton.Okay.Onetaskcomplete.
“Also,Ibroughtyouanicefreshsalad,”Stellacallsthroughthedoorofthebathroom.“Andabottleoftequila.”
“Thetequila,yes.NotsureifIcaneat,though.”Iwalkoutofthebathroomfeelingslightlybetter.Also,Ifoundmysock.
“Sincewhen?”Stellastaresatme,bug-eyed.
“I’mjustasshockedasyou.”
“Butthissaladhasbacon.”Sheopensthecardboardcontainertoshowme.Idoadoubletake.“Imean,it’skosherturkeybacon,butstill,”sheexplains.
Normally,I’dbehappytodigin,buttheveryideaofeatingmakesmewanttothrowup.Mythroatclosesupatthemeresightoffood.Ipushthesaladaway.“I…Ican’teat.”
“I’msorry.Isittheturkeybacon?”
Ishakemyhead.
“Okay.Tellme.What’swrong?”
IgivehertheSparkNotes.SoloFebruarycrashingandburning.Jack.Mal.Thedisasterthatismylife.
“TheworstpartisJackhadaredflag.TheverydayImethim,Malwasthere,andI…I…ignoredit.JustlikeIsaidIwouldn’t.Iignoredthishugeredflag,andnowhereIam,rightbackintheplacewhereIdon’tasktherightquestionsearlyandthenjustgetrolled.”Isigh.“Oh,andeveryoneonlinealsowantsmedead.Sothere’sthat,too.”
Stellaputsherarmaroundmyshouldersandtugsmecloser.Igo,puttingmyheadonhershoulder.“Ithinkit’stimeforaliquidlunch.”Webreakapartandshereachesforanother,smallerbrownbag,andpullsoutabottleoftequila.“Shallwe?”
“IthinkIloveyou,”Isay,assherises,fetchestwoglassesfrommykitchen,andpoursalittlebitofa?ejoineach.WeclinkglassesandthenItakeadeepswig,thetequilatheonlythingthatcannumbtheachingpainofmyheart,splitintwo—again.Theburndownmythroatfeelsgood.“CanIjoinyourteam?Giveuponmen?”
Ileanonmybreakfastbar.Stellahoistsherselfuptooneofthestools.
“YouwanttodateTerran?”Stellaasks,raisingachallengingeyebrow.“She’savailable.”
“Right.Iforgot.Datingsucksforeveryone.”
Stellasendsmealookofpity.“You’regoingtohavetotalktohim,”Stellagentlytellsme.“Youdon’treallyknowwhathappened.”
“He’sjustgoingtodenyitall,”Isay,asIscoochintotheseatnexttohers.“Andtheevidenceisprettytoughtodispute.”
“Yes,but…”Stellatakesasmallsipofherowntequila.“You’llhavetotalkitout.Afteryou’vebothcalmeddown.Ifyoustillthinkhe’slying,thendumphim.I’mallforit.Ijustthinkyouneedafulldiscussionaboutthis,andnotonafreezingcoldsidewalk.”
“YoureallythinkJackwilltellmethetruth?Noonetellsthetruth.Imean,hello,Terrain?Youknowpeoplejustsuck.Theyalllie.”
“Iknow.But…everythingyoutoldmeaboutJack…heseemedlikesuchamensch.MaybeitwasallaliebutI’mjustnotsure.”
“Tellmeaboutit.”Isigh.
“Maybethereisanexplanation,”shetellsmegently.
“Aren’tyoualwaystheonetellingmethatthesimplestanswerisusuallytherightone?Whatdoyousayaboutthezebra?”
“Whenyouhearhoofs,don’tthinkit’sazebrawhenit’sprobablyahorse?”
“Bingo.”Isnapmyfingers.
“Yeah.”Stellanods.“Usually,thesimplestansweristherightone.”
“Okay,then.”Iblowmyalready-rednose.“Heliedtome.Endofstory.”
“Ithinkyoushouldtalktohim,”Stellaadds.“Notforhissake.Foryours.Tobesure.You’rerightthatyoudidn’taskenoughquestionsearly,butyouhavetostillaskthosequestions.”
IknowwhyI’mnotaskingthosequestions,becausepartofmedoesn’twantitconfirmedthatJackisterrible,andI’mafool.
“Whytalktohim?There’snoelaborateMalconspiracy.Hewantsherashismainandmeashissidechick.ThestoryofabouteverymanIevermet.I’mdestinedtoforeverandalwaysbethesidechick.”IthinkaboutDanandhiswife.Marleyandhisendlesssextingofeverywomanheevermet.
“Well,technically,youwereMarley’smainchick.”
“Thatdoesn’tmakemefeelbetter.”
Stella’smouthcurvesintoasympatheticsmile.“Yeah,Iknow.”
“Andironyofironies,nowallthereadersthinkIditchedSoloFebruaryforaguy,andsonowtheyallhateme,too.”
“Ithinkitwasbravetocomeclean,”Stellasays.“I’mgladyoudid.”
“Everyonehatesmeforit,though.”
“Ihaveaquestion:EvenwhenyouweregettingalltheaccoladesfromSlickreaders,wasthatreallywhatyouwantedtobewriting?”
“No,”Isay.“Ialwayswantedtowritemoreseriousstuff.Notthatdatingisn’tserious,butjustmore…aboutissues.”
“Like?”
Isniff,wipingmynose.“Climatechange.Womenrunningforpoliticaloffice.Really,anythingthatdoesn’tinvolvemakeupordating.”
“So,what’sstoppingyou?”
“Everything.”Isigh.
“Look,youcan’tbesomethingnewandgreatwithoutsayinggoodbyetosomethingoldandcomfortable.Youhavetomakeroominyourlifeforthethingsyouwant.Andifit’snotwritingforSlick,thenit’stimetomoveon.”
“YouthinkIshouldn’twriteforSlickanymore?Imean,actually,Idon’tevenknowifArialwillletmewriteforSlick.”
“Ithinkyoushouldfigureoutwhatyoudowanttowriteandwritethat.”
Isighandfinishmytequila.Itburnsonthewaydown.Justlikeeverythingelseinmyliferightnow.
Shelooksatme,worried.
“What’sthatlook?”
“Whatlook?”Shefrowns.
“ThatclinicalI’m-over-the-deep-endlookyou’regivingmerightnow?”
Stellatakesadeepbreath.Shealwaysdoesthiswhenshewantstolaysometruthonme,truthIprobablydon’twanttohear.
“Ithinkyouneedtodosomeseriousself-care.”
Irollmyeyes.“Oh,geez.Notthisagain.Afreakin’pedicureisn’tgoingtosolvemyproblems.”
Stellalaughsasshecrossesherlegsatthekneeandleansforward,gentlytakingmyglassfrommyhandsandputtingitonthebreakfastbar.She’sgotthatsquared-shoulders,ultra-focused,counselorstanceagain.“That’snotwhatImeanaboutself-care.Haveyoubeenlisteningtomeatall?”
“Yes.”Maybenot.SometimeswhenStellagetstootherapy-yItuneout.
“Self-careisaboutparentingyourself.Yes,it’saboutbeinggoodtoyourselfwithtreatslikepedicures,butitalsomeansmakingtoughdecisionsforyourself.Itmeansbeingtheadultinyourlife.”
“Ihateadulting.”Ipoursomemoretequilainmyglassandthenputmyelbowonthebreakfastbar,restingmychininmypalm.Stellacocksherheadtooneside.
“Yes,Iknow,”shesays.“Butlookaroundyou.ThisisthecondoyouandMarleybought.Whyareyoustillhere?IknowforafactthatMarleylovedthisplacemorethanyoudid.IranintoPamonthewayuphere.Shesucksallthepositiveenergyfromtheroom.Iknowyouwanttobeawayfromher.”
“Actually,wedidhaveaniceconversation—”
“Okay,butoneconversationprobablydoesn’tchangethefactthatyou’drathernotnecessarilyliveaboveher,right?”
Thisistrue.
“Sowhyareyoustilllivinghere?Nobodyismakingyou.”
Myoldfriendinertiais,butIthinkStellawon’tappreciatethat.
“YouhadajobofferfromSlick,butyoudidn’tevenwantit,andifyouwantmyopinion,Ithinkyouself-sabotaged.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”Isniff.
“Itmeansyouweretooafraidtosaynooutright,soyoujustworkedtomakesureyou’dmessitupsothatthey’drejectyou.”
“Thatsoundssupercowardlyandpassive-aggressive.”Ithinkaboutit.“Yep,couldbemeallright.”Stellalaughs,ruefully.“Okay,so,you’rerightaboutmycondo.Andmyjoboffer.But,menjust…Imean,I’malwaysgettingtrippedupbythem.Theyareruiningmylife.”
“Noonecanruinyourlifeunlessyouletthemruinyourlife.”Stellatakesadeepbreathandthentakesoneofmyhandsinbothofhers.“Youkeepwaitingforamantorescueyou,tomakeeverythingbetter,totakeawayalltheseharddecisionsbut,girl…youneedtodothosethings.Nomancandothemforyou.Eatbetter.Behealthier.Sellthisdamncondo.TellArialyoudon’treallywanttofreelanceanymoreandgoafterthejobyoureallywant.Youaretheoneinchargeofyourownhappiness.Notanyoneelse.”Shepatsmykneeforemphasis.“Betheheroinyourownlife.”
Eveninmytequilahaze,alightbulbgoesoff.Forthefirsttimeinalongtime,IknowwhatIneedtodo.Twenty-two
JACK
Betheheroinyourownlife.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Sora’snotreturningmycalls.Ortexts.Ishouldgiveup,callitquits.Shewon’tletmeexplain.Notevenalittle.AndI’dbelyingifIsaiditdidn’thurtthatshe’sshuttingmeoutsofast.Yes,weeksago,IgottangledupwithMal,andthatwasmychoice.Adrunkchoice,sure,butmine.Ishould’vecomecleantoSorafromtheget-go.That’sonme,too.
Because,rightnow,itlookslikeI’vebeencaughtred-handed.Technically,Ididn’tknowforsureMalwascomingtotheawardsceremony.ButI’dalsoknownshe’dbeenthreateningtocomeforweeks.WastheremoreIcouldhavedonetostopher?IthinkofdozensofwaysIcould’vekeptheroutoftheceremony.IMonday-morningquarterbackmyselfsohard,IfeellikeIshouldtryanewcareerasacommentatoronESPN.
ThefirstdayofMarchdawnsdrearyandgraywiththelingeringthreatofsnow.Isitinmybrother’slawoffice,staringoutoverthehigh-riseviewofLakeMichigan,insomeofthemostexpensiverealestateintheLoop,ashereadsovermybakerylease.Itturnsout,Maldidbuythebuilding.Andtheleasingcompany,andeverythingassociatedwiththebakeryIthoughtwouldbeallmine.I’mtechnicallyleasingthebakeryspacefromStarrInternational.Marctakeshistimewithit,awrinkleappearinginhisbrow.
“Whydidn’tyouletmereadthisbeforeyousignedit?”Heglancesupabovehisreadingglassesatme,hiselbowsproppedonhismassivemahoganydesk.Seriously,wheredoesapersonbuydesksthisbig?
“Becauseyou’rebusy.Andsometimesyou’reaprickaboutthingslikethis.”I’mteasing,butMarcstilldoesn’targue.Hejustgoesbacktoreading.Hemakesadisapprovingsoundatthebackofhisthroat.
“Well,it’sanironcladlease.Togetoutofit,youhavetopayayear’sworthofrent.”
Ijumpupandsnatchthepaperoutofhishand.“Thatcan’tbe.”
“Pagethree,paragraphtwo,linethree.”Hetakeshisreadersoffandputsthemonhisdesk.“You’rescrewed,man.”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“ThemanagementcompanyisdefinitelyownedbytheStarrfamily,”Marcsays.“LookslikeMaljustsignedthepaperworkafewdaysago.”
“Ithoughtshewasbluffing.”Should’veknownbetter.“Andthisstilldoesn’trisetothelevelofbodilyharm?Arestrainingorder?”
Marcshrugsoneshoulder.“Unfortunately,no.Shehasn’tphysicallyharmedyou,orthreatenedtodoso.Yes,it’sanuisance,butitdoesn’trisetoacriminallevel.Notyet.Imean,ifsheuppedyourrenttoaridiculousamount,orhassledyouinsomedefinableway…”Heglancesupatme,andI’mstruckbyhowmuchwelookalike.Granted,I’moneinchtaller,andhaveabitmoremuscleonme,butwe’vebothgotDad’schinandMom’sdarkhair.
“Thisisahassle.Ahugehassle.”
“Yes,buttherentismarketvalue.Ifshejackeditup,thenmaybewecouldsueher,buttherentisreasonable.”
“Butshe’sharmingmybusiness.Andmysanity.WhatcanIdoaboutthis?”IslumpintothechairnearMarc’sdesk
Marcstaresatmesternly,lookingremarkablylikeDad.“Haveyoutalkedtoher?”
“OfcourseI’vetalkedtoher.”DoeshethinkI’manidiot?“I’vetoldherit’sover.”
“You’renotleadingheron.”
“No!”
Marcleansbackinhischair.“Really?Youdon’tlovethatshe’salwaysbeggingtobebackinyourlife?Doesn’titfeelgoodtopunishher?”
“I’mnottryingtopunishher.”
“Notevenalittle?”Hesteepleshisfingersandstudiesmeoverthem,doinghisbestimpressionofDadgivingmealecture.
Ihesitate.ItoldmyselfIwasjustignoringherandhopingshewentaway,butmaybepartofmeknewignoringherwouldjustmakeherwanttobeinmylifemore.
“Maybealittle.Notonpurpose.”
“Sure,notonpurpose.”Marcraisesaknowingeyebrow.“Maybe,justmaybe,Sorawasalittlebitrightinthinkingtherewassomethingbetweenyou,afterall.”
“No.We’redone.”Imeanitthistime.
“Thenproveit.StoplettingMaltwistinthewind.Cuttheline.”Marcleansforward,hisbigleatherchairgroaningfromtheshiftofhisweight.“Reallytalktoher.Makeherseeit’sover.Forgood.Punishmenttime,playtime,it’sallover.”
Malneedsverylittlepersuasiontomeetmeatthecoffeehousedownthestreetfrommybakery.Itellherweneedtotalk.Sheimpliesshe’drathergetnakedinmybed.Itellher,“No,talk,withclotheson,inpublic.”Thecoffeehouseisasmall,walk-injointwithabaristainonecornerandalineofstoolsandasmallcounteracrossbothwindows.Duringworkhoursitgetsprettytightwithallthefolkswithlaptopsvyingforthefouroutlets,butnow,ahalfhourbeforetheplacecloses,it’snearlyempty.
Thesunsinksbelowthehorizon,turningthesidewalkpink.AmildMarchdaymeansthesnowpilesatthecornersofintersectionshavenearlymelted,leavinggiantlakesofmuddypuddles.ForthefirsttimesinceNovember,Icanseepatchesofdormantgrassinthemediansatthecenteroftheroad.Springiscoming.Itakeaseatatthecounterfacingthestreet,blowingonmytoo-hotlatte.CoulditbeaseasyasMarcsays?IsitreallyaboutjusttellingMalafirmno?
Justthen,Malsweepsintothecoffeehousedressedinform-fittingleggingsandacroptop,herCanadaGoosejacketopen,longblondhairflowingintohercoyote-fur-linedhood,herfeetcladinfurryankleboots.She’sgotonatonofmakeupjusttomakeherlookfresh-faced.Somuchexpensivehighlightingpowderandcontouringmakeup.Whensheseesme,sheboundsupandtriestogivemeahug.Istopherwithastrongarm.
“Mal.Sit,”Isay,noddingtothechair.
“What’sthis?”Sheglancesatthecoffeecupsittingatthecenterofthetable.Mine.“Isthismyfave?Half-caf,doubleshot,soymilk,extrahot,superskinny?LikeIlikeit?”
“No.”Ifrown.“It’salatte.”Mylatte,actually.
“Oh.Well,that’sokay.”Shesitsdownandtakesmylatte.NotwhatI’dplanned,butohwell.Shecanhavethecoffee.Besttogetthisoverwith.
“I’mheretoaskyoutosellthebakery.”
“What?Why?Don’tyouwanttobebusinesspartners?”Shegrabsmyhands.Ipullthemback.
“No,Idon’t.We’redone,Mal.Forrealthistime.”
Sheopensherpinklipstoargue,butthenstops.Somethinginmyvoice,maybemyface,Idon’tknow,finallyhitsachordwithher.
“Youdidn’tthinkweweredonelastmonth.”
“Thatwasamistake.We’reover.We’renevergoingtowork.”
Mal’sbottomlipbeginstoquiver.Tearsthreatentospill.Ihateitwhenshecries,andsheknowsit.Butit’snotgoingtoworkonme.Notthistime.Ihandheranapkinfromthedispenseronthetable.
“We’redone.Forgood.Youneedtosellthebakery.”
“No.”
“Youcansellthebakery.Or…”Iweighmyoptions.“Icancallyourmother.”
Malgoeswhite,andIknowwhy.Hermother,MelodyStarr,controlsthepursestrings.Also,MelodyStarrhatesme.NeverreallyfeltIwasgoodenoughforherdaughter,butonthis,she’dagree.ThatMalneedstostayoutofthebakerybusiness.
“Youwouldn’t.”
“Tryme.”Istareatheruntilsheblinksfirst.“Sellthebakery,”Itellher.
Shedabsathereyes.Shesniffs,loudly.Idon’tcareifshecriesinpublic.Idon’tcareifpeoplestare.Ijustwantheroutofmylife.Andtellinghertogo,reallytellinghertogo,istheonlywaytodoit.
Ipickupmyphoneandpulluphercontact.“I’mblockingyou.”Ishowherandhit“block.”“We’renotgoingtobefriends.We’renotgoingtotalk.”
Shegoespale.“Sowe’redone.Forgood.”Sheblinksatme.
Imeethergaze.“Yes.”
“Isitthatwoman?Soron?Sara?”
“Sora.Andmeaskingyoutosellthebakerydoesn’thaveanythingtodowithher.”
Hurtflickersinherblueeyes.Legitimatehurt.
“I’mdonepunishingyouforyourmistakes.It’sover.We’redone.”
Malstaresatthecuffofhercoat,playingwiththeinsulatedsleeve’sedge.Shedoesn’tsayanythingforalongtime.“So,allthetimeyoulistenedtomeaboutmyparents…aboutwhattheydid…”Mal’seyesfillwithtears.“Didyoueveneverreallycareaboutme?Ever?”
“OfcourseIdid.AndIreallyamsorrythathappenedtoyou.Noonedeservesthatkindofneglect.”Ipause.“ButIdidn’tdeservewhatyoudidtome,either.”
“Sothat’swhyyou’regoingoffwithSoda.”Shegrabsanapkinthistimeandblowshernose.Loudly.
“Sora.”Isigh.“Andshe’snottakingmycallsthankstothestuntyoupulledattheGoldenChefAwards,soI’mnotsurewherewestand.I’llbehonest.”
“Sorry.”Malsquirmsalittle,thoughshedoesn’tlooksorry.“Ifshe’soutofthepicture,then…”Mallooksatadhopefulforaminute.
“No,Mal.We’renotgettingbacktogether.NotevenifSoranevertalkstomeagain.We’redone.Forgood.”
Malslumpsbackintoherchair,lookingresigned.
“Youknow,nooneevercaredaboutthatbeforeyou.Everyonejustthought,‘oh,poorrichgirl.’Youreallysawme.”Malsniffs.“Ireallymessedallthatup,didn’tI?”
ThismightbethefirsttimeMaltookresponsibilityforanything.Ever.
Inod,feelingsad.“Youdid.Yeah.”
“Mysister’sstillnotspeakingtomeeither.”Sheballsupthenapkininherfist.Inod.Imean,Iwouldn’teitherifshesleptwithmyspouse.Wesitinsilenceforabit.Anawkward,awfulsilence,butMalisreally,Ithink,finallygettingit.
“Thisiswhymyparentsdon’tloveme.I’munlovable.”Asmallsobescapesher.Igrabanothernapkinandofferit.Sheswipesitfrommyhand.
“You’renotunlovable.”Ishakemyhead.“Youjustkeepmakingbadchoices.”
“HowdoIstopdoingthat?”Sheswipesathernoseagain.
“Howaboutdothenextrightthing?”Itellher.“Andthenthenextrightthingafterthat.Then,beforeyouknowit,you’renotdoingbadthingsanymore.Likestartwithsmallthingsandworkyourwayup.”
Sheconsidersthis.“ButwhatifIdoagoodthingandthenabadthing?”
“Thenyoujuststartoverdoinggoodthings.”
“So,thenextgoodthingIneedtodoissellthebakery,”shesays,swipingathercheeks.
Inod.“Yeah.That’sagoodstart.”
Malnods.“I’llsellthebakery.ThenIneedtoletyougo,forgood.”Hereyesmeetmine.They’refullofrealpain.Ihatethat,butthishastobedone.“SoyoucangobewithSora.”
Ican’tbelieveshegothernameright.Makesmethinkshereallyknewhernameallalong.
“Ifshetalkstomeagain.”I’mnotatallsureofthatyet.
“Shewill,”Malpromises.Twenty-three
SORA
Theysaytimehealsallwounds.Butwhydoesithavetotakesomuchtime?
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
I’mstillbrokenheartedandsad,butIamstartingtocleanupmyownmesses.AsLarrysnoresatmyfeet,onmy“office”duvet,Igrabmyshinysilverlaptopfrommybedsidetableandopenitup.Iflinch,asifworriedabombofhatefulinsultswilllobthemselvesoutofthebrightscreenlikecriticismgrenades,buttheydon’t.
Istareattheblinkingcursorofmylaptop.
Slickreadersdeserveanexplanation.ThatmuchIcangivethem.
IpullupmylastSoloFebruaryentryandwanttopunchmyself.LookatthesewordsI’mthrowingaround.Isoundridiculous.NowonderSlickreadershateme.
Ibegintyping.
Toeveryonepissedatme,Igetit.Andyouarerighttobepissedatme.I’mpissedatmyself.ItoldyouallIwas#GoingSoloandthenIbailed,hopingI’dgetmyhappilyeverafter,butyouknowwhat?Ididn’t.
Ipause,handsabovethekeyboard.AmIgoingtooutJacktothehundredsofthousandsofreadersofSlick?Ishould.He’ddeserveit.Yet…somethingstopsme.Blame-shiftingdoesn’tsolvemyproblemhere.Ican’tblameJackformydecisions.IdecidedtoendSoloFebruaryearlyandbroughtthewrathofbasicallyeveryonedownonmyhead.That’sonme.
Andyouallcalledmefakeandafraud,andinsomeways,Iwas.Ipitchedthisstorytomyeditor,butI’mnotsureIeverreallytrulybelievedinit.
Sure,Iwasbitter.
IwasangryatmenI’ddated.
ButIstartedtheSoloFebruarychallengeforthewrongreasons.BecauseIwantedtogetpaidformorearticles,andbecauseIwasangryatmyexesandsickofthedatinggame.Ineverreallybelievedinit.IneverreallyintendedforSoloFebruarytobecomesobig.
ButitbecamebigbecauseofYOU,notme.
Youmadethisreal.Notme.
And,yes,Iblewit.ButblowingitactuallyhelpedmeseeSoloFebruarynotasagimmick,orajoke,butassomethingtrulymeaningfulandimportant.Andthat’sallbecauseofyou,readers.Youallhelpedmeseethatputtingourmentalhealthfirstisimportant,thatgettingtoknowourselvesISimportant.
Iknowyou’reangryatmeandIgetit,butjustknowthatI’mcheeringyouon,ifyoudecidetogosoloforever,orifyoudecidetogetmarriedtomorrow.Itrustthatyoucanmakethebestchoicesforyou.Youactuallydon’tneedaSlickconfessionaltogetyouwhereyouwanttogo.Youdon’tneedmetellingyouwhattodo.You’vebeendoingaprettygoodjobofmakingdecisionsforyourselvesallalong.
Youcanbemadatme.Icantakeit.Buttherealsecretisyoudidn’tneedthesecolumns.Youdidn’tneedme.Youweremakingyourselfbetter,allbyyourselves.Youmadethishappen,notme.
Keepondoingit.Evenifyoufail.
Especiallyifyoufail.
Mymomusedtoalwaystellmenottostickmyneckout.Nottotakerisks,andIalwaysthoughtthatnottakingariskwasbetterthantakingoneandfailing.ButnowIrealizehowwrongthatthinkingis.Ifyoudon’trisksome,you’llneverwinsome.Sure,you’llfailsometimes.Lifewillhammeryoudown.
ButMomalsotoldmetakingariskistheonlywaytobuildanythingmeaningfulinyourlife.So,goon.Taketherisk.Whetheryouwinorlose,you’llbeonthepathtobeingbetter,andbeingyourbestselfisworththerisk.
IsendoffthearticletoArial.
Duringthecomingweek,thearticleturnsthetideofthepitchfork-carryingonlinemob.
Amajorityofsupportersforgiveme.
Thanksforyourbrutalhonesty.
Thattookcourage.
Youmademerealizeit’sokaytoblowit.AllIneedtodoispickmyselfupandtryagain.Thanksforlettingusknowyou’rehuman.
Sure,therearestillthoseangryatme.Thosewhodon’tforgivemeandwholetmeknowitallthetime.
Butintheend,Iletitgo.Isaidmypiece.
I’mfocusedmostlyonapplyingfornewfreelancegigs,reachingouttowomen’shealthmagazinesandfeministnonprofits,lookingformoremeaningfularticlestowrite.ThenIthrowmyselfintomassivespringcleaning.I’mputtingmycondoonthemarket.Iamfinallydoingit.Goodbye,Pam(eventhoughPamisnicerthanIgavehercreditfor).Goodbye,memoriesofMarley.Timeformetomoveon.
BecauseStella—andherbehavioralpsychologydegree—isright.I’vebeenapassiveobserverinmyownlife,andit’shightimeIgetintothedamngame.Evenbetter,therealestateagentItalkedtothoughtIcouldgetaprettypennyformyplace,andifImovethreeblockswest,alittlebitawayfromthetrain(andwhyisbeingneartransportationsuchabigdealagainwhenIworkfromhome?),maybeevenupgradetoanewercondo.Onewith…drumroll…centralACandawasheranddryerintheunit,alittlepieceofluxuryIhaven’thadsinceIwaseighteenandlivingfull-timewithmyparents.So,I’mcleaningoutthewholeplace.Timeforaspark-joyorget-the-hell-outsuperclean.
Plus,keepingbusyhelpsmenotthinkaboutJack.Okay,IstillthinkaboutJack.PrettymucheverymorningwhenIwakeup.Logically,itdoesn’tevenreallymakesense.We’donlybeentogetherashorttime,butman,he’dwormedhiswaydeepinsidemyheart.NomatterhowItriedtotempermyexpectations,partofme,myinnerthirteen-year-oldgirl,hadalreadyplannedourfutureyearstogether,skippingthroughtheaislesofIKEAandpickingoutournewfurniture.
Ahardknockcomesatmydoor.Nobuzzer.Larryliftshisheadandgivesacautiousbark.IpullmyselfupfromthepileofclothesI’vebeensortingintodifferentstacks:keep,donate,hope-to-fit-into-one-day,andno-chance-of-fitting-into-any-day-but-I’m-keeping-it-to-show-Ionce-didpiles.Iswingopenthedoor.Pamstandsthere,holdingsome
“Themailmanputitinmyboxbyaccident,”shesays.Thenhereyesgrowwideassheseesthemassivemessbehindme.“Whathappenedinthere?”sheinterruptsme.“Didyougetburgled?”
OfcoursePamwouldusetheterm“burgled,”likeshe’sninety.ThenIrememberwemadeup.We’renotenemiesanymore.
“No,I’mdoingsomecleaning.I’mputtingthecondoupforsale.”
ThisstopsPamcold.“Youare?”
“Yes.Longoverdue,actually.Myrealestateagentsaysshehopesitsellsfast.Andthen,Imean,lookatthebrightside,youwon’thavetoworryaboutLarryanymore.He’sthelastdoggrandfatheredin,sothecondobuildingwillbedog-free.”
Pamperksupforamoment.Butonlyamoment.“Yeah,butit’sstillkindofabummer.Iwasactuallygoingtoaskifyouwantedtocomeovertomyplaceforoneofmygirls’nights?IhavethemthefirstThursdayofeverymonth.”
“Iknow.”Theygetalittlebitlouddownthereafterthethirdbottleofrosé.
“Oh,right,well.Imean,you’rewelcometocomeby.Evenafteryoumove.”
“Really?”Pamnods.Well,willwondersnevercease.“Thanks,Pam.I’llcomebyonemonth.Thatwouldbegreat.”
Wesmileateachother,genuinesmiles.
“Uh,andletmeknowifyouneedanyhelp.Withpackingorwhatever.”
“Iwill,Pam.”Wow,it’snicehavinganeighborwhodoesn’thateyou.Shetrotsdownstairsagain.“And,uh…thanks!”Icallafterher.
“Noproblem,”shecallsbackup,throwingupanarm.Iheadbacktomybedroom,takingabreakfromthedeepcleantocheckemailonmylaptop.Larrytrailsafterme,takinguphispostcurledupatthefootofmybed.Ileanagainstmypillows,justasmylaptopchimes,announcingmyupcomingvideomeetingwithArial,whichIhadtemporarilyforgottenabout.Itakeadeepbreathandclickthe“accept”buttonforthemeet.Idon’tbotherheadingtothe“conferenceroom”ofmykitchen.Ithinkwe’rebothbeyondpretendingthatIdon’tworkfull-timeinbed.
“Hey?”Arialsays,soundingguardedbutoptimistic.Shelooksperfectasalways,cinnamonhairinperfectwavestohershoulders,asshesitsinfrontofthestunningviewofLakeMichiganinherexpensivehigh-riseoffice.
“Hey?”Ianswer.Webothstareateachother.
“Youdiddoanicejobofcleaningup?”Arialsays.“AndItalkedtomybosses,onemoretime?”sheoffers.“Butthey’vedecidedmaybenottohireanotherfull-timewriter.Imean,youdidanicejobrecoveringthatlastseries?Butthey’rejustnotreadytoofferyoufull-time?”
“Igetit.”Idoagutcheck.I’mactuallyrelieved.Ididn’twantafull-timepositionafterall.Why?Larryonlywantsthecheapkibble,anyway.
“Well,maybewecoulddoanewseries?Can’tguaranteeIcangetmybossonboard,butmaybeIcan.Wecouldcallit‘It’sRainingMenMarch’or‘MarchMenMadness’?”Uh-oh.Idon’tthinkI’mgoingtolikethisverymuch.“Maybegoontonsofdates?Splurgeonmenaftertakingabreak?”
Myheartachesatthethought.I’mnotready.I’mstill…notoverJack.
“Actually,Idon’tthinkI’mtherightpersonforthat,”Iadmit.“But…”Iglancearoundmydisasterareaofacondo,clothes,shoes,andboxesstrewneverywhere.“Whataboutadifferentlifestylestory?ForApril.Iwanttocallit‘SpringCleaning.’”
“Cleaning?”Arialwrinkleshernoseindisgust.“That’snotveryglamourous?Orfun?”
“Idon’tmeancleaningcleaning,likecleaningyourapartment.Imean,declutteringyourlife.Imean,unpackingallthatemotionalbaggageinyourlife.Doingthehardworkofself-care.”
“Pedicures?”Arialechoes.
“No,Imean,sure,getapedicure,butImeanself-carelikebeingtheparentinyourownlife.Doingthehardthings,makingthetoughdecisions,andintheend,takingbettercareofyourself.”
ThishasbeenmymantrasincemybreakthroughwithStella.I’msellingthecondo.I’meatingbetter.Okay,notperfectly,because,Imean,it’smewe’retalkingabout.
SilencegreetsmeasArialstrugglestocomeupwithadiplomaticanswer.
“Whatdoyouthink?”Iprod.
“Well?Ijustthinkthat‘MarchMenMadness’hassomuchmoreofaringtoit?”Arialmanages,takingasipofhercoffeeandnotlookingmeintheeye.
I’mtempted.Ihatetoadmitit,butI’mtempted.ItellmyselfIcanjustwalkdownthispathI’vealwaystaken,eventhoughIknowwhereitends:withmenotbeingtruetomyself.Really,hasn’tallthiswritingI’vebeendoingforSlickbeenalie,anyway?Iwantedtomakealivingwriting,butIneverwantedtomakealivingwritingthis.IrealizeIlettheideaofeasymoney,andworkingfromhome,getinthewayofwhatItrulywanttodowithmylife.Infact,I’vealwaystakentheeasypath,theobviouspath,withoutreallyconsideringwhetheritwasthepathIreallywantedatall.
Irealize,withperfectclarity,thatifI’mbusywritingMarchMenMadness,thenImightmissoutonwritingthestorythatreallymeanssomethingtome.IrememberStellatellingmeIhavetomakeroominmylifeforthethingsIdowant.
“No,Arial.I’msorry.Ican’tdothatstory.”
“Oh?”Arialsoundsshocked.Shesetsdownhercoffee.“Really?”Iknowwhyshe’sshocked.Slickpayswell.It’shighprofile.Whatevershewants,sheusuallygets.Butnotthistime.Thistime,it’sjust…toopersonal.
“Youknowwhat?IthinkI’mgoingtostepbackfromSlickforawhile.”
“Youare?”Arialcan’tbelieveit.And,really,neithercanI.
“Yes.”EventhoughIonlyhaveasmallbitofsavings,andgoingwithoutincomeisterrifying.IglanceatLarry,whoiscurleduponthecouch,sleeping.IknowI’lltakecareofhimandme,somehow.Timetotakearisk.Foronce.
“You’resure?”
ButdoingsomethingIbelieveinismoreimportantrightnowthanpilingupcreditcarddebt.AndIfeelaninnerconfidence:IknowI’lllandonmyfeet.BecausewhileImaynotbeabletocountonmen,IabsolutelyknowIcancountonmyself.
“I’msure.”
IendthevideocallwithArialfeeling…upbeat.Sayingnoisn’tashardasIthoughtit’dbe.Energized,IsendoutemailstoPoliticsTodayandWomenInternationalandadozenmorepositivee-zines.Iapplyfordifferentfreelancegigs.I’mhopefulthatmaybe,atlonglast,Icanwritestoriesthatmeansomething.
Mydoorbuzzes,announcingIhaveavisitortryingtogetindownstairs.Larrybarksoncueandjumpsoffthecouch,paddingovertothedoorandsniffingit,excepthe’saboutsixinchesawayfrommyactualdoorandhe’ssniffingthewall.
Partofmeworries(hopes?)it’sJack,asIpullmyselfoffthecouch,ambleovertothefrontdoor,andhittheintercombutton.ButwhywoulditbeJack?I’vemadeitclearIdon’twanttotalktohim.
“Sora?”Namicroaks,sounding…upset.Immediately,mybig-sisterradarisonhighalert.Somethingiswrong.It’snineonaFridaymorningandsheshouldbeatwork.“CanIcomeup?”
“Ofcourse.”Wehaven’ttalkedsincetheblowupinthefittingroom,andeachofushasbeenwaitingfortheothertoextendtheolivebranch,soforhertoshowupheremeanssomethingterriblehashappened.
Ibuzzherupandunlockmyfrontdoor,evenasItrytotidyupalittle(thestacksofclothesmakethisimpossible).ThenNamiburststhroughmydoor,tearsstreakingdownherface.Sherunsovertomeandthrowsherselfinmyarms
“What’swrong?”Imanage,panicinmygut,asmymindmovesthroughallpossibletragedies:cancer,caraccidents,deathinthefamily.
“M-M-Mitch,”shestammers.I’veneverseenherthisundone,andsoitcan’tbeasimplefightaboutthemusicfortheweddingprocessional.Igrabmymostlyemptyboxoftissuesandhandherone.ShewhipsonetoherfaceandblowshernoselikeaBflatonatrumpet.
“Thewedding’soff.”
“Theweddingisoff?”Istilldon’tcomputewhatmysisterissaying.Shegrabsanothertissueandblowshernoseagain,sniffing,assheswipesitacrosshernose.Shespiesthetequilabottleonmykitchencounternearthesink,grabsit,andtakesabigswigstraightfromthebottle.Thenstartshackinguncontrollably.
“Ugh!That’sso…sobad.”Sheswipesathermouth.
“Whoa,”Icaution,becauseNamiisalightweight.Shegetstipsyafterhalfaglassofwine.“Sitdown.Tellmewhathappened.”
Namidoesn’tsit;shepaces,huggingherselfasshesobs,thensucksbacktears,andthensobsagain.Forasecond,Ithinkshe’sgoingtohavetotellmeviasignlanguage,becauseshecan’tactuallycontrolhervoice.
“Okay,maybeyoudoneedthis.”Ihandherthetequilabottleandshetakesanotherswigtocalmherself.
Shemakesasourfaceandglaresatthebottle.“Howcanyoudrinkthisstraight?Ugh.Don’tyouhaveanythingelse?Maybeahardseltzer?”
“Ihaveredwine?”
Shewrinkleshernose.“Ew.Idon’tlikered.Ionlydrinkrosé—andonlyifit’sgotbubbles.Youseriouslydonothavehardseltzer?I’lleventakeagrossflavor.”
Iwanttomakefunofherforhersorority-girltasteinbooze,butIrefrain.Now’snotthetimetoteaseher.
“Sit.Tellmewhathappened.”Ipatthecouchnexttome.Namisinksintoit,sniffing.
“Mitchhadhisbachelorpartylastnight.Theyrentedapartybus.”
Oh,Lord.Mitchandhiscavemenbuddiesoutonthetowninsideaneonpartybusspellstrouble.
Shesucksinabreath.“He…hecheatedonme.”Namiholdsupherphone.She’sgotvideo,somehow,thatoneofMitch’sfriendssenttohim.Whilepartofitisblurred,it’sprettyobviousMitchisgettingablowjobinboomerangstyleinthebackofapartybus.Ew.ThatissomuchmoreofMitchthanIeverwantedtoseeinmywholelife.
“Howdidyougetthis?”
“Ihackedhisphone,”Namisays,unashamed.“Allhispasswordsaresomecombinationof‘Ditka’and‘1986,’inhonoroftheBears’SuperBowlvictory.”
“Ofcoursetheyare.”
“Howcouldhedothistome?Howcouldhe?”Herraisedvoiceisthickwithangerandbetrayalandshock.Shecoversherfacewithherhandsandsinksintomycouch.Igentlytaketheseatnexttoher,andwrapmyarmaroundhershoulders.Theyshudderwithhersobs.
“I’mso,sosorry,Nami.”NowwouldprobablynotbethetimetomentionthatIalwaysthoughtMitchwasadud,andthathisfriendswereonlyhalfagenesequenceaboveNeanderthals,soit’snosurprisehedidthis.He’dprobablybeenthinkingaboutitallalong,ashequietlysaid,“Yes,babe”toeverythingNamisaid.
“Youwereright.Abouteverything.AboutMitchnotdeservingallthiseffort.Abouthimbeinglazy.”Shesniffs,loudly.“WhenIaskedhimwhyhedidit,whyhecheated,hesaid,‘Babe,whatwasIsupposedtodo?Sayno?’Hecouldn’tevensaynotoablowjobfromarandomstranger.Becausethatwouldtakeeffort.”
Isigh.“I’msorry,Nami.I’msosorry.”
“Youwereevenrightaboutgoingsolo.Allthistime,Ithoughtyouwere…Idon’tknow…selfishfordoingit,butyouwereright,Sora.Ishould’velistenedtoyou.”
Ifeellikethecloudsmightpartandadivinelightmightshinedownonme,becausethere’snowayNamijustadmittedIwasrightaboutanything.
“You’resayingI’malwaysright?Thatyoushouldalwayslistentome?”
“Don’tpushit,”shegrowls.Namileansintome,though.“Oh!AndIhaven’teventoldMom,yet.She’llbeheartbroken!”
“Doyou…reallythinkso?”Iask,skeptical,rememberingjusthowmuchMomdoesn’tlikeMitch.
Namiblinksandpushesawayfromme.“Whatdoyoumean?MomlovesMitch.”
“Doesshe?”IstareatNami.Namistaresbackatme.
“Areyouserious?Shedoesn’tlikeMitcheither?Whydidn’tyoutwotellme?Whyareyoualwaysganginguponme?”
“Usganginguponyou?”Iask,shocked.“It’syouandMomwhoarealwaysganginguponme!Withthedietstuffandtheexerciseclassesandmypersonallifechoices.”
“Nottrue,”Namisputters.“YoualwaysganguponmeabouttheguysIdate.RememberJohn?”
“Incollege?Hewasalwaysjealousofeverythingyoudid.”Isnortmydisapproval.
“See?Youtwoarealwaystalkingaboutme.Judgingme.”
Huh.That’sexactlywhatIthinkNamiandMomarealwaysdoing.MaybeI’mnotthethirdwheelIalwaysthoughtIwasinthisfamily.
“Ugh.ImissDad.Atleasthe’djustyellatusandthenwecouldn’targueanymore,”Namisays.
“Yeah.Hedidthat.”Westareateachotherabeat,bothrealizingthat’sprobablynotthehealthiestwaytocommunicateasafamily.“Histemperwas—”
“Awful?Doyourememberhowanylittlethingcouldsethimoff?”
“Ofcourse!He’dsteponaLegoandstartcursingupastorm,”Isay,remembering.
“Orifweleftthecerealboxopen.”
“Orifweweretooloud.”
“Orifweweretooquiet!”
Webothlaughatthis.Dadwassohardtoplease.“Butrememberwhenhe’dgodowntotheschool,though?Likewhenmyeighth-gradeteacherthoughtIcheated.”
Welookateachother.“Yeah.Orwhenmysoccercoachbenchedmeforthedistrictfinalgame.”Namiwhistles.“Dadgavethemallapieceofhismind.Hedidtrytoprotectus.Inhisway.”
“Still,hecould’veusedtherapy.”
“IthinkDadiswhyIpickedMitch,”Namisays,bitingherfingernailasshehitchesuponekneeandloopsherfreehandaroundherleg.“Heneverraisedhisvoice.Healwaysagreedwithme.Neverwasshort-tempered.”
“That’strue.”He’sablobdevoidofallpersonalityandemotion,andthatincludesanger.
Namiglancesatme.“Hey,I’msorry.Abouttheotherday.SayingyouweretryingtohaveaheartattacklikeDad.”Sheswipesatherweteyes.“Ijust…Idon’twanttoloseyou,too.”
Iseefearinhereyes.WebothlostDadwithoutanywarning.Ipullherinforatighthug.“You’renotgoingtoloseme,”Ipromise.“I’mgoingtobeheretoannoyyou—andruincouples’dancesorwhateveryouneedruined—foryears.”
“Good.Youbetterbe.”Namisniffsintomyshoulder.Shedrawsback,wipinghernose.“Andyou’renotreallycareless,”sheadds,somberagain.“I’msorryIsaidthat.”
“It’sokay.Ididcrashthecar.That’slegit.”
Namichuckles.
Ithinkaboutallthewaysourparentsshapeus—Momandherendlessdieting,Dad’sshortfuse.AndDad’ssuddenexitfromourlives.“Youknow,MomandDad,theyjustdidthebesttheycould.They’reflawed,andwe’reflawed,andwejustallhavetolivewithit.”
LarrytrotsoverandsniffstothesideofNami’sknee.Shegivesherdognephewascratchbehindtheears.
Namistaresatme.“Sincewhenareyouso…zen?”
“Self-care,”Isay.
“Pedicures?”sheasks,clearskepticisminhervoice.“That’sallittook?”
“It’smorethanthat.”
“Okay.”Namishrugs.“Hey.I’msorryifIwasabitchduringweddingplanning.”
“Iwasprettybad,too.”Isigh.“Let’sjustblameMitch.Ithinkit’sallhisfault.”
Namilaughs,rueful.“Damnstraightitis.”Shesniffs.“CanIstaywithyouforawhile?Sleeponyourcouch?Ijust…don’twanttogohome.”
Iguessshedoesn’twanttogobacktothecondosheandMitchshared.Idon’treallyblameher.
“Ofcourse,”Isay.“Stayaslongasyouneedto.ButIamputtingthecondoonthemarket.”
“Youare?”Namisitsupramrodstraightonmycouch.Larryliftshishead,andNamigiveshimapat.“It’saboutdamntime!Momsaysyoushould’vesoldthisplaceyearsago.”
“Uh-huh.Whatwereyousayingaboutnotganginguponmebehindmyback?”
“Oh,please,”Namisays,butshesnugglesintomyarm.Sheleansherheadintome.“Ineedmoretequila.”Sheholdsupthebottleandtakesaswig.“God,Ijust…Ifeelsobroken.”
“Givemeaturn,”Isay,andshehandsmethebottle.Itakeahardsip,too,feelingtheliquidburndownmyesophagus.“Yeah.Iknow.Lifeplaysroughsometimes.”Iglanceataboxsittingnearmycoffeetable.GrandmaMitsuye’sJapanesedollspoketheirheadsout.NearthemsitsGrandmaMitsuye’sbowl.It’sbeeninthefamilyforgenerations,anoldgrayandblueceramicricebowlfromJapan.
“IsthatGrandma’sbowl?”Namiasks,pointing.
“Yeah.Shegaveittomeafter…”Themiscarriage.“AfterIlostthebaby.”
“Oh,”Namisays,andsheleansoverandpicksupthebowl.“It’scracked,”shesays,pointingtothegold-linedcracksalongthesideofthebowl.
“DoyourememberwhatGrandmaMitsuyealwayssaid?”IaskNami.
“Shesaysweholdourchopstickslikepeasants,”Namisays.“SheremindedmeofthatwhenItookheroutforsushilastweek.”
Ilaugh.That’sGrandmaMitsuye.“No,no.Rememberwhatshesaidaboutthebowl.Thegold?”
Namisquints,tryingtoremember.“Oh,yeah.ThatbrokenceramicsinJapanarerepairedwithliquidgold.Whatdidshecallthat?Ken-something?”
“Kintsugi,”Isay,remembering.
“Right.Wait.Whatwasthatagain?”
Andforthefirsttime,allthethingsGrandmatoldmeafterthemiscarriagestarttomakesense.MaybeIwastoomuchinthemomentatthetimetounderstandwhatshewastellingme.Butnow,yearslater,Ifinallygetit.
“Japaneseseetheflawasauniquepieceoftheobject’shistory,”Isay.“Soinsteadofhidingitorcoveringitup,theyoutlineitwithgoldpaint.Thecrackaddstothebeautyofthepiece.Itmakesthepieceuniqueandbeautiful.”Iglanceatmysister,who’srunningherfingeralongagoldencrack.“Andthemetalpaintmakestheceramicevenstronger.Yousee,thosescarsarebeautiful,andthey’reevenstrongerthantherestofthebowl.Scartissueisstrong.Andsothat’sgold.”
Namistudiesthebowl,holdingituptothelight.
“So,yousee?You’renotbroken,”ItellNami.“You’vejustmadeabeautifulnewscar.Let’sfixitwithliquidgold.”
Namiputsthebowldown.Thenshegrabsthebottleonmycoffeetableandtakesaswig.“Orwithtequila?”
“Sure.Yourchoice.”
Namiholdsupthebottleoftequila.“Tobeautifulscars,”shesays.
“Tobeautifulscars,”Iecho,andwebothshareaweakgrin.Twenty-four
SORA
Askyourself:Whodoyouwantyoursoulmatetobe?Thenbethatperson.Becausethesoulmateyou’relookingforallalongisyou.
—SOLOFEBRUARYCHALLENGE
Namimovinginactuallyworksoutnicely.Shehelpsmeclean,tacklingthemoldinmybathroomgroutlikeshe’sscrubbingoffMitch’sface.Turnsout,springcleaninghelpsbothofus.I’mstillsadaboutJack.MorethansadaboutJack,butIalsorealizethatI’dbeenhopinghe’dsavemewhenIhavetosavemyself.That’sthetruespiritofSoloFebruary,Irealize,learnedamonthlateandaJackshort.Butthereitis.Live,learn,repeat.Whencracksappear:applyliquidgoldandmoveon.
OfcourseeverythingremindsmeofJack.That’stheproblem.Hejustwon’tgolightlyintothe“lovedandlost”file.EverytimeIseeatorteoranydamneddessert,IthinkofJack.Someguywithanyfacialhair:Jack.Valentine’scandythat’s75percentoff:Jack.IstandintheaisleatMargo’soncededicatedtoValentine’sDayandmourntheloss.Now,it’sasingleshelf,filledwiththeworstcandy:whitechocolatefilledwithnougat?Really?Thenthere’stheoneortwostuffedanimalsleft,andoneismissinganeye.Itakeit,figuringLarrymightenjoyhavingastuffedanimalhandi-capable,justlikehim.TherestoftheaisleisstockedwithSt.Paddy’sDaygreen.“Kissme,I’mChi-rish”and“BeerMakesEverythingBetter”shirts,andIfeelarealpangofloss.Ican’tbelieveit.Imissthefreakin’Valentine’saisle.IrememberJack,bringingmechocolateandwine.RememberspendingthebestValentine’sDayofmydamnlifeeatingheart-shapedpizzaandbabysittingJack’sfirecrackerofaniece.
Thelosshitsmehard.I’mnotjustheartbroken,I’mgrievingwhatcouldhavebeenIrealizethatneitherMarleynorDanevertouchedthislevelofheartbreak,becausedeepdown,IneverreallybelievedMarleyorDanhadwhatittooktogothedistance.ButJack…Jackwasdifferent.Nomatterhowbrieflywedated.Ordidn’tdate.Jackheldpromise.
Iwheelmycarttowardthebakery,butIknowJackisn’tthere.He’sreplacedbyapurple-hairedwomanwithshornhairandlotsoftattoos,andIknowthatshe’snotgoingtogivemeanyfreetortes.Jack’sofftoopenhisnewbakery,Iassume.Wehaven’tspoken.Helasttextedaboutaweekago.Ifandwhenyou’rereadytotalk,I’mhere.ButIalsorespectyourdecisionnotto.KnowthatIcareaboutyou.Somuch.
Thatwasahardonetoignore.ButIjust…Ijustcan’t.AnytimeI’mtemptedtoreachouttoJack,IrememberMalinhergold,clingydress,hangingonhisshoulder,andIfeelthebetrayalandthehurtalloveragain.HowcanItrusthim?Iwheelmycarttothecheckoutline.Now,I’veactuallygotgreensinmycart.Spinach.Cucumbers.Grapes.Oatcerealtolowercholesterol.Andasmaller,minipackofbaconinsteadofthefamilysize,becauseI’mcuttingbackabit.I’mtakingbettercareofmyself.Beingtheadultinmyownlife.Itkindof…feelsgood,actually.Imean,don’tgetmewrong.I’mnotloadingupwithkaleandkombucha,but…eatingrightisn’tallbad.
Ibuymygroceriesandtakemyreusablebags,heavynowwithmostlyhealthyfood,downthesidewalk,freeoficeforthefirsttimeinweeks.Acouplewalksby,holdinghandsandeatingicecream.Irealizethatforthefirsttimeinmonths,theweatherisactuallynice.Thesunshinesaboveme,andthetemperaturehoversnearfifty-five.Greensproutspokeoutofnearbytreelimbs.Springisabouttospring.Notaclouddotsthebrightblueskyabovemyheadasanothercouplepushesastrollerdownthesidewalks.Thetoddlerinsidemeetsmygazeandgivesmeabright,joyfulsmile.Ismilebackathim,andhegiggles.
Iroundthebend,seeingmyoldmeatpackingbaron’scastlestandingtall,the“ForSale”signabeaconinthesmallgrassypatchofyard.I’madulting.Itfeelsfine.Itrudgeuptothesmallblackwrought-irongatethatfencesinthebitofgreen,andI’mswingingthedooropenwhenIhearavoicebehindme.
“Sora?SoraReid?”Iturntoseeawomaninafur-trimmedcoatandblack,pointystilettobootsemergingfromthebackseatofanexpensive-lookingMercedes.Herdriverclicksontheparkingflashers.
“Mal?”ThelastpersononearthIeverexpectedtosee.
Shegivesmeadisdainfulonce-over,judgingmyoldparka,mysweatpants,andmyoldUggs.
“Good.Youdolivehere.IwasabouttofirethePIIusedtofindyouraddress.”
“Youhiredaprivateinvestigatortofindme?”Whatthehellisgoingon?
“Yeah,yeah.”Shewavesaleather-glovedhanddismissively.“It’sbecauseIneedtotalktoyou.”
“Youdo?”Iputdownmybags,suddenlyworried.“IsJackokay?”
Shefrowns.“Jack’sfine.Ithink.Idon’tknow,really.Wehaven’tspokenlately.”Theyhaven’t?Atinysparkofhopelightsinmychest.AndthenIsnuffitout.“Itakeityouhaven’tspokentohimeither?”
Ishakemyhead.
“Okay,good.ThenI’mgladI’mhere.”ShetapsherfootimpatientlyonthesidewalkassheclutchesheroversizedLouisVuitton.“Anyway,JackneverinvitedmetotheGoldenChefAwards.Isurprisedhimthere.”
Iblink,uncertain.
“Butwhataboutthebakery?”
“Iboughtitwithouthimknowing.He’dalreadysignedtheleasewhenIboughtthebuilding.”Shereachesintoherdesignertoteandpullsoutamanilafile.“ButIdon’townthebuildinganymore.Here’sacopyofthepapersshowingIjustsolditthismorning.Ijustcamefromtheclosing.”
Itakethepapers,stillstunned.Ilookatthem.Couldthisallbetrue?
“Whataboutthatpictureonyoursocial…”
“Melickinghisface?”Malrollshereyes.“Onehookup.Afterbeingbrokenupforayear.AndIpliedhimwithdrinks.Andkindofbeggedhim.Anditdidn’tmeananything,and,anyway,Ithinkitwasbeforeyouandhe…whatever.Sodon’tgethunguponthat.”Sheflicksherwristdismissively.
I’mstunned.IglanceatthepapersandthenatMal.“Whyareyoutellingmeallthis?”
Malletsoutanexasperatedsigh.“I’mtryingtodogoodthingsorwhatever.Well,I’mtryingtodothenextgoodthing,anyway.God,it’sexhausting.”Shefansherfacewithaglovedhand.“WayharderthanIexpected.Anyway,youwereonmylist.Nextgoodthingtodo.Whatever.So.Goon.CallJack.”Sheshoosmeoff,eventhoughthisismystoop
Ihesitate.
“Goon,”sheshoosmesomemore.Thensheshakesherhead,pursingherlipsindisdain.“Jackdidn’tdoanythingwrong.Itwasme.Allme.Itwasallmyfault.”Malmakesafacelikeshe’seatingsomethingrotten.“Oh,geez.Thatleftaterribletasteinmymouth.”Shesticksouthertongue.“Ack.Gross.”Shemakesagaggingface.Thenshelooksatmeagain.“Whatareyouwaitingfor?”Sheshakesherheadindisgust.“TalktoJack.”
Istareather.“DidJacksendyou?”
“Ugh?Seriouslywiththat?No.Hedidn’t.”Malsighs,exasperated,flickingherfingersatme.“Justgotalktohim.Don’tmakethisawastedtripforme.”
“Uh,okay.”
“Seriously.Goon.Shoo.”
“Butthisismybuilding.”Inodbackwardtomyhome.
“Ugh.Fine.I’llgothen.”Mallookstotheskyasifaskingtheuniverseforpatience.Sheturnsinahuff,headingbacktoherchauffeuredMercedes.“Nogooddeedgoesunpunished,”shemoans,duckingintothebackseatofhershinyblackcar.
Itrudgeupmystairs,openmydoor,headreeling.Iturnherwordsoverinmymind.Jackneverliedtome.I’dbeenblaminghimallthistimeforsomethingheneverdid.HeneverinvitedMaltobehisdate.Neveragreedtohaveherbuythebakery.Neverwasseeingherbehindmyback.
Oh,God.Ifthat’strue,thenI’vecompletelyandtotallybeenanasstoJack.Ineverlethimexplain.Ijustcuthimout,likeacanceroustumor.Ineverlethimeventrytotellmehisside.
MaybeI’mtheasshole.
IopenmycondodoorandfindNamivacuuming.She’sgettingtheplacereadyforitsfirstopenhousetomorrow.It’spristine,andsmellslikelemon-tingedcleaner.Sheshutsoffthevacuum.
“Didyougetmoreglasscleaner?We’reout.”
Isinkintomycouch.“Nami,IwaswrongaboutJack.”
Namisnorts,loudly.She’sstillinman-hatingmode.“Youweren’twrongaboutJack.”
“Iwas,”Iinsist.Ihandherthemanilafolder.“Malgavemethesejustnow.SheboughtthebakerybehindJack’sback.Butshe’ssoldit.Atleast,Ithinkshedid.That’swhatshesaid.”
Namigrabsthepapersandgivesthemaonce-over.Asacorporateattorney,she’sallaboutthefineprint.
“Uh-huh.”Naminods.“Yep,that’swhatthisis.Shesolditthismorning.”Namiscansthedocument.“Andshesolditataloss,soshereallywantedtobedonewithit.”Namibitesherlip.“Also,sheoriginallypurchasedthebakerybyablindproxy,anyway,”Namisays,tappingthepapers.
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
“ItmeansthatnoteventhemanagementcompanyknewtheStarrfamilywasbuyingtheproperty,”Namicontinues,asshethumbsthroughthedocuments.“So,you’reright.Jackdidn’tknowsheboughtthebuilding.Hewasonlythetenantthewholetime.AndhispaperworkneverhadtheStarrnameonit,accordingtothis.”
“Who’sthenewowner?”
“SomeguynamedPierreBenoit.”Shehandsthepapersbacktome.
“Wait.That’shisoldboss.”Thewheelsinmyheadturn.JacksaidPierreBenoitwashelpinghim.“Sohedidn’tlietome.”
Namisighs.“Well,Ihatetoadmitthattheremightbeamanwho’snotterribleoutthere…givenIthinkallofthemareterriblerightnow,but…”Namiglancesatme.“YoumightwanttogotalktoJack.Ithinkhereally,seriouslydidn’tknowaboutMal’splans.Notthewaythisiswritten.”
“Youreallythinkso?”Ifeelhopeflareinmychest.
“Ireallythinkso.Gofindhim.Hemightevenbeatthebakery.Theaddressisinthosepapers.”
AquickridetoLoganSquarebringsmetoaquaintstreetcrowdedwithlocalflavor:themusicians,artists,andothertwenty-andthirtysomethingsthatlargelymakeuptheneighborhoodoutenjoyingtheMarchsunshine.IseeJack’sbakerystraightaway,adorablemodernsignagehangingabovethebigglasswindows:MANNBAKES
“That’scute,”Isay.Theplacecouldn’tbebetterpositioned:homey,cozy,andaprimelocationforpassersbyheadedfortheLandtheirblue-linetraincommutetodowntown.Jackandhissexybeardstachewillbealltherage.He’llbefightingoffsuitorseveryday.Ifeelmystomachlurchabitattheprospect.
Thebakeryisn’tquiteopentothepublicyet.Thesignisup,butbrownpapercoversthebigpanedwindows.Ijumpoutofmyrideshareandheadtotheglassdoor,knockingonit,tentativelyatfirst.Thenharder.
Crap.Whydidn’tItextfirst?BecauseI’vegottoomuchtosaytofitintoatext,that’swhy.AndbecauseI’mhalfafraidhe’dignoreme,ortellmeit’stoolate.
ThenIhearavoicecallfrominside,“Justaminute!”
Jack’s?
Then,Ihearaboltslideopenandthedoorswingswide,asanadorablelittlebellattachedtothetopofthedoordings.Jackstandsbeforeme,wipinghishandsonateatowel.He’ssotall.Sobroad.Iforgot.Hisbeardisperfectlytrimmed,hisbrowneyessurprisedtoseeme.
“Sora?”
“Jack.Ioweyouanapology.”Thewordstumbleout.“Malcameby…”Aworriedlookcrosseshisface.“No,itwasgood.Shetoldmethetruth.Shetoldmeeverything.Aboutthebakery.”
IholdupthemanilafolderIbroughtwithme.“AndIjustwanttosayhowsorryIam,how…”Forthefirsttime,IgetaglimpsebehindJack.Ofthebakeryitself.Jackmovesaside,lettingmein.
Emptyglasscaseslineonewall,andthereareafewsmallwoodentablesandchairs.Ahugechalkboardcoveringonewallliststhespecials.Raspberrytortes.Lemontortes.Cakes.Pies.Cookies.It’sanimpressivemenu.Andthen…abigheartinthemiddle.Arounditiswritten:“BaconIsMyValentine.”Insidearespecialbacondesserts:baconscones,bacon-maplecupcakes,baconmacarons.
“Whatisallthis?”Isay,shocked.
“It’sforyou,”hesays,comingupclosebehindme,socloseIcanfeelhisbodyheat.“Ithoughtyou’dlikeit.”Hetakesadeepbreath.AndIturntofacehim.Thosedamnpuppy-dogeyesaresowarm.Sosoft.Sogorgeous.HowcouldIeverbelievehe’sanythingbutamazing?
“Youdidthisforme?”Ican’tquitebelieveit.
“Sora,you’rebeautiful.You’resmart.You’reamazing.You’refunnyashell.”
Ihavenoideahowtorespondtothismanycompliments,whichcontainzerosarcasm.He’sthebeautifulone,intruth.He’skindandgenerous.IrememberhimsavingmethatdayfromMarleyandLululemon,andthenhowpatienthewaswithmeallthroughtheSoloFebruarydebacle.
“You’rekind,andgenerous,andso,sothoughtful.You’rethebeautifulone,”Isay.“Iamso,sosorryaboutthinkingtheworstofyou.Fornotgivingyouthebenefitofthedoubt.”ThenI’mstuckinhisgaze,soakingupthewarmthinit,theheat.Idon’tknowifhe’smovingclosertome,orI’mmovingclosertohim,butitfeelsnatural,asifitweremeanttobe.
“No,Ishould’vebeenmorehonestwithyou,”Jacksays.“Ishould’vetoldyouthatI’dhookedupwithMal.Thatshethoughtitwasaninvitationbackintomylife.IfI’djustbeenhonestwithyou,thentherewouldn’thavebeenthemisunderstandingattheGoldenChefAwards.ButIwasafraidofwhatyoumightthinkofme.”
“AndIshould’vebeenhonestwithyou,too.AbouthowbigSoloFebruarywasgetting.AbouthowIhadmydoubtsaboutMal.AndIshould’vegivenyouachancetoexplain.”
“Yeah.Youshould’ve.Butwe’dbothbeenburned.Iguesswewerebothalittlegun-shy.”
“Maybealittle.”
Jackgrinsatme.Igrinbackathim.
“Ishould’vetrustedwhatwehadearlier,”Iadmit.
Jackshakeshishead.“No.Youtookthetimeyouneededtobesure.Ican’tblameyouforthat.”
“Youwerealwayssosure,though!”
“That’sbecauseI’vebeenalittleinlovewithyousincekindergarten.”Helaughsandrubshisnecksheepishly.
“Yes,but…”Itakeastepclosertohim.“Iloveyourightnow,JackMann.”
Helooksshocked.“Youdo?”
Inodfastbecausemythroatfeelsthickwithtears.Ofrelief,andlove,andallthefeels.Lovepoursthroughmyheart,likeatsunami,andtearsrushtomyeyes.Icannotspeak.ButIwill.
“Yes,Iloveyou.”
“Well,it’sabouttime,SoraReid.”Heflashesagrin.“Iloveyou,too.”
ThenIthrowmyarmsaroundhimandkisshim.Epilogue
SORA
VALENTINE’SDAY,THEFOLLOWINGYEAR
ThesnowjustbeginstofallonthewindshieldasJackkicksthewindshieldwipersonandkeepsdrivingdownRidgeAvenue,headednorthfromthecity.Trafficonthenarrowroadfeelslight,butitisaSundayafternoon,andallthemeteorologistsforecastsnowbeginningnowandcontinuingthroughthenight.
“Areyousureyou’renottellingmewherewe’regoing?”Iaskhim,asmidgenworried.Ilovesurprises,usually—justnotonValentine’sDay.Jackgrabsmyhandandsqueezesit.Instantly,Ifeelmybloodpressuregodown.Thoselovey-doveyendorphinsbeginflowingagainthroughmyveins.That’sJack’seffectonme.
“Trustme,”hesays,andIfindthatIdo.
Thelastyearhasbeenamazing.Morethanamazing.BetterthanI’deverimaginedlifecouldbe.IkickedtheSlickgig,andstartedwritingforafewnonprofitwebsites.NowIspendmytimeencouragingwomentorunforpoliticalofficeortodreambig,and,well,nowIcansay,withoutanyironyatall,thatIamdoingmypartforfeminism.
“Notevenalittlebitofahint?”We’vebeendrivingnorth…awhile.ThenIstartrecognizingthequaintsuburbjustnorthofChicago.Theleafy-linedstreetswithvintagecondosandoldfarmhouses,rightnearalivelydowntownofboutiquesandrestaurants.“Wait.We’reinEvanston.Whatarewedoinghere?”
BeforeIcanquestionfurther,Jackpullsuptoourneighborhoodgradeschool,DeweyElementary.
Heparksonthestreetinfrontofthefamiliarblueandwhitesign.It’schangedabitsincethenineties.Arethosenewswings?Still,I’drecognizethatone-story,redbrickbuildinganywhere.Heparksthecaragainstthecurbbytheplaygroundandgrinsatme.
“JackMann.Whatarewedoinghere?”
It’saSunday,sothere’snoschool,andwe’vehadlittlesnowsofarthiswinter,soverysmallclumpsofwhitestickontheground.Hegetsoutofthecar,andheadsaroundtomyside,openingmydoorandofferinghishand.
“Mylady,”hesays,andtiltshisheaddownward.Ilaughalittleandtakehishand,andhehelpsmeoutofthecar.Izipupmyparkaandshiverabitinthecold.Snowflakesswirlintheair,andmybreathcomesoutinwhiteclouds.Jackreachesbehindmyseatandproducesabrownpapergrocerysack.
“What’sthat?”Iask.
“You’llsee,”hetellsme,andhisbrowneyessparklewithmischief.
Itugonmygloves.HeoffersoneofhishandsandItakeit.
“Shouldweracetotheswings?”Iask
“I’llletyouwin,likealways.”Hegrins.
“Excuseme,you’llletme?I’mjustfast.”Thenagain,Idohaveanoldmemorythatfloatstothesurface.Thelittleboywiththedarkhair,littlebitheavy,whomighthavepulledupatthelastminute,shylysmilingatmefrombehindtheanchorpoleasItookthelastfreeseat.
Now,Jackleadsmetotheswings.Hedustsoffone,sweepingthethinlayerofsnowthat’salreadybeginningtoformontheblackrubberseat,andthencleansoneoffforhimself.Wesittogether,onthisplaygroundIknewsowellfromkindergartenallthewaytofifthgrade.Ikickoutandswingjustalittlebit.Hewatchesme,asmilegrowingonhisface.
Jackholdsthemysterybagwiththepaperhandleswithonehand,andthechainoftheswingwiththeother.“So,Ibroughtyouhere,becauseIknowthisschool.ThisiswhereValentine’sDayallwentwrongforyou.So…”Idigmytoesintothesnow-coveredwoodchips,slowingmyswing.Hereachesintohisbigbrownbagwiththepaperhandlesandpullsoutashoeboxcoveredinredconstructionpaperandpaintedwithallmannerofpinkglitter,allshades:frompearlpinktohotfuchsia.It’scoveredinpuffyhearts,andstickersofCupid,andhasbigblockystickerlettersthatread“HappyValentine’sDay.”
“Alliehelpedmewithit,”Jackadmits.
“Icantell,”Isay,andlaugh,thinkingaboutAllie,andhernewpinkandsilverlight-upsneakersandthefactthatshe’sakindergartnernow.
I’mstillnotsurewhatallthismeans,butthenJackputstheboxonmylap,andIopenthelid.Inside,therearestacksoftinylittleenvelopes.Andboxesofmessageheartsandredheart-shapedlollipopsandValentine’schocolate.
“Whatthe…”Andthen,glancingatthenameswrittenonthetinylittleenvelopes,ithitsme:kindergarten.Valentine’sDay.
“Someone—notme—stoleallyourvalentines,andnow,I’mreturningthem.”
Ipawthroughtheenvelopes,andsureenough,everyone’srepresented:Casey,mybestfriendatthetime,Maya,Miya,andMyra(thenamesthatsometimesdrovetheteachercrazy).
Itearopenthefirstone.It’sTinyToonAdventures.Thenthenext…Rugrats.AndtheMagicSchoolBus…andPowerpuffGirls?
“Howdidyou…?”
“FoundthemoneBay,”hesays,andgrins.“Vintagevalentines.”
“Ican’tbelieveyoudidthis.”Iripintoallofthem,laughingateachnewfamiliarcartoonface.
“Nowthey’renotactuallysignedbyourclassmates,since…it’snearlyimpossibletotrackthemalldown.”
“Youtried?”
“Imighthave.TheonlyoneIhadanysuccesswithwasCasey.”
“Myoldbestfriend!”Icry.Igrabherenvelope.Itsays,“PiggyJackisdamnfinenow.Whendidthishappen?”Ihavetolaughatthat.ThenIflipoverthecardandseeshe’swrittenapostscript.“Also:Thisoneisakeeper.Seriously.Youdon’tneedacootiecatchertotellyouthat.”
She’sright.
Iopenonemore.FromStella.
“Shewasn’tinourclass!”
“Yes,butwhenItoldherwhatIwasdoing,sheinsisted.”
Ireadhercard.“Thisisjustanotherpartofself-care.Choosingapartnerrightforyou.Now,goonandbehappy.Youdeservethis.”
IglanceupatJack.Ido,Ithink.Idodeservethis.
Jackreachesbackintothegrocerybag.“Ihaveouryearbook,too.”Hepullsthesmall,paperbackphotobookoutofthegrocerybag.Igrabitfromhislap.Ifliptomypage.I’msmilingtoobig,myeyesliketiny,thinslits.Ingradeschool,Ineverquitefiguredouthowtosmilewithoutlookinglikethesunlightwasn’tblindingme.
“Ilooklikesuchadork!I’vegotpigtails.”
“You’readorable,”hesays,andthenIfliptohispage.He’scute,eventhoughalittlechubby.Hedoesn’tdeservethenickname“PiggyJack.”Notatall.Helooksalittlepensiveashestaresatthecamera.
“Ihatedhavingmypicturetaken,”heexplains.“Ihatedeverythingaboutgradeschool.”Helooksatme.“Exceptyou.”
Myheartisgoingtoburst.Ileanacrosstheswingsetandkisshim.Iwanttokissallthathurtaway,nowandforever.“Iloveyou,”Isay.
“Oh…you’reallright,”Jackteases.
Ipunchhisarm.
“Ow!I’mkidding.Iloveyou,too.”Iturnmyattentionbacktothebox.Idigintomyboxandopenthelastvalentine,butsoonrealizethere’sonemissing.
“Jack?”Idigaroundinthecandyhearts,chocolatekisses,andthelollipops,worriedthatI’dmissedit.“Where’stheonefromyou?”
That’swhenJackreachesintohisjacketpocketandpullsoutasmallwhiteenvelope.Hehandsittome,asmileonhisface.
“Goon,then.Openit.”
Ipeelbackthesmallflapandpulloutabeautiful,glittery,homemadevalentine,withJack’smangledbee,onlyit’sdeckedoutinglitter.Iburstoutlaughing.
“No!”
“Yes.”Jacknods.
ThenIopentheglitterbeecard.
Inside,itsays,“Iloveyousomuch.Please,beemy…wife?”Butinsidethequestionmark,there’sasinglesolitairediamondringtapedthere.
Myheartstops.
Forafullsecond.Ican’tbreathe.Can’tdoanythingbutstare.
Aring…?
ButJackpluckstheringoffthevalentineandkneelsbeforeme.
“SoraReid,you’vechangedmylifeinwaysIneverimaginedpossible.Thislastyearhasshownmehowamazingitistosharemylifewithsomeonewhoreallygetsme,who’sawonderfulpartnerinallways,andmybestfriend.”
Tearsspringtomyeyes.Also,Imightfaint.Seriously,Imight.Jackisproposing.
Jack.
Is.
Proposing.
Holy.
Mother.
Of.
Everything.
“Inkindergarten,youhadabadValentine’sDay,andyou’vehadafewmoresince.We’reherenowbecauseIthinkyouneedado-over,”hesays.Inoticehe,too,isstartingtogetemotional,hispuppy-dogeyeswetwithemotion.“Infact,SoraReid,ifyou’llletme,I’dliketomakethisValentine’sDay,andeveryotherValentine’sDayinyourlife,theverybestitcanbe.Willyoubemine?Todayandeveryday?”
Heoffersuptheimpressivediamond,anditsparkleslikefirebeneaththesnowflakesfallinggentlyaroundus.Isuckinabreath,mybrainbuzzingwithamillionthoughts:IsthiswhatIwant?IthoughtI’dnevergetmarriedagain.ThoughtI’dneverevenconsidergoingthroughallthis.NotafterMarley.Notafterhavingmyheartbrokensooften
DoIhavethecouragetotakethisring?Toriskheartacheonemoretime?
IlookintoJack’seyes,andIseesincerity.Iseehonesty.Iseetrust.He’sputtinghimselfoutthere.He’sriskingitall.Togainitall.He’sbrave.Icanbebrave,too.
AndI’mfilledwithaserenity,acertainty,I’veneverfeltbefore.
Jackismyperson.AndIamhis.
Andwhoknowswhatlifehasinstoreforus,butwhateveritis,weshouldfaceittogether.
“Yes!”Icry,whenIcanfinallyfindmyvoice.“Yes!Oh,yes,yes,yes!”
Itugoffmyglove,andheslipstheringonmyfinger,anditfits.Perfectly.AndthenIpullhimtome,andkisshisbeautifullips,sealingthatpromise.I’llbehis.Andhe’llbemine.Ibreakthiskiss,staringintohisdarkbrowneyes.
“DoesthismeanIhavetogiveupbaconasmyvalentine?”Itease.
“Hellno,”hesays,achucklelowinhisthroat.“Afterall,you’remarryingPiggyJack.”
Ilaugh.There’sabsolutelynothing“piggy”aboutthekindest,mostloving,mostamazingmanI’veevermet.“Ithinkyou’remorelikeHotAsHellHam-hockJack.”
“Ithinkthathasanicerringtoit,”heagrees.
Andthis,Ihavetosay,isthebestdamnValentine’sDayI’veeverhad.
Takethat,commerciallovemachine.Acknowledgments
ThankyoutoDeidreKnight,longtimefriend,mentor,andthebestagent,andthebestperson,youcouldmeetinthisbusiness,andmuchgratitudetoeveryoneattheKnightAgency.Thankyou,thankyoutomyrazor-sharp,insightful,brillianteditor,AlexandraSehulster,andeveryoneatSt.Martin’sPress.Youdeservealltheexpensivechocolates.ALLthechocolates!
Tomyhusband,PJ,thereal-lifeJackinallways,whosingle-handedlyconvincedthisskeptictogiveValentine’sDayanothertry(andI’msoverygladhedid).Thankyouforalwaysbelievinginme,forbrainstormingsceneswithme,andforbeingthebestpartneranyonecouldeveraskfor.NoheroIwritewillevercomeclosetoyou.
Thankyoutoallmyamazingkids,bothbiologicalandbymarriage(Hana,Miya,Pete,Sarina,andSophia),forbeingtheirincredibleselvesandforgivingmethemostprivilegedseatinthehouseinthefrontrowoftheirlives.Keeponwritingyourownstories!
ThankstotheentireTanamachiclan,andespeciallyMom,Dad,Matt,Jill,andPatty,whogavemethecouragetobethenail.Toallmytrulywonderfulandsupportivefriends,withspecialshout-outstoCraigandShannonGatta,HillaryLeisten,GretchenHartke,ElizabethKinsella,andCarrollJordanforhelpingmeweathertheveryworstValentine’sDays.Thanksalsototheeveron-callNorthShoreSupportGroup:JulieFriend,DaniHouchin,AnnieLaures,andBethZadik.Averyspecialthank-youtoChristinaSwartzforbeingsuchathoughtfulsoundingboardforthisbook.AndheartfeltthankstoVictoriaBaum,relationshipguru,whosewonderfulwisdomyou’llfindinthesepages.
Andlastbutnotleast,thankyou,readers!Withoutyou,I’mjustmutteringstoriestomyself.Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou!AbouttheAuthorCARATANAMACHIlivesnearChicagowithherhusbandandfivechildren(twobybiologyandthree
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