Twenty-one
SORA
No one is coming to rescue you. You’re going to have to climb on down from that tower by yourself.
—SOLO FEBRUARY CHALLENGE
I hide in my drafty condo and just keep a low profile, avoiding every social media platform ever invented. The last thing on earth I want to do is open my laptop and let all that horrible, horrible stuff claw its way back in front of my eyeballs. Already the criticisms have been circling my brain, like termites eating away at my self-esteem.
You’re such a fraud.
I can’t believe I even read a single stupid word you ever wrote.
It’s women like you who keep other women down.
Shame on you.
This was all a sham. #GoSolo means nothing now. Thanks for nothing.
The worst part is that nothing they could ever say is worse than what I’m telling myself. They think they’re hard on me? They have no idea what I’m telling myself. I should’ve never trusted Jack. I should’ve seen this coming a mile away. I had something good going with Solo February, and I let a guy distract me—again.
All I can think about is Jack. And seeing Mal hug his shoulders, and the deep, bitter taste of betrayal lingering at the back of my mouth.
I call Stella because I need advice. Preferably from someone with a PhD. in behavioral psychology.
“You should be taking better care of yourself. Have you even eaten today?” Stella asks, taking in my appearance, as she walks into my condo. Which, to be honest, I haven’t even bothered to check. She glances at my feet. “Are you wearing only one sock?”
I look down and see I am, indeed, wearing one mint-green sock, and the other foot is bare. I hadn’t even noticed.
I hug her tightly to me and don’t let go.
“Okay, okay. We’re going to get through this,” she says, hugging me back a moment before gently peeling me off her. “First thing is, let’s find your other sock. Or any other sock. Next thing, let’s go wash your face and comb your hair.”
I realize I hadn’t bothered to do either since coming home from the Golden Chef Awards. One quick glance in the mirror and I see deep black streaks of mascara down my face. I’m a mess. I glance down at the bath rug and see my other mint-green sock there. I tug it on. Okay. One task complete.
“Also, I brought you a nice fresh salad,” Stella calls through the door of the bathroom. “And a bottle of tequila.”
“The tequila, yes. Not sure if I can eat, though.” I walk out of the bathroom feeling slightly better. Also, I found my sock.
“Since when?” Stella stares at me, bug-eyed.
“I’m just as shocked as you.”
“But this salad has bacon.” She opens the cardboard container to show me. I do a double take. “I mean, it’s kosher turkey bacon, but still,” she explains.
Normally, I’d be happy to dig in, but the very idea of eating makes me want to throw up. My throat closes up at the mere sight of food. I push the salad away. “I … I can’t eat.”
“I’m sorry. Is it the turkey bacon?”
I shake my head.
“Okay. Tell me. What’s wrong?”
I give her the SparkNotes. Solo February crashing and burning. Jack. Mal. The disaster that is my life.
“The worst part is Jack had a red flag. The very day I met him, Mal was there, and I … I … ignored it. Just like I said I wouldn’t. I ignored this huge red flag, and now here I am, right back in the place where I don’t ask the right questions early and then just get rolled.” I sigh. “Oh, and everyone online also wants me dead. So there’s that, too.”
Stella puts her arm around my shoulders and tugs me closer. I go, putting my head on her shoulder. “I think it’s time for a liquid lunch.” We break apart and she reaches for another, smaller brown bag, and pulls out a bottle of tequila. “Shall we?”
“I think I love you,” I say, as she rises, fetches two glasses from my kitchen, and pours a little bit of añejo in each. We clink glasses and then I take a deep swig, the tequila the only thing that can numb the aching pain of my heart, split in two—again. The burn down my throat feels good. “Can I join your team? Give up on men?”
I lean on my breakfast bar. Stella hoists herself up to one of the stools.
“You want to date Terran?” Stella asks, raising a challenging eyebrow. “She’s available.”
“Right. I forgot. Dating sucks for everyone.”
Stella sends me a look of pity. “You’re going to have to talk to him,” Stella gently tells me. “You don’t really know what happened.”
“He’s just going to deny it all,” I say, as I scooch into the seat next to hers. “And the evidence is pretty tough to dispute.”
“Yes, but…” Stella takes a small sip of her own tequila. “You’ll have to talk it out. After you’ve both calmed down. If you still think he’s lying, then dump him. I’m all for it. I just think you need a full discussion about this, and not on a freezing cold sidewalk.”
“You really think Jack will tell me the truth? No one tells the truth. I mean, hello, Terrain? You know people just suck. They all lie.”
“I know. But … everything you told me about Jack … he seemed like such a mensch. Maybe it was all a lie but I’m just not sure.”
“Tell me about it.” I sigh.
“Maybe there is an explanation,” she tells me gently.
“Aren’t you always the one telling me that the simplest answer is usually the right one? What do you say about the zebra?”
“When you hear hoofs, don’t think it’s a zebra when it’s probably a horse?”
“Bingo.” I snap my fingers.
“Yeah.” Stella nods. “Usually, the simplest answer is the right one.”
“Okay, then.” I blow my already-red nose. “He lied to me. End of story.”
“I think you should talk to him,” Stella adds. “Not for his sake. For yours. To be sure. You’re right that you didn’t ask enough questions early, but you have to still ask those questions.”
I know why I’m not asking those questions, because part of me doesn’t want it confirmed that Jack is terrible, and I’m a fool.
“Why talk to him? There’s no elaborate Mal conspiracy. He wants her as his main and me as his side chick. The story of about every man I ever met. I’m destined to forever and always be the side chick.” I think about Dan and his wife. Marley and his endless sexting of every woman he ever met.
“Well, technically, you were Marley’s main chick.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
Stella’s mouth curves into a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I know.”
“And irony of ironies, now all the readers think I ditched Solo February for a guy, and so now they all hate me, too.”
“I think it was brave to come clean,” Stella says. “I’m glad you did.”
“Everyone hates me for it, though.”
“I have a question: Even when you were getting all the accolades from Slick readers, was that really what you wanted to be writing?”
“No,” I say. “I always wanted to write more serious stuff. Not that dating isn’t serious, but just more … about issues.”
“Like?”
I sniff, wiping my nose. “Climate change. Women running for political office. Really, anything that doesn’t involve makeup or dating.”
“So, what’s stopping you?”
“Everything.” I sigh.
“Look, you can’t be something new and great without saying goodbye to something old and comfortable. You have to make room in your life for the things you want. And if it’s not writing for Slick, then it’s time to move on.”
“You think I shouldn’t write for Slick anymore? I mean, actually, I don’t even know if Arial will let me write for Slick.”
“I think you should figure out what you do want to write and write that.”
I sigh and finish my tequila. It burns on the way down. Just like everything else in my life right now.
She looks at me, worried.
“What’s that look?”
“What look?” She frowns.
“That clinical I’m-over-the-deep-end look you’re giving me right now?”
Stella takes a deep breath. She always does this when she wants to lay some truth on me, truth I probably don’t want to hear.
“I think you need to do some serious self-care.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, geez. Not this again. A freakin’ pedicure isn’t going to solve my problems.”
Stella laughs as she crosses her legs at the knee and leans forward, gently taking my glass from my hands and putting it on the breakfast bar. She’s got that squared-shoulders, ultra-focused, counselor stance again. “That’s not what I mean about self-care. Have you been listening to me at all?”
“Yes.” Maybe not. Sometimes when Stella gets too therapy-y I tune out.
“Self-care is about parenting yourself. Yes, it’s about being good to yourself with treats like pedicures, but it also means making tough decisions for yourself. It means being the adult in your life.”
“I hate adulting.” I pour some more tequila in my glass and then put my elbow on the breakfast bar, resting my chin in my palm. Stella cocks her head to one side.
“Yes, I know,” she says. “But look around you. This is the condo you and Marley bought. Why are you still here? I know for a fact that Marley loved this place more than you did. I ran into Pam on the way up here. She sucks all the positive energy from the room. I know you want to be away from her.”
“Actually, we did have a nice conversation—”
“Okay, but one conversation probably doesn’t change the fact that you’d rather not necessarily live above her, right?”
This is true.
“So why are you still living here? Nobody is making you.”
My old friend inertia is, but I think Stella won’t appreciate that.
“You had a job offer from Slick, but you didn’t even want it, and if you want my opinion, I think you self-sabotaged.”
“What does that mean?” I sniff.
“It means you were too afraid to say no outright, so you just worked to make sure you’d mess it up so that they’d reject you.”
“That sounds super cowardly and passive-aggressive.” I think about it. “Yep, could be me all right.” Stella laughs, ruefully. “Okay, so, you’re right about my condo. And my job offer. But, men just … I mean, I’m always getting tripped up by them. They are ruining my life.”
“No one can ruin your life unless you let them ruin your life.” Stella takes a deep breath and then takes one of my hands in both of hers. “You keep waiting for a man to rescue you, to make everything better, to take away all these hard decisions but, girl … you need to do those things. No man can do them for you. Eat better. Be healthier. Sell this damn condo. Tell Arial you don’t really want to freelance anymore and go after the job you really want. You are the one in charge of your own happiness. Not anyone else.” She pats my knee for emphasis. “Be the hero in your own life.”
Even in my tequila haze, a light bulb goes off. For the first time in a long time, I know what I need to do.