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Joel chuckles. "It's great."
"It's very good."
"That's the best I'm going to get from you, huh?"
I nod.
"I'll take it." He turns his attention to his plate but he keeps one eye on me.
Even with the rice a little mushy and the shrimp a little stringy, the dish is good.
Very good even.
But that doesn't feel like enough.
Good has never felt like enough to me.
And I have the scars to prove it.
I trace the faint scars on my wrist as I pour over old memories.
Joel was right. I don't do things unless I can be great. Or maybe I make a point of being great at everything I choose to do.
Either way, I never give myself permission to fail.
Hell, I never give myself permission to be good enough.
Forget about okay or terrible.
It means I close myself off to any activity where I won't excel.
It means I stay planted firmly in my comfort zone.
Only… I'm here, in Los Angeles, in Joel's apartment, spending a week with him before our impending divorce.
That's way, way outside my comfort zone.
I want to try new things. To be the kind of person who can try new things.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I need comfort food.
Like greasy shrimp stir-fry.
Joel finishes first. He waits for me to finish then takes our plates to the sink.
He checks the time on his way back to the couch. "There's a lot of night left."
There is. And I'm tempted to insist we spend it in his bed, naked. I need the comfort right now. Even if it means I break into pieces when we part.
He sits next to me, his body turned towards mine. "I have a pitch."
My breath catches in my throat. "Yeah?"
His eyes fill with mischief. "It might keep you up all night."
Yes. Hell yes. I nod.
