16
I look at him, struggling to speak. It’s not because I don’t know what to say; it’s because I’m afraid of how Scott will respond. Everyone always says the same things. That’s why I stopped talking about it.
“I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, or like I’m being lazy or… or just whiny,” I say, looking down at my hands in my lap.
“Lucy.”
I look back up at Scott, who’s watching me with so much sincerity and care I’m dangerously close to swooning.
“I’ve been trying to get you to just open up and be honest with me for a month now. I know you’re not lazy. You’re the least lazy person in the world.”
“The whole world?” I ask, the tiniest bit of amusement making it into my expression.
“Okay, in my whole world, which you’re a very important part of,” he smiles warmly.
I melt a little more, then sigh. “Fine.” I take a few more moments, trying to figure out what to say. “I… I just really don’t like my job. But, I know I’m really blessed to have it. I know it’s a great opportunity and working directly for Monica is this huge deal and I’m just so… so lucky,” I say, feeling the bitter taste the words leave in my mouth. “Everyone tells me that. They tell me how great a job I have and how amazing Monica is and how lucky I am. That it’s like I was made for this.”
I shake my head and sit forward, all my frustrations bubbling up. “When I took the job, I believed all those things too. So I worked my butt off and made myself available whenever Monica needed me. I never said no, never took time off, and was just constantly at her beck and call. I had no direction, no idea what I wanted to do, no training or qualifications or special skills, and I thought this job would somehow solve that. I believed this job could lead to whatever the big thing I’m supposed to do is. I poured everything I have into it, and I got really good at it. But it’s been four years now, and nothing’s changed. I mean, sure, I have way more responsibilities; Monica trusts me more, and she gives me more freedom with how I take care of my tasks, but that’s it. And the thing is, I don’t like it. I’m so exhausted and stressed out all the time, and my personal life is down the drain because I spend all my time and focus on hers.”
My gut clenches with guilt at my own admission. I feel stupid complaining about my job. But I never talk about this, and now that I’ve started, the words are rushing out like a waterfall that I can’t stop.
“Anytime I try to talk to anyone about how I’m feeling, they shut me down,” I continue, squeezing my hands into fists as unexpected emotion makes my voice wobble. “They all tell me that it’ll pass, that I’m just having a bad day, that I’m tired. Or, you know what else they say? They say ‘everyone has to do jobs they don’t like. It’s just part of life.’ They act like I’m being lazy, or just unwilling to work. And that’s so far from the truth!”
I slam my fist on my leg, the frustration now mixing with anger I’d buried. “I get that I have to work hard. I get that the world isn’t full of sunshine and rainbows and most people work jobs they dislike. I understand that. And I’m absolutely willing to work hard and do jobs that aren’t fun. It makes me so angry when they say things like that to me, because I have been doing that for four years. Four years with nothing changing but me! I’m not lazy. I’m miserable. I hardly have a life. I have no free time that’s truly mine. I’m constantly being asked to do things at work that I have no idea how to. Monica expects so much from me, and she’s so strict and intense, I’m constantly on edge. And while all that’s going on, everyone around me is telling me how lucky I am and how incredible Monica is and how great it must be to work for her, and if I ever bring up wanting to quit, they point out how dumb that would be, because who would give up being Monica Harper’s PA?”
My eyes sting with tears, and one slides down my cheek. “It feels like all everyone sees is Monica. I feel trapped, like leaving my job is the stupidest thing I could do, but at the same time I’m terrified I’ll be stuck in it forever. Imagining an entire lifetime of this… It makes me feel like I can’t breathe. But if everyone’s saying I should stay, it doesn’t feel wise to consider leaving, no matter how I feel. But… But, don’t my feelings matter, too? Don’t I matter just as much as Monica?”
Scott puts a hand over mine, and I grip it tightly, as if his strength will somehow pass to me through his hand. “More than anything, I want out of this. I want something—anything—to change. But I don’t know what to do, and I’m so afraid if I make the choice to leave my job, if I open that door, there won’t be anything past it. I’m afraid that maybe everyone else is right, and I was made to be a PA, and maybe that’s why I have no idea what I want to do with my own life: because I was created just to manage someone else’s, and there’s nothing else I’m meant to do. But I don’t want this to be my life forever. I want…” I shake my head, sniffling, unable to find the words. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what I want. I’ve never known.”
As I finish speaking, a massive weight lifts off my chest. My emotions are still twisting and turning in my stomach, but for once, it’s all out. The truth that I’ve never told anyone: that I’m paralyzed by fear, cowering in the face of my future. After all, I’m just me, just Lucy.
I’m so afraid of what that might mean.
“Lucy.” Scott breaks the silence as I take a deep breath. “Don’t you see how amazing you are?”
I look up at him, blinking. This is not the response I expected. “What?”
“I don’t understand,” he continues, his brow furrowed. “Why do you think so little of yourself?”
I shake my head, still confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, who convinced you being Monica’s PA is all you’re good for? Who made you think you have no other options? You talk about yourself like you’re just an empty shell of a person, like you have no skills or talents or options. None of that is true. You have so much to offer that you can’t even see. Why do you think you’re such a good PA? Why do you think Monica hired you? You have so much to offer. Anybody would be happy to work with you! Anything you put your mind to, I know you can do it. But everyone else in your life has convinced you that you need to stay working for Monica for some reason. And you’ve convinced yourself that you have no other options, and that you’re trapped. But that’s not true at all. Don’t you see that?”
“I…” I trail off, not sure what to say. No one has ever told me I could do something else. No one has ever suggested I’d even want to, much less that I should.
“There are people who are lazy, and people who just don’t want to work,” Scott continues, looking out over the backyard as he continues. “You aren’t one of them. And it’s true that even people who love their jobs have parts of it they hate, but that doesn’t mean you have to stick with a job that’s making you miserable. It’s okay to look for something else.”
“But I don’t have a degree or any experience,” I say, the familiar protests rising in my mind.
“You have plenty of experience. You’ve spent four years as Monica Harper’s personal assistant. That’s not for nothing. And you don’t have to have a degree. Maybe for certain jobs, sure, but if you wanted those jobs, you would have gone to school for them.”
“But… I have no idea what I would do.”
“That’s exciting, isn’t it? It means you get to try things.”
“I don’t have time to try things, Scott!” I frown up at him. “We’re not eighteen anymore! I’m an adult. I’m supposed to have my career figured out. Most of the people I went to high school with are already married or have a house or kids or they have their dream job. I’m still just as lost as the day I graduated.”
“Lucy, you’re only twenty-three. Why are you in such a rush to have everything figured out?”
Because when I look at my future, I see nothing on the horizon, and it makes me feel as though I’m suffocating.
I stay quiet, my unspoken fears rolling around in my head. Scott takes both my hands in his, drawing my gaze back to him.
“You can do anything you want, Lucy. I really believe that.”
I stare back in his eyes, wanting to believe him. But…
He tilts his head. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Um… what?”
“Are you busy?” he asks.
“Oh, um… Tomorrow is Sunday, right? I just have church in the morning, then nothing.”
“Okay.” Scott nods, releasing my hands. “I’ll pick you up and go with you to church, then you’re coming with me.”
I blink. “To do what?”
“It’s a surprise,” he grins.
After studying him for a few moments, I give up. I glance in the direction of the house, recalling Dani’s knowing look as we left. “Should we go back?”
Scott sighs. “I guess so.”
“Just please explain to them that all we did was talk,” I say.
Scott’s forehead creases with confusion. I tell him about Dani’s reaction and how his outburst about taking me to the gazebo must have looked, and he cracks up. I punch him in the arm until he finally stops laughing. “Okay, okay,” he grins, his laughter subsiding, “don’t worry, I’ll tell them.”
“Thank you. And…” I hesitate, squeezing my hands together. “Thank you for listening, too. And for being so encouraging.”
“I meant what I said,” he says, his tone softening. “I think you’re amazing. I wish you could see it, too.”
Emotion tightens my chest again. Instead of speaking, I lean forward and give him a soft kiss. Afterward, I move to stand, but Scott’s arms slip around my waist, and he holds me in place, hugging me from behind and resting his forehead on my shoulder.
“Just a few more minutes,” he murmurs.
My heart is pounding again, but a warm, peaceful feeling settles over me like a blanket. I take a deep breath and lean back, resting against Scott and marveling at how safe and comfortable I’ve grown to be with him.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe the future isn’t so scary after all.
“Welcome in!”
Scott ushers me forward, smiling brightly as I step into his apartment. I’ll admit that I’m a bit nervous. But, as soon as I move into the living room, all my nerves give way to surprise.
“What is all this?”
My mouth falls open as I look around the space. It’s not huge, and the kitchen and living room are connected in an open plan, but all throughout there are sections set up with a paper sign at each. One in the kitchen says “cooking,” one next to a box of modeling clay says “sculpting,” next to the guitar is a paper that simply says “music,” on the table next to a stack of art supplies it says “drawing,” and even more signs are strewn about the room.
Scott walks up next to me. He’s smiling, but his cheeks are red. “Since you didn’t really finish your gap year, I thought we could do a mini version today. You know, just try a bunch of random things for fun.”
I look up at him, then around the room again. “You set all this up for me?”
He shrugs, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. It’s then that I notice the slight purple under his eyes.
He must have been up all night getting this ready.
I can’t contain my smile, so I turn and hug him tightly. “Thank you.”
“You don’t think it’s dumb?” he asks, hugging me back.
“Not one bit.”
His shoulders relax the tiniest bit in relief as he nods. “Okay. What do you want to start with?”
“I’m starving, so how about cooking?”
“Great,” he grins. “As we’ve discussed, I happen to be a master chef.”
I laugh as I follow him to the kitchen. “You’ll have to teach me your cooking secrets.”
He gives me a scrutinizing look. “Hmmm… we’ll have to see about that.”
“Hey!” I shove him lightly. He hardly moves. He’s so solid he’s like a freaking tree.
There’s a small island in the middle of the kitchen. I take a seat on a barstool as Scott grabs a pan and sets it on the stovetop.
“If I tell you my secrets, there’ll be no reason for you to come back and let me cook for you again,” he says, turning his head back to look at me.
I rest my elbows on the countertop, my chin in my hand. “Oh, there are plenty of reasons for me to come back.”
Scott’s eyes widen, his cheeks flaming red again as he quickly turns back around. I grin, biting down on my amusement at his reaction to my flirting.
“So, what are we cooking?” I ask.
“Chicken tikka masala,” he says.
“Really?”
“Mhm.” He faces me again, suddenly looking nervous. “I forgot to ask… do you like Indian food?”
“Are you kidding? I love it!”
“Great,” he smiles. “So, are you gonna come over here and learn how to make this, or not?”
“Yes!” I quickly stand and join him. “I’m ready!”
The rest of the day is nothing short of perfect. The lunch Scott cooks is absolutely delicious, and after that, we try all the activities he had prepared. Some are a flop, but some end up working out well.
To be honest, though, I think the flops were more fun.
After we’ve tried cooking, drawing, sculpting, latte art (which we both failed miserably at), guitar, photography, poetry, and whatever other random ideas Scott came up with, I finally fall onto the couch, thoroughly wiped out.
Scott grins. “Tired?”
“Yes. I think I did more activities today than I’ve done in my entire life.”
“What was your favorite?”
“Mmm…” I tilt my head in thought, then smile. “My favorite thing was the person I was doing everything with.”
He looks surprised, then sits next to me on the couch, his cheeks pink. “That’s a cheater answer.”
“Maybe,” I say, nestling against his arm. “But I liked everything. Even the things we were bad at were fun to try.”
“They weren’t a waste of time?” he asks.
“What?” I sit up to look at him, my forehead crinkled with confusion. “No. Unless you thought this was a waste of time.”
“Not at all,” he says. “That’s the point I was trying to make.”
“The… point?”
He nods. “It’s always worth it to try something, even if you fail. You’ll never know what you might be good at, or what you might enjoy, if you’re too afraid or worried about what other people will think to even give it a try. Anyone who’ll laugh or gloat when you fail isn’t someone who’s advice you want anyway. People who actually step out and try things and fail and try again are the ones to look up to.”
I stare back at him, my side sinking into the couch as his words sink into my heart.
“You don’t have to go out and quit your job tomorrow,” he continues, his tone sincere. “If you wanted to, you could keep your job forever. But, you should at least start trying things. Look around and see if something interests you, and if it does, give it a go. You’re not trapped. You’ve never been trapped. You don’t have to have your whole life figured out, and you don’t have to know what your ‘passion’ is. You just have to try things, and you’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, Lucy,” he says. “Isn’t there anything you can think of that you at least want to try?”
I purse my lips as a familiar thought floats to the surface in my mind. It’s one I hadn’t considered in years, not since I was fifteen or so.
Scott notices the subtle shift in my expression, and his eyes light up. “You thought of something, didn’t you?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s nothing.”
“Lucyyyyy…”
“Fine,” I sigh, already feeling embarrassed. “Um, you know that I love to read. But, I’ve also always loved to write. When I was a kid, I would write stories all the time, just for fun. My parents loved them,” I smile, the memories seeming warm and bright. “Back then, I really wanted to be an author. I thought about it a lot when I was in high school, too, but I never told anyone. It just never seemed like something that could happen for me, so I gave up on it.” I shrug. “It’s embarrassing, but I guess that’s the only real dream I had that I can clearly remember.”
“Why is that embarrassing?” Scott asks.
“I don’t know. It just is.”
“It’s not embarrassing,” he shakes his head. “It’s awesome!”
“Scott, you don’t have to act like—”
“I mean it!” He cuts me off. “I think you should try writing. You have story ideas, don’t you? Just pick one and start.”
“But…” I shake my head. “I have no idea what I’m doing or where to start.”
“You said you used to write stories all the time.”
“Yeah, the key words being ‘used to.’”
“So?”
“You’ve never seen a single thing I’ve written,” I continue to protest. “I could be absolutely terrible at it.”
“Maybe.”
I stop. “What?”
Scott shrugs. “Maybe you are terrible at it. But maybe you’re not. Don’t you want to find out?”
“What if I end up writing a whole book, and it’s just plain awful? I’ll have wasted so much time.”
“That’s not true. It’s never a waste of time to try things, even if you fail.” He rests his arm across the back of the couch. “You know what is a waste of time? Spending your whole life thinking about trying something, but never doing it, then spending the rest of your life regretting it and wishing you did.”
I chew my lip in indecision, my head beginning to fight with my heart. “But, if I start writing a book, people will think—”
“Uh-uh, stop right there.” Scott frowns, holding up a hand. “What people think doesn’t matter. Opinions are like butts. Everyone has one, and they all stink.”
I give Scott a funny look, thrown off by his comment. He grins as he continues.
“Look, Lucy, if there’s something you want to try doing, you should. If you end up failing, you learn from it, and then try something new. If you end up loving it, keep doing it. Don’t worry about the results, or being the absolute best. Just do it because you love it.”
I stare at him for a few moments, thinking over what he said. How is he so inspirational?
“I…” I shake my head, then squint at Scott. “Who are you?”
His eyebrows rise. “You don’t know? Sheesh, I wouldn’t have kissed you if I’d have realized you didn’t even know my name.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I say, punching him in the arm as my cheeks redden. “It’s like you have the brain of a really wise old man in the body of a very handsome twenty-four-year-old.”
He puffs out his chest, brushing off his shoulders. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “You’re stupid.”
“Stupid?” He feigns hurt. “I thought I was wise and handsome.”
“That too,” I smile.
“So, are you gonna start writing?”
I lean back on the couch, thinking about it. Maybe Scott’s right. I don’t have to quit being Monica’s PA to start trying other things. And there are small steps I could take to try and make my lifestyle healthier. I could ask to no longer come in on Saturdays, for starters.
I’m not trapped. There are little things I can do to start building the sort of life I want, or, to start figuring out what sort of life I want.
“Yeah,” I nod, “I think I am.”
He grins. “By the way, I think whatever you write is going to be great.”
I love you.
As I gaze at Scott, the thought startles me. I won’t say it out loud. I’ve never said it to anyone in a romantic way before. I’m probably just caught up in emotions, in the moment. I don’t know what’s too fast or slow.
But, I do know that I could spend forever right here with Scott, and be lost in total bliss.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “Not just for that—for the whole day, and for KFC, and Mario Kart, and for making me wear that ridiculous hat at Party City, and for every other date we’ve been on and every text message you’ve sent me.”
He brightens, his expression warm.
“Anything to make you smile, Lucy.”
I pull the door to the office open and smile at Macy, who’s on the phone with someone. She waves and buzzes me in. Jeremiah passes by me in the hall.
“Hi, Jeremiah,” I say, attempting to give him my best smile and my friendliest wave. He hardly glances at me as I pass by.
It doesn’t hurt any less than it did the last five times.
I shake it off as I reach my desk. There’s nothing else I can do about it, anyway.
Monica sent me a text this morning that she’ll be in a little later today, but to make sure I’m around at two o’clock. She’s usually in earlier on Fridays.
On Monday I spoke with her about changing up my schedule so that I didn’t have to come in on Saturdays, and making my hours set instead of fluctuating and random. Monica listened to everything I had to say, then said that was fine, but she needed some time to think about what we could do. I was shocked at how easily she agreed. In fact, I’m still shocked. I’ve been waiting on the edge of my seat all week for her to call me into her office and tell me she’s changed her mind, but she hasn’t.
I get to work on my daily tasks, texting Scott when I have moments to. I haven’t started writing yet, but I plan to. Scott’s been taking up most of my free time.
A rush of street noise signals the opening of the front door, followed by the familiar clacking of Monica’s heels. I glance at the clock, noting the time is one twenty-three.
She’s early.
She pushes her sunglasses up off her face as she passes by my desk.
“Can I see you in my office?”
I nod and stand immediately, grabbing my notebook. “Yes.”
As I step into her office, she begins setting her bags down and pulling out her laptop, settling on the chair. I take my usual seat across from her, ready to scribble down whatever tasks she has for me today.