Chapter 19 #3
I snort. “That’s an apt description.”
Stephanie nods sympathetically, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. Jo, who is undoubtedly trying to get closer in order to snoop, brings over two iced lattes.
“On the house,” she says, giving me a meaningful you will be updating me later look.
We thank her and take a synchronized sip of coffee.
“I appreciate you checking in,” I tell Stephanie as Jo walks away. “I haven’t really told anyone about it, and…it feels nice to have someone ask.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, reading between the lines.
“I know,” I say, my red face betraying me. “And, seriously, I wouldn’t say it’s been weighing on me. I mean, this is not the first time a man has been gross to me.”
Stephanie takes a slow breath, her eyes growing pained and red.
“I…shouldn’t have set you up with him. We dated in high school—literally for a month—and he didn’t do anything as bad as what he did to you, but he was a shitty boyfriend and didn’t know how to handle feelings or conflict or, well, much of anything.
But he was fun to be around for the most part, and it’s been almost a decade since then, so I thought he would have, I don’t know, changed?
” She looks at me with miserable, guilty eyes.
“That’s understandable. Most people do change.
I promise, I don’t blame you,” I assure her.
Frankly, I’m shocked she came to see me, even if she’s feeling guilty.
If someone broke up with me for another woman, nothing in the entire world could compel me to go seek out the company of that woman.
Maybe Stephanie is just a better person than I am.
“But anyway, how are you doing?” I ask, trying to match her level of kindness. “You’re taking care of yourself ?”
She waves her hand in the air, brushing off the question. “Oh, I’m fine. Honestly, I’m not even that broken up about it, which goes to show it was probably the right call.”
I assume she’s just saying that because that’s what you tell yourself when you’ve been broken up with (so I’ve heard, anyway), but she does seem genuine. Her body language is significantly more relaxed while talking about Harrison than it is while talking about Alexander.
“Is Harrison doing okay?” she follows up.
“I…think so?”
She eyes me again.
“I mean,” I clarify, “he’s for sure grieving the relationship.” I study her face to see whether I’m saying the right thing, but her expression doesn’t change. “I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice for him.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Like…breaking up?” I continue, trying to fill the silence. “I’m, uh, sure…it wasn’t easy for him?”
I am feeling extremely uncomfortable. There are a million ants crawling over my skin. I would like this conversation to end, and then I would like to go crawl into a hole and not emerge until next spring.
“Right,” she finally says, nodding slowly. “Right.”
“So, um—”
“Here’s the thing about Harrison,” she says, cutting me off and leaning forward as if imparting wisdom. “He doesn’t have his priorities straight. He has too many priorities, and they all get jumbled together, and he can’t sort out which ones are the most important or the most time-sensitive.”
“Okay…?”
“And sometimes he needs people to make decisions for him, because it’s not in his nature to act in his own best interests.
But sometimes he should be acting in his own best interests, which is why people need to push him in that direction.
” She leans forward and tilts her head down, maintaining eye contact as her brown hair slips from behind her ears, falling forward to frame her face. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I do not even remotely understand what she’s saying. But I pick the question I’m most curious about: “Why are you telling me this?”
She blinks slowly, then leans back in her chair.
Sighing, she pulls her hair back into a ponytail, securing it with a hot pink scrunchie from her wrist. “Because,” she says as she tightens her ponytail, “I don’t want you to think that I pushed him into something he didn’t truly want.
Please don’t let him convince you otherwise. ”
Harrison is obviously a pushover, but I’ve never been under any illusion that he would’ve dated Stephanie even if he didn’t want to, nor can I imagine him trying to convince me that he only dated Stephanie because she pushed him into it.
Why would it matter to me, anyway? He dated her, and then he broke up with her, and that’s the end of the story.
I clear my throat, shriveling under her intense stare. “Right. Um—I need to get back to work. But I really, really appreciate you stopping by,” I tell her, and her stare softens. “It really does mean a lot to me.”
“Of course. Take care of yourself, Emma,” she says, standing up with the rest of her iced latte in hand. She gives me a look that conveys a meaning I don’t quite understand, then adds, “Good luck.”
Skip Notes
* Slouched shoulders · Furrowed brows | Emotional tell | Frequency: low
Disappointed.