Chapter 12 #3
If he’s drawn to me because of my problem-solving abilities, how would he feel if he knew how intensely I’ve avoided dealing with one of my biggest issues? And that I’ve never even told him said issue exists?
“It’s hard,” I tell him, changing the subject. I turn my head to the side and lean it up against the wall. He does the same, and our faces are just a few inches away from each other. I can see every freckle on his face, every shade of brown in his eyes. “Being in your twenties, I mean.”
Harrison studies me, waiting for me to continue—and so I do.
“You’re young, and you feel like you have to take advantage of being young by having fun and enjoying life and traveling and dating, but you also have to make sure you’re setting yourself up for the rest of your life, because by the time you’re thirty, if you don’t have everything figured out, you’re suddenly behind on everything.
But how am I supposed to save for retirement and a down payment and excel in my career and date while also figuring out who I am and trying to figure out what I want to do with my life?
How am I supposed to enjoy being in my twenties when every decision I make now feels like it has irreversible impacts on the rest of my life? ”
“You did the hard part. You left a job you didn’t like, and you found a new one.” He pauses. “Is that why you don’t want to talk to your parents? Because they don’t know why you quit your job?”
I turn my head to face forward as the direct eye contact starts to feel claustrophobic.
“Sort of. We talked about it in vague terms, but I could tell it was stressing them out. And then when I said I was moving to go work at a coffee shop in Boston, that stressed them out even more. I saw them pretty regularly when I was living in Tampa, but toward the end, I could tell talking to them about my plans was making them worried, but not talking about my plans was also making them worried. So even trying to go hang out with them and not discuss my impending move to Boston was emotionally taxing,” I say.
“I think they’re worried I don’t have a long-term plan, which is, incidentally, true. ”
“Knowing you? You’re going to figure it out, and you’re going to find something that makes you really, really happy.”
You make me really happy, I want to tell him.
“And listen,” he says. “If anyone knows what it’s like to have your parents not understand your career choices, it’s me.” He squeezes my hand again.
“But you never let them convince you to do anything other than what you’re passionate about,” I say.
“Maybe. With regards to my career, anyway. But enough of that,” he adds. We look at each other for a moment before he clears his throat and shifts, letting go of my hand and facing the bed frame. “Back to it?”
“Back to it,” I agree.
Harrison continues to fiddle with the bed as I silently watch. I have so many questions I want to ask him: What if I told you I had a lot of problems? What if I told you I’d been procrastinating on fixing them for almost a decade? Would you still tolerate my presence?
The doorbell rings, and Harrison starts to move. I reach forward and press on his shoulder, forcing him to sit down as I use him for leverage to stand up.
I open the door to find Jo standing outside, holding a takeout bag in one hand. “Hi!” she says, looking at me with slightly too eager of a smile.
“Oh, uh—hi!” I say. “Shit, I’m so sorry—I meant to send a text about not being able to make it to yoga?”
Jo’s smile falls slightly. “Yes, you did, and you said you were fixing your bed frame? I wanted to come over and see if you needed help. And also, to bring you food.”
“Oh! Oh my god, of course. That was so kind of you. And we’d love help.” I open the door, and she gives me a confused look until she sees Harrison behind me.
“Hey, Harrison,” Jo says. Harrison lifts his hand in greeting. “Sorry, Emma made it sound like she was alone,” she says, glancing back at me with a meaningful look. “So, I only brought two meals.”
“Totally no worries,” he says, waving a hand. “I have leftovers at home.”
Jo hands me a Styrofoam container with what smells like the single greatest burrito of all time. “How is the bed frame going?”
“Ask Bob the Builder over there,” I say, nodding in Harrison’s direction as I sit down on the couch and take an enormous bite. “Shit. I didn’t think burritos this good existed in Massachusetts. This is exactly what I needed.”
“Yeah, obviously you were working hard on the bed,” Jo says, and I see Harrison chuckle and cast a smile in my direction out of the corner of my eye.
For the next couple hours, Jo and I chat while Harrison—slowly, because we keep distracting him—fixes the bed for me. And by the time he’s done, I have a feeling I’m never going to be able to get in bed at night without thinking of him. But the truth is, that was the case already.
Skip Notes
*1 Furrowed brows · Pursed lips · Head tilted to the right | Facial expression | Frequency: medium
Exasperated.
*2 Sunken eyes · Tense jaw · Clenched hands | Facial expression | Frequency: low
Deep worry.