“You already did that last night. It’s fine.”
I shake my head. “No, it was shitty. And I should tell you a bit about why.”
She frowns. “Okay then. I’m all ears.”
“Right. Good.”
She looks at me expectantly. I feel awkward and clumsy talking about this. I’m so used to being the positive, optimistic, everything-all-figured-out guy. It’s hard to admit being adrift.
I dive in anyway.
“Well, after Sarah Louise left, I had, um, a bit of an existential crisis.” I glance up at Molly to see if she’s recoiling at this admission, but her face is neutral. She nods at me to go on.
“It wasn’t because of the relationship ending or anything like that,” I say quickly, “but because I realized I have this pattern of plunging into relationships one after the other, with no time in between to breathe or reflect, because I want that fairy-tale love story. The wife, the kids, the white picket fence.”
She nods again, listening intently. She does not seem surprised or horrified to hear any of this. It shores me up a bit.
“And honestly,” I go on, “it was late coming, because Dave has been pointing this out to me for years. But I guess it can take a while to understand your own patterns, even if you’re aware of them on some level, you know?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I do.”
She says this emphatically, like she identifies with it. I haven’t articulated this thought to anyone before, and it’s a huge relief to be taken so seriously.
“I realized I set this arbitrary timeline for myself that was meant to be motivating but was actually causing me to sabotage myself. Because I kept pursuing people who weren’t right for me but who fit the model in my head. And it’s almost like I’ve been talking myself into loving them, to speed things along.
“And what I realized is I’ve been choosing women based on a set of criteria. And consequently, I keep cultivating relationships that disappoint me, and then wondering why I always end up alone. And then I get that antsy feeling and the cycle repeats.” I look into her eyes. “And I’m so, so tired of it.”
“So what do you want?” she asks softly.
“I want to stop planning and obsessing about everything being perfect and just be with the person I adore. And that person…”
She stares back into my eyes, waiting for me to finish.
“Molly, that person is you.”
CHAPTER 28 Molly
I wanted this.
I wanted it badly.
But now that I’m getting it, I feel so overwhelmed that I wish I had taken an Ativan.
I am not accustomed to being spoken to this sincerely. This romantically.
I’m not sure anyone has been so earnest with me about wanting a relationship since, well … Seth. In high school.
Say something, I beg myself. I can see he’s putting everything he has on the line, and I can’t just sit here nodding. This is the kind of scene I write. I should be able to find the right lines.
But I don’t have any.
So I just blurt out the truth. “I adore you too.”
And it must be the right thing, because he lets out maybe the world’s longest breath. “Did you really just say that?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
His eyes are glistening. He reaches out for my hand and kisses it.
It’s so sweet, and it’s harrowing to be the object of such sweetness. My every instinct is to make a joke of the emotion in this moment.
But Seth deserves better.
He deserves the same sincerity he has given, like a gift, to me.
So I don’t deflect. I don’t break eye contact.
And sitting in the intensity of this moment, just feeling it, is beautiful.
But it’s also unbearable.
It’s making my heart slam into the walls of my chest.
There’s a reason I make stupid jokes when things get emotional. Stupid jokes don’t make your throat close.
Please don’t have a panic attack, I beg myself. Please don’t have a panic attack.
“Hey,” Seth says, his face drawing tight with concern. “Why do you look so upset?”
