20. Dannica #2
His thumb brushes lightly against my back again.
“I think,” he says slowly, “missing one application probably isn’t the thing that decides the rest of your life.”
For some reason, that makes me want to cry.
I shake my head, pressing my lips together. “I did this to myself. I kept putting it off, and now it’s just… gone. I ruined it before it even started.”
“That’s not true.”
“It kind of is,” I mutter.
His hand slides up my arm, gentle but firm enough to get my attention. “Dannica, look at me.”
I hesitate, but I look at him.
He’s fully awake now, watching me with that same steady focus he had yesterday, like he’s not going to let me dodge this.
“One application closing doesn’t ruin anything,” he says.
“It was the application,” I argue. “The one.”
“There will be others.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, then?”
I open my mouth, but I don’t actually know how to explain the weight I put on that one thing, so I close it again. How do I tell him that the application had felt like proof, like a door opening, like if I got it then everything else would fall into place?
“I think I sabotaged myself on purpose.”
Teddy is quiet for a moment. “Why?”
I open my mouth with an answer ready. “Because I was afraid to fail.”
The words leave my mouth automatically, but the second I say them, they don’t feel entirely true.
Teddy studies me. “Is that really it?”
I frown. “What else would it be?”
He shrugs lightly. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
I look back at the phone in my hands. The closed application. The missed deadline. The opportunity that’s gone. And beneath the disappointment, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. Something ugly. Relief.
My stomach twists. “Oh.”
“What?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s...”
But it is. Because if I’d applied and they rejected me, it would’ve hurt. But if I’d applied and gotten in? I would’ve had to decide. Leave Grandma, leave Mom. Leave the diner. Leave Shelly, Quadri, and Mary. Leave the life I’ve spent twenty-seven years building.
My throat tightens. “I think part of me didn’t want the choice.”
Understanding settles across his face. “That sounds a lot more honest.”
I let out a weak laugh. “Great. So I’m a coward.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a person who wants two things.”
I look at him.
“You love this place.”
I nod.
“And you love writing.”
Another nod.
“Those things don’t cancel each other out, Dannica.”
“They kind of do when one of them requires leaving.”
“Maybe.”
His hand finds mine. “But missing the deadline didn’t solve that problem.”
The words make more of an impact than I want them to, because he’s right. The application being closed doesn’t make the choice go away. It just means I chose nothing.
“To make art,” he continues, quieter now, “you have to live. And you are. So write that.”
I huff out another small laugh, shaking my head. “What I just lived through was the weirdest sitcom episode to ever exist.”
His mouth curves. “Okay.”
I raise a brow. “Okay?”
“Then write that.”
I blink at him. Because that’s actually not a bad idea.
LOCAL WOMAN CONSIDERS TURNING CHAOTIC LOVE LIFE INTO CONTENT. PUBLIC UNPREPARED.
I look down at my phone again, the closed application still staring back at me, and for the first time since I saw it, it doesn’t feel quite as final.
Maybe I missed that door. But maybe… there are others. Or maybe I just build my own.
I glance back at him. He’s still watching me like he already knows where this is going.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter.
“Like what?”
“Like you just fixed my entire life in five minutes.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Did I?”
“Debatable.”
His hand finds mine, squeezing lightly. “You’ll figure it out.”
For once, I think I might. And that’s new.
As I stare back at the screen, the weight of disappointment starts to lift, replaced by a flicker of determination.
There’s something invigorating about the idea of taking control, of not waiting for permission to pursue my dreams. I need to embrace the chaos, mold it into something beautiful, something that reflects who I am.
“Okay,” I say, a newfound energy coursing through me. “I’m going to write. Right now.”
His brow raises in surprise, but there’s also encouragement in his gaze. “That’s the spirit.”
I need to get my laptop from my car. I throw on his shirt, which smells exactly like he did as he was hovering over my body, and look back to the bed. Maybe I should write later… after…
Wait, no, I’m doing it again. Stalling.
When I get back, Teddy has made a space for me at the dining room table.
“Coffee?” he asks from the kitchen.
“Please.” The word comes out like I’m begging.
Teddy laughs. “Okay, you write, I’ll make us coffee and something to eat. Something you’ll only need one hand for.”
My heart races with excitement and nerves. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through me like a shot of espresso, electrifying every nerve ending. I open a blank document, the cursor blinking expectantly, as if it’s just as eager for me to begin.
“So, you’re going to write about this?” he asks, as he takes the eggs out of the fridge, humor sparkling in his eyes.