I didn’t know what a cudgel was, but I suspected the idea of me having and/or using one was not a flattering portrayal.
“Look. I know I was hard on her, but I thought I owed hersome straight talk. She’s making a mistake walking away from choreographing. I truly believe that, regardless of my feelings about her.”
“Right. And what are those feelings?”
“I would have thought that was apparent. You’re the one who’s been telling me I’m in love with her.”
“I told you, sure, butyoudidn’t tellher.”
“Yes I did. I—”
Wait.
“You made a cryptic, awkward speech about how she was your muse.”
“Yes, but…”
“My dude. You never told her how you felt about her. Only what she did for your music.”
“Well,shit.” I hadn’t intended it to sound like that. I’d only meant that she was so fucking amazing that she’d knocked me out of the pity party I’d been having and made it so I could write again. “What do I do now?”
“Maybe you should think about telling her how you feel independent of all this artistic bullshit.”
“How do I do that?”
“Hell if I know. I’m sorry you’ve ended up with me as your advice-giving sidekick, but I have reached my limit for the day—for the year—of navigating other people’s interpersonal problems. In fact, this is all so cringy that the idea of going home and working on my book seems less painful.”
“Glad I could help.”
The thing was, Jack wasn’t wrong. When I rewound the tape of the evening, I could clearly see the moment I was struck withhow much I loved Gretchen. She’d been standing there in her hard hat at the center of her party, and I’d been overcome in a way you are when you finally see the truth. Overcome and energized. But then I’d seen theothertruth, the mistake she was making. And I loved her too much to let her make it, or at least to watch her make it without saying anything. The worry had overtaken me, and the expression of that worry had crowded out the expression of what was in my heart. And since she had—seemingly—so soundly rejected me, I’d become fixated on knocking her off this wrong path. A parting gift, if you will.
I got my truths out of order.
Maybe she was making a mistake with the new studio. But who was I to say that? Who was I toleadwith that?
God, I was such a fucking idiot.
I called my sister. Who would tell me I was a fucking idiot, but hopefully also tell me what to do in a more concrete way than Jack had managed.
I explained everything, and she said, “You need a big gesture.”
“What?”
“You know, a grand gesture. Like in a rom-com.”
“Like Lloyd Dobler holding the boom box over his head?” I asked, thinking back to my joking reference to exactly that at camp—I’d known that Gretchen would find such a thing distasteful and creepy.
“Exactly.”
A wisp of an idea floated through my brain.
“You know what I actually need?” I said. “A gesture that is both grand and funny.” Assuming I was going to try again.
Was I? I closed my eyes and tried to will the wisp into something more substantial. Something actionable.
Did I dare?
Well, shit, of course I did. I could hardly make things worse.
