Maybe Later(25)

“Call me another day, my schedule isn’t always set in stone.”

“Friday at eight,” I follow Amy’s advice. “See you at the French Pastry.”

“That’s tomorrow?” she repeats absently.



Thursday, April 21st, 6:05 p.m.



AWalk90: Nope, I don’t accept the responsibility. Close the deal now.



“Yes, tomorrow at eight. I can’t wait to see you,” I say and hang up the phone.



Thursday, April 21st, 6:09 p.m.



Emmeline: You never answered my question.

Jack: I’ll do it tomorrow, got to go.





*



AWalk90: He’s approaching your building and won’t wait for you.

AWalk90: Ready?

JSpear84: Just dropped it by the reception. My assistant usually prepares the packages for me.

AWalk90: I can find you a temp.

JSpear84: Are you trying to get rid of me?





*



Emmeline: I haven’t said yes to the coffee meeting.

Jack: Just one date.

Jack: It’s not a meeting.

Emmeline: See you tomorrow, just …

Jack: Just what?

Emmeline: Never mind, see you tomorrow.





Chapter Twelve





Emmeline


Friday, April 22nd, 9:18 a.m.



Is this the lowest point in my life?

I don’t remember when I stopped interacting with others or why. All I know is that it became so much easier to stay in front of my computer and just chat with people online. The old me used to interact more and made friends quickly. There was a time when I was the life of the party. People expected me to show up because if I was there, it was the place to be. It never was, but people like to believe what they want. My friends weren’t the only ones who expected a lot of me, my parents—those two wanted too much from me.

What I love about my job is that my clients only expect so much from me and when I deliver more than what they ask for, they’re grateful. Not many of them are demanding, and by the end of my assignment, they learn to be fair with their expectations and thankful for what I do for them. It’s my own therapy. I wish I could teach my parents to care for me as I am instead of expecting me to be the perfect daughter.

Ever since I can remember I’ve had to meet specific requirements to deserve their love. I don’t think they ever thought I was enough. Having to be the best at everything was tiring.

“Emmeline, you have to be the best dancer in the class,” Mom said once, when I was only four.

But dancing wasn’t the only thing they wanted me to excel at. There was gymnastics, tennis, soccer, lacrosse, swimming. My grades had to be better than everyone else’s. Parents rejoiced when their kids made the honor roll. Mine expected me to be or there would be hell to face. I had to be flawless for them to notice me. They never had time for play, their children had to be perfect. They couldn’t handle us when we cried. They hated it when we threw a tantrum.

Unfortunately for them, I grew up and began to care less about their demands and more about my own needs.

There comes a time for every person when they have to stop living for their parents and start living for themselves. My sister hated when I snuck out of the house. She used my rebellion in order to become their favorite. I didn’t care. They wouldn’t keep me at home, in bed, on a Friday night.

Fortunately, they were so old, they were asleep by nine. I climbed out the window so they wouldn’t police my social life. When Amy didn’t rat me out, but she played the innocent, defenseless flower all the time. I hated how weak she became to be loved by them. When I started high school, Dad forbid us to have a boyfriend until I turned thirty.

Well, Daddy here I am, twenty-eight and boyfriendless.

The biggest issue with my parents is that nothing I did made them happy, so at some point I gave up. But I didn’t realize I’d given up on myself too.

After so many years, I am putting myself out there. I don’t know why I’m doing it honestly. Is it peer pressure? Laura is pushing me harder and harder to get out. She’s over the recluse person I became after all these years alone.

Maybe I’m over myself too.

Having one-sided conversations with my cats isn’t as fun as it used to be. They are adorable, but I need a lot more than a cat rubbing against my leg and purring for companionship. But if I’m going to start putting myself out there, I should start with an average guy, not a guy who might as well have fallen from Mount Olympus.

He’s so perfect and not just on the outside. I love that he took some time to read Fitzgerald. I know not many like that book, but he made an effort to at least find something to talk with me about. I couldn’t say no—or change my phone number. Also, other than the insufferable Mr. Spearman, this is the first guy who I have connected with in such a long time.

Maybe ever. I recall those times when I tried to date in college each and the guys who asked me out would expect me to drop to my knees and do as they said after a couple of drinks. College men are immature. I was trying to date the wrong men back then, and now, it’s too late to try to find Mr. Perfect.

I’m sure I once cared about feelings, relationships, and fairy tales. It’s just that I’ve seen how one person can break another or even destroy their life.