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I stifle a yawn dramatically and give him a cockeyed grin. “You know, ever since you became a dad, you've been getting softer by the day,” I say, a chuckle in my voice. “You're getting all poetic on me.”
Nick laughs and shrugs. “Like I said, Phoenix and Abigail have both changed me,” he fixes me again with that hard stare of his, letting it linger on me for a long moment before he finishes his statement. “And they've changed me for the better, I'd say.”
I nod. “I'd agree with that statement.”
“Then maybe you should be giving it some thought too, Aaron. I mean, hell, you just seem so tense and uptight every time I see you,” he continues. “Life is too short to spend it that way. You need to learn to relax and enjoy life some.”
“With Frontline going as strong as it is and continuing to grow and expand, I've got a lot on my plate, man.”
“Excuses,” he shakes his head. “All excuses.”
I chuckle. “But good excuses.”
“Not good enough. You really don't want me putting Abigail on this, do you?” he asks, giving me an even look. “You think I'm a bulldog and a nag? She's ten times what I am when it comes to getting what she wants. That woman redefines persistent.”
I laugh and rub my jaw, the stubble making a dry scratchy noise. “Yeah, don't set her on me just yet.”
“Look, all I'm saying – all we're saying, actually – is that you're too good of a guy to be alone,” he tells me, his voice softening a bit. “We want to see you happy, Aaron. You deserve to be happy and to enjoy your life.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Just open yourself up to the possibility, man,” he says. “Don't be so closed off. Consider it a requirement to be my best man. Let yourself be open to the idea of finding love.”
“A requirement?” I burst out in a laugh. “Whatever you say, man.”
Nick reaches in his coat and tosses an envelope in front of me. It’s an invitation to his and Abigail’ wedding. I can definitely see her aesthetic touches in the fine writing and gold glitter.
“I’m serious. Or you’re uninvited.”
Our laughter echoes through the restaurant.
It's amazing to me just how much Nick's changed since he met Abigail. The boy I knew is gone, and the man I see before me is somebody completely different. Not that it's a bad change. Quite the contrary, actually. But the Nick I knew bears little resemblance to the Nick he is today.
It leaves me wondering if it's even possible for somebody like me to have such a drastic change in who I am this far along in life. Can I learn to be open to the possibility of finding love? Can I learn to deal with emotions better? Or will my reliance solely on logic and things that are quantifiable and rational remain at my core for the rest of my days?
I don't really know, but the eternal skeptic I am thinks that in certain cases – Nick is obviously the exception to the rule – it often is impossible to teach an old dog new tricks.
Chapter Five
Emily
“You got this, Emily. You got this.”
I stare into the rearview mirror of my car, giving myself a pep talk. Job interviews have always made me nervous, but this time, it's even worse than normal. Maybe it's because I quit my last job without a safety net or a plan, and I desperately need a job so I can do neat things like eat and keep a roof over my head.
I had to quit my last job, though. There wasn't another option. When they hired on a new supervisor, things deteriorated so quickly, it went from a bad situation to a completely unbearable one in the span of like, a month. If that.
My now-former boss was demeaning, patronizing, and cruel. He never failed to miss an opportunity to say something degrading – although he usually tried to couch it in the guise of ‘constructive criticism’. The simple truth is that he has zero respect for women and doesn't believe they should be in the workforce.
I'm pretty sure he thinks the world would be better off if we were all stuck in the kitchen, barefoot, pregnant, and making our man a damn sandwich when he asks.
Yeah, it's not real hard to see why he and I never clicked – he's a misogynistic asshole. Granted, I'm not a card-carrying feminist or anything like that, but I don't put up with sexist pricks either. I have a little more respect for myself than to put up with that kind of crap.
I smooth down my hair and check my lipstick in the mirror again, then fix myself with a firm gaze, taking slow, deep breaths to settle my racing and jangling nerves.
“You can do this, Emily,” I say. “You know you can.”
A middle-aged woman walks past my car, giving me a curious look. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I look a little crazy sitting in my car talking to myself, but so what? Some of us need to work up to walking into the lion's den.
