“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 thatthey’drejectyou.”
“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 youletthem 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.
Twenty-two
JACK
Be the hero in your own life.
—SOLO FEBRUARY CHALLENGE
Sora’s not returning my calls. Or texts. I should give up, call it quits. She won’t let me explain. Not even a little. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt that she’s shutting me out so fast. Yes, weeks ago, I got tangled up with Mal, and that was my choice. A drunk choice, sure, but mine. I should’ve come clean to Sora from the get-go. That’s on me, too.
Because, right now, it looks like I’ve been caught red-handed. Technically, I didn’t knowfor sureMal was coming to the awards ceremony. But I’d also known she’d been threatening to come for weeks. Was there more I could have done to stop her? I think of dozens of ways I could’ve kept her out of the ceremony. I Monday-morning quarterback myself so hard, I feel like I should try a new career as a commentator on ESPN.
The first day of March dawns dreary and gray with the lingering threat of snow. I sit in my brother’s law office, staring out over the high-rise view of Lake Michigan, in some of the most expensive real estate in the Loop, as he reads over my bakery lease. It turns out, Mal did buy the building. And the leasing company, and everything associated with the bakery I thought would be all mine. I’m technically leasing the bakery space from Starr International. Marc takes his time with it, a wrinkle appearing in his brow.
“Why didn’t you let me read this before you signed it?” He glances up above his reading glasses at me, his elbows propped on his massive mahogany desk. Seriously, where does a person buy desks this big?
“Because you’re busy. And sometimes you’re a prick about things like this.” I’m teasing, but Marc still doesn’t argue. He just goes back to reading. He makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat.
“Well, it’s an ironclad lease. To get out of it, you have to pay a year’s worth of rent.”
I jump up and snatch the paper out of his hand. “That can’t be.”
“Page three, paragraph two, line three.” He takes his readers off and puts them on his desk. “You’re screwed, man.”
“What do you mean?”
“The management company is definitely owned by the Starr family,” Marc says. “Looks like Mal just signed the paperwork a few days ago.”
“I thought she was bluffing.” Should’ve known better. “And this still doesn’t rise to the level of bodily harm? A restraining order?”
Marc shrugs one shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. She hasn’t physically harmed you, or threatened to do so. Yes, it’s a nuisance, but it doesn’t rise to a criminal level. Not yet. I mean, if she upped your rent to a ridiculous amount, or hassled you in some definable way…” He glances up at me, and I’m struck by how much we look alike. Granted, I’m one inch taller, and have a bit more muscle on me, but we’ve both got Dad’s chin and Mom’s dark hair.
“This is a hassle. A huge hassle.”
“Yes, but the rent is market value. If she jacked it up, then maybe we could sue her, but the rent is reasonable.”
“But she’s harming my business. And my sanity. What can I do about this?” I slump into the chair near Marc’s desk.
Marc stares at me sternly, looking remarkably like Dad. “Have you talked to her?”
“Of course I’ve talked to her.” Does he think I’m an idiot? “I’ve told her it’s over.”
“You’re not leading her on.”
“No!”
Marc leans back in his chair. “Really? You don’t love that she’s always begging to be back in your life? Doesn’t it feel good to punish her?”
“I’m not trying to punish her.”
