Page 55 of Hockey Player Seeking Fan

"You haven't gone through that much, Suki."

"I've gone through a lot," she says. "Trust me."

"I mean, I know that you've been in some relationships that haven't exactly gone the way that you wanted them to, but?—"

"They've gone absolutely horrifically. Which is why I've never said anything to you before. Because you know what? Casual sex is fun, and I've had orgasms that make my body tingle right now, just thinking about them. But I've had many nights whereI've cried. I've had many nights where I questioned why I wasn't enough or good enough."

"Oh, Suki. You're always good enough."

"I know. But when you're in love with someone—or rather, you think you're in love—and you want them to choose you, it really fucking sucks when they don't."

"But that's because they weren't the one."

"There is no ‘one,’ Erica. That's just a fantasy in your mind. And I love that you have that. But don't give up on real life because you haven't found that yet. Enjoy yourself. You have so much else to focus on. You have your podcast. How's that doing, by the way?"

My lips tremble.

"Oh, no. What's going on?"

"It's not doing well. I don't think anyone other than my friends and family have listened. So that tells me exactly how many people care—none."

"Girl, you literally just launched it. Give people time to find it."

"No one cares," I say. "Maybe it's because I'm old-fashioned, maybe because I'm espousing things that people just roll their eyes thinking about. Maybe no one's looking for a perfect gentleman. Maybe no one's looking to be wooed. Maybe no one cares about fictional characters."

"Lots of people like to read books," she says.

I collapse onto my bed and sigh.

"I feel like a loser. I just don't understand. I'm confused, and I don't know where I'm going. And I recognize that I'm so privileged to be able to figure this shit out, but that makes me feel even more guilty. There are real people out there who are suffering, who don't have the luxuries I do, and I'm just here, fucking worried about my stupid podcast that hasn't done well and not meeting the love of my life."

"Those are real issues going on right now."

"They are. But that doesn't mean that mine are any more important than… Suki, kids going to war and people dying are more important than me finding my soulmate."

"I mean, when you put it like that…" She gives me a wry smile. "But still. You gotta give yourself some grace, Erica. It's not all or nothing. You can worry about what you're worrying about and still figure out some other shit to give back."

“Yeah, we’re lucky. We’ve grown up in families that have basically allowed us to live the lives we want. I don’t take that for granted, and my parents don’t let me take that for granted. My dad came from nothing. He grew up with twelve brothers and sisters on a small farm. And trust me when I say he reminds me of that every single day.”

“I know I’m lucky. And that’s why, even though I want to believe in love like you do, I’ve got real shit to think about—getting a job at JP Morgan or Goldman Sachs and fucking showing my dad that I don’t need him, that I can make it on my own.”

“I didn’t know that you wanted to do that. I thought you were happy living with your dad and taking his money.” I rub my forehead as I study her. “I didn’t know that you wanted to prove anything to him.”

“Yeah, because that’s not fun, is it? It’s not part of the fairytale—that I live this privileged, beautiful life. I feel guilty every single day, and not because of other people, but because of my own family. They remind me that if it wasn’t for them, I’d have nothing.”

She lets out a deep sigh. “But anyway, I don’t want to make this about me. This is about you.”

“No, Suki. That’s the problem. Everything in my life is always about me.”

“I think Sabrina would think differently,” she says, cutting me off. “You’ve been Sabrina’s best friend for so long, and you’ve been there for her in so many different ways. Don’t sell yourself short, Erica. You’re not the spoiled little rich girl. Sure, maybe you have some privileges that others don’t, but you don’t take advantage of them. You’re not a bitch. You’re not horrible. You’re not out there buying Cartier and Hermès and Balenciaga and Chanel and walking around in Christian Siriano gowns on a campus like Jemima was.”

“Oh my gosh, don’t remind me of Jemima,” I say, laughing.

“So, what do you do? What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I guess I want to feel like I’m living life. I want to feel like…”

“You want an orgasm; that's what you want.”