Chapter 2 #2
“Charlie, remember when the Google offices were reopening and I told you I really didn’t want to go back?”
“Yeah.”
“You said I’d feel differently once I got there.”
“Right.”
“Well, I haven’t felt different at all. Each day, I feel worse. I hate what I’m doing. It feels completely useless. I have meetings back-to-back all day. I never stop. And I don’t know what I’m doing it all for.”
“A paycheck,” I said. “Stability. You get up, you go to work, and that’s what you do.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to do that anymore.”
I scoffed. “Then, what else are you going to do?”
“Find something I care about. Find my purpose.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but I want more . Don’t you want to get out and see the world? A year and a half cooped up inside, I can’t stand going into an office again. Maybe I’ll start my own business. I can do anything. So can you, Charlie. This cannot be all there is to life.”
“I don’t want to do anything else,” I said.
“I don’t think I believe that,” he countered. “You’re running from something and I don’t know what it is. I’ve been with you every single day for two years and I don’t actually know you.”
My limbs stiffened like I was turning from flesh to stone all at once.
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” I said, heart beating loudly in my chest, face hot. “But this is who I am.” This conversation felt like an indictment of all my flaws.
“But, who are you, Charlie? What do you like? What are your passions? What gets you up in the morning? What big hopes do you have for your life?”
“Passion?” I snorted. “ Please . As if passions get you anywhere.” I had followed my fickle passion once before and I’d never make that mistake again.
“I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself, Charlie.”
“Yeah, I like routine. So what? I grew up with a mom who...” I stopped and Josh sat up straighter.
“A mom who what? Tell me. You never talk about your childhood.”
“The past is not important,” I spat out, harsher than I intended. “I like my life the way it is, Josh. I don’t want anything to change.”
“Well, then I don’t know what to say. I need things to change. If you won’t open up to me...” He threw his hands in the air like he was giving up. “I want to be happy, Charlie. Alive .”
I let out a dry laugh. “Well, not everybody can be happy all the time. That’s not how life works.”
He deflated like I’d popped a balloon he was holding. “That’s a phenomenally sad thing to say.”
“It’s true. Who’s actually happy? I’d rather be safe and stable than anything else.”
He shook his head and I noticed his eyes were rimmed with red. “Charlie, I’m so sorry to upset the plan you’ve had, but I want to at least try to be happy. And I think you should, too. I think we’re a little too young to already be giving up on that.”
Now, that made me angry. “I’m not giving up on anything,” I hurled back. “I’m being realistic .”
“Well maybe I don’t want to be realistic anymore.”
“Okay. So you found someone else? How cliché of you.”
“No,” he said resolutely. “I would never do that to you. Don’t try to make me into the bad guy here. This isn’t about someone else.”
“Okay,” was all I could say.
“Okay? Why does it feel like you’re more upset by the plan changing than about losing me? You don’t want to fight for us? Are you even sad?”
Sad? No . More like angry. My carefully constructed world was breaking off in pieces without my consent and I didn’t like it, didn’t enjoy feeling like I was careening into the air without a parachute. That’s how I felt.
“Do you need me to be sad?” I asked him. “I’m not going to be shamed because I work hard. This isn’t some Hallmark Christmas movie where I discover the ‘true’ meaning of life or some bullshit.”
He just let out a defeated sigh.
Then he quickly moved from the breakfast bar and came around to where I was standing in the kitchen, grazed his thumb gently across my cheek, and whispered, “If you really love me and want me to stay, I will. I will work on this with you. Just say the word.”
A long tense silence stretched between us, Josh’s eyes pleading, unblinking.
Taking a step back from him, I crossed my arms across my chest and said, “I’m not going to hold you hostage. And I won’t beg. Go if you want to go.”
His face contorted in pain and another pause stretched between us. Finally, in the strained quiet, he gave a nod that looked like surrender.
“I’m doing this for both of us,” he whispered. “I hope you find what you really want.”
I stifled the urge to roll my eyes, because I was perfectly fine and knew exactly what I wanted, unlike him. He’d clearly lost his edge.
“What should we do about the apartment?” I asked.
He exhaled long and hard, like my attention to detail and practicalities had finally worn him down to the bone. Well, good riddance, then.
“I’ll stay with Marcus tonight,” he said. “You can have the apartment. I can get my stuff whenever you’re not here.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he mimicked, looking like he was now on the verge of tears. Turning away from him, I poured another glass of wine, emptying the bottle. I listened to him pack a bag and then he left, wordlessly.
In the space of an hour we’d become strangers.
I sat down at my computer and stared at my résumé until the words blended together. For a moment, I felt alarmed by the fact that I wasn’t sad. Josh was right, at least in one way—I’d just watched the plan of my life crumble and I mourned that much more than the man who left.
What did that say about me?