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Sam: Thanks. Will do.
Jack: And assuming she’s still speaking to you by Friday, feel free to bring her to the picnic. When it comes to creepy clowns and carnival games, the more the merrier.
Sam: Thanks. I appreciate you, Jack.
Jack: As you should. I’m an excellent friend and grew your portfolio by an obscene margin in the past eighteen months. I’m basically a god and should you decide to start referring to me as Jack, God of my Portfolio, I would not object.
Shooting over a laughing emoji and one with cash symbols for eyes, I toss my phone onto the mattress and do my best to make peace with my decision.
But my stomach still feels sour, and my chest is full of guilt worms.
I feel guilty about keeping secrets from Jess, but I’ll also feel guilty about telling her the truth. I don’t want to add to her bad-feelings plate, not when she has so much on there already.
I love her parents—they’re firm, but kind, and pretty funny once you get to know them—but they put way too much pressure on her. It’s like they don’t trust her to make good decisions or…any decisions. Especially her mother. She’s always hovering, worrying, trying to control things that aren’t hers to control. I know she means well, but the end result of all her fretting has been to make Jess doubt her instincts and be terrified of making mistakes.
But mistakes—and failure—are part of life.
We all fuck up, and we all fail. The only people who don’t are people who play it so safe, they aren’t really living at all.
And that’s not Jess. If she tried to be that person, it would break her in some fundamental way and dim the fire that makes her so special.
Mentally composing a “You can handle your mom” pep talk for her, I roll out of bed, grunting softly as my back reminds me that yesterday’s attempt to play hero ended in disaster. And an emergency room visit.
Huh…maybe I should keep my mouth shut and let Jess handle her mom. After all, she’s a capable human being and has far more experience dealing with her family dynamic than I do.
But when I emerge into the main living space to see Jess at the kitchen table, dressed in pressed khaki pants and a short-sleeved black sweater with a white Peter Pan collar, I can’t help asking, “Do you need backup? If so, I can come with you. I don’t have any plans in the city until the end of the week.”
Jess takes a gulp of her water, setting it down with a thump before asking, “What tipped you off? The fact that I’m dressed like my mother’s clone or the terror in my eyeballs?”
“The clothes,” I admit, crossing to rest my hands on the back of the chair next to hers. “The terror in your eyeballs wasn’t noticeable until I got a little closer.”
She widens her eyes, exaggerating her “just saw a ghost behind me in the mirror” expression, making me chuckle.
“Don’t laugh,” she says, even as her lips twitch at the edges. “This is serious. My parents have been waiting for this opportunity since I insisted on majoring in computer science instead of pre-med. I’m pretty sure my mother has a secret savings account with med school money in it that she’ll unleash upon me as soon as she spies a chink in my armor.”
Pulling out the chair, I settle into the seat and prop my arms on the table. “What do you mean a chink? Do you actually want to go to med school? If so, I’m sure you’d be a great doctor.”
She snorts. “That impressed with my bedside manner, huh? Was it the way I tossed a pillow at you or the offer to get you a glass of water that made you think I could make it in the caretaking profession?”
“Play it tough all you want, but I know you care about people. And I know you’re good at anything you set your mind to. If you decide to do med school, you’ll rock it. No doubt in my mind.”
“Thanks.” Her shoulders slump as she exhales. “But I don’t want to go to med school. I truly believe I’m meant to be a designer, I just…” She shrugs. “I guess a part of me wonders if I chose the wrong path.”
“How can it be wrong if you feel it’s what you’re meant to do?”
She sighs again. “Maybe wrong is the wrong word. Maybe I’ve picked a path that’s just too hard. A path that’s going to be such an uphill battle that by the time I make it to the top, all the joy I once found in the journey will be gone. Does that make sense?”
I nod. “It does. But I really think you’re going to love the team at Paradisus. And I know you’ll be respected and treated well there.”
“How can you, though? No offense, but you’re only twenty-four, too. Even someone as brilliant as you are can only rise so far so fast. There’s no way you rank high enough in the company to be able to promise my new work environment won’t be as toxic as the last one. All it takes is a few jerks who don’t like working for a woman to make my life a living hell, and then I’ll be right back where I started.” She slumps lower in her chair. “Or somewhere worse if I’m kicked out of my company apartment in a foreign country and left to beg for airfare on the streets.”
“You won’t have to beg for airfare on the streets,” I say, wishing I could tell her the truth, but my gut still insists that would be a mistake. At least right now. “You could come stay with me and my tiki bar as long as you needed to.”
Her mouth curves in a tired smile. “Thanks.”
“But that won’t happen. Trust me. This job is going to be the start of a new chapter for you. I feel it in my gut, and you know my gut is never wrong.”
“Except for the time you ate all those fried clams from that beach vendor at the fireworks show, even though I told you they smelled funny, and you were sick until Halloween.” She wrinkles her nose. “Do you remember that? You had the location of every bathroom between my house and your house memorized.”
