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But that’s okay. That doesn’t mean he’s left.

I move to check my watch, then remember my wrist is naked after I convinced Olivia, in a momentous moment, to take off her watch. To lose track of time. And steps. And be free.

She insisted we do it together, then giggled nervously at me as though we were illegally going skinny dipping in the frozen lakes of Michigan. When it came off, she actually whooped.

I don’t need to know the time anyway. All I need to do is get this door open.

After a bit more fumbling, the door opens, and I glide up the stairs by the light of my phone flashlight. With every set of steps my hope loses a bit more air. When I reach the ARC room, I push through the filing cabinet and into our secret room, and the air finally escapes entirely.

Nothing.

Not even a set of lights aglow.

All that’s left is a note on top of the manuscript: Sorry I missed you.

And then I drop down onto the beanbag, feeling really crummy. Because he’s not even going to put any of the blame on me here, but act as though he’s the one who missed me.

I look around for a pen.

And start writing.

I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to meet you for dinner. I tried my best, but there was a family crisis I had to attend to—a crisis that is eating all my ice cream in tears back at the apartment, in fact. And long story short, I have a sister who is no longer engaged and an ex-boyfriend who, in the most underhanded way imaginable, proposed to me instead. It’s been a mess. But while it’s a temptation to use my family situation as an excuse for my tardiness, I can’t help but feel there was something else at play. And the fact is . . . I can’t go on without letting you know the truth.

Tonight I realized I am interested in another man.

I’m so sorry. I have loved our friendship through the pages. I just wish the relationship we had on page was the same as we share face-to-face.

Anyway, what you’ve done for me here is so much more than I can ever express in words. I am so grateful to you and the time you’ve spent with me on this project. If you’d like, I’d love to remain friends. And if you are up for that, which I hope you are, dinner tomorrow is on me. I’m turning this manuscript in tomorrow. I’d love to celebrate with you.

Waiting with bated breath,

S.

There. I sit back and look at the note scrawled down the page.

It’s raw. And painful. And it hurts me just to read it.

But it must be said.

Because in the events of tonight, I’ve learned something. Something about myself. About what I really need to remember in this life.

It turns out, racking up accomplishments doesn’t mean anything. Life is not simply some game where the person with the most plaques wins. It’s not about a perfectly organized home or acquiring degrees you’ll never use or the number of inches around your waistline or, most especially, counting steps. Life is about movement, and pause. Work, and rest. It’s about relationship. About valuing others and truly taking the time to show them they are precious. About valuing yourself, too, and your uniquely given, whispered-into-your-DNA goals and dreams.

Life is about making drippy pancakes on a Saturday morning, and leaving the dishes in the sink to sit down with Lyla at the kitchen table and talk about her new agent. It’s about making a bath and spending so much time reading in it that the water gets cold and my fingers go pruny. Yes, there should be fundraisers and shoebox drives and hard work, too, but it’s also about slowing down. Truly being present.

It’s about appreciating the miraculous gift that is existence. It’s about loving on others as much as you can. And yes, it is also about appreciating what organically makes you happy and, where reasonable, finding it.

Which is why, tonight, I had to write to Sam.

Because I realized what would make me happy.

I want another dart game with Will.

I want to sit in his truck and drive through town, talking about our past.

I want to run through a tunnel of people with flying rice and fat snowflakes, holding hands.

And unlike people like Ferris, I can’t go on dancing with other partners while really only wanting the real thing.