“Sounds like you’re trying to have it both ways,” says Stella. We’re grabbing a quick lunch nearby at a vegan diner. It’s kosher and healthy, which Stella loves, and I happen to love their sweet potato fries, so it all works out. Outside, a brutal February wind kicks down the street, knocking the snow off the tree branches, as passersby waddle by the window bundled in hearty woolen layers: ankle-length coats, thick scarves, ski caps, and striped mittens. Even the dogs on leashes have on their puffy coats today.
“Well, ofcourseI’m trying to have it both ways. And Jack Mann? All ways.” I stretch out my ankle, which is much better. There’s still swelling and it’s a tad tender to walk on, but I ditched the crutches and can hobble most places without them. Jack’s tender loving care the night before must’ve sped up my recovery, because now I hardly even have a limp. Amazing what a half-dozen orgasms will do.
Stella pushes up the thick wool sleeves of her chunky sweater and squints at me. “You didn’t tell me yousleptwith him.”
“What do you mean? I didn’t sleep with him.” I may have only mentioned the kissing part. I didn’t mention the him-buck-naked-in-my-apartment-when-Arial-arrived part. Or the part about the many,manyorgasms achieved in the wee hours of the night. “What! Me? No.” I study the menu as if it’s the fine print of a winning lottery ticket.
“You’re a terrible liar. Also, you have that ‘I spent the night making love to a gorgeous man’ vibe. You’re actually giggly.”
I giggle. “No, I’m not.” I giggle again.
“I rest my case.” She stares at me. “Also, you have stubble burn.”
“Where?” I reach up to feel my face. I thought it was windburn.
“Everywhere. Even your neck. And your arms. Did he lick you from head to toe?”
“Maybe.” I shiver, remembering. I’ll let him exfoliate my whole body with his beardstache any damn day of the week.
She shakes her head at me. “What happened to Solo February? To solidarity?I’vekept the pledge!”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Your readers will be disappointed if they find out.”
I sink my face into my palms. “I know,” I groan, thinking of the two dozen debates on #GoSolo that I weighed in on just this morning alone. “I can’t be trusted. I just can’t!”
The waiter drops off two glasses of water. “I’ll be right back to take your order!” he promises. There’s only one waiter for the whole diner, which is surprisingly busy at 11A.M.on a weekday. But I’m in no rush to get back into the polar vortex outside, anyway.
“This is not something out of your control, and I don’t think it’s lust that’s driving you.” She takes a thoughtful sip of her water. “I think it’s a desire for approval. It’s because inside, you don’t feel worthy of love.”
“I sound like the subject of an after-school special.”
“I’m serious,” Stella continues. “Your dad was short-tempered with you, and your mom is always trying to put you on a diet, so you look for men to tell you that youaregood enough, and you seek that approval from men in bed—especially assholes.”
“Jack’s not an asshole.” I have her there. Jack’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met. Period. Full stop.
“Okay, okay.” Stella raises her hands in surrender. “Jack’s different. You’re right. He does seem like a mensch.” She studies me a minute. “But are you sure this is the right time for him?”
“No. It’s not. I’m supposed to go solo.”
“Right. Because you were going to do some soul-searching in February,” she reminds me. “And not just rush into your next relationship.”
“That, and because it was a catchy series title for Arial.” I sigh. “Also, it gets worse. I’m supposed to be onLet’s Talk!this week. Apparently,Solo Februaryhas so many followers that I’ve made the local news.”
“Seriously?” Stella looks both impressed and alarmed.
“What if everybody finds out I’m a fraud?”
“Hey,” Stella says, pushing her thick, black curls off her forehead, as she settles into what I call her therapist stance: shoulders squared, eyes locked on mine, palms flat on the table. She vibrates with sincerity. “You know you are enough. Just all on your own. You don’t need anybody or anything to save you. Jack sounds great, but if he’s as great as you say, he’ll wait. And getting into a bind where you’re lying to your boss and to theLet’s Talk!audience, that’s just not good. You’re only as sick as your secrets.”
“Then, if I just have one, doesn’t that make me not very sick?”
Stella sighs, shoulders slumping. “I think you’re missing the point.”
“Am I?” I know I am. Deliberately.
Stella sucks in a breath. “I’m sure Jack is great—he’s just not the answer to your problems. You are.”
