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Dean was smiling over at me, and the look on his face cut me off.
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t think that’s stupid. It’s amazing. And hell, yeah. Chase your dream. Why not?”
I retreated to my thoughts at his question. It was the same question I’d asked myself a million times. Why the hell not? Because it would mean moving away from my family? Even though I mostly interacted with them via Facetime now, the thought was unsettling. Was it because I worried my life wouldn’t feel “real” somehow if I moved out of my comfort zone? Because I was worried about leaving behind Marley, who was pretty much the only work friend I’d made in all of my time at Pollard?
Maybe I was worried about that new fear I’d felt creeping in this past week. It was the fear that leaving Pollard Marketing behind would also mean leaving behind Dean. He’d continue his fast-paced life in Manhattan and I’d be only a memory within days. Would I spend my small-town hours daydreaming about the big city man I’d let get away?
I hoped not, but the fears were all there.
“It’s probably just a dream, in the end,” I said. “I like my job at Pollard. I’m good at it, and I have Marley there. If I keep on the track I’m on now, I’ll probably be a senior in my department and get the pay bump that comes with that. I could maybe upgrade my apartment and I’d have more creative power at work. It’s all stuff I should want.”
“Should,” Dean echoed. “Not the word of somebody who really believes what they’re saying.”
I sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m prone to bouts of extreme anxiety. Like I said, I’ve been better lately, but it still comes up. It’s a constant battle. And sometimes it comes from something as small as an impending interaction with the lady I’m going to order my coffee from. I think actually being serious about moving out of the city might put me into full-blown meltdown mode. So, yeah. I’m guessing it’s going to stay a dream.”
“Well, that would be a shame.”
“Because you’ll still have to deal with me if I don’t leave Manhattan?” I asked. I’d meant it as a little tongue-and-cheek comment. Something playful to get us off the increasingly heavy topic I wished I hadn’t brought up.
Dean’s response was all serious, though. “Because you deserve your dreams. You deserve to feel like you have a right to put everything on the line to go after them. Everybody does,” he added, maybe once he sensed how much weight his first sentence had carried. “I hope you do it, Pearl. I really do.”
Emotion prickled at my eyes, but I managed to shove it down. I wasn’t going to cry, especially over something as silly as this. But his words felt so genuine that I couldn’t help being touched by them. Maybe my family would’ve been just as supportive if I’d opened up about what was going on in my head to them, but I hadn’t. So Dean’s encouragement was the first I’d had, and it made me feel like I moved from thinking it was probably never going to happen, to wondering if maybe I would find the courage to leave Manhattan at some point.
“Well, thank you,” I said.
He gave my leg a squeeze with his big hand, and my mind immediately went back to that night we’d spent tangled up in the sheets of our hotel bed. That night that seemed to change everything until we’d both decided it changed nothing.
After a long, but surprisingly pleasant drive that took us from the early morning hours, across a time zone, and into the dark, we pulled up to a hotel. “Want to wait in the car while I get us checked in?” Dean asked.
I yawned, realizing I’d dozed off at some point. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
He grinned. “You snored. It was very cute.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You’re right. It was more like an impersonation of a lumberjack sawing logs. All while unconscious. Very impressive.”
I swatted at him and he caught my hand, almost by accident. We both froze while my hand was in his, eyes locked. He let go of my hand and broke eye contact. “I’ll go get us checked in.”
“Okay,” I said.
I got out of the car and stretched my legs. I could see Dean through the glass doors leading to the hotel lobby. It was just your average hotel off some random highway exit. It looked nice enough that we wouldn’t need to worry about cockroaches colonizing our ear holes while we slept or blood on the comforter, but not so nice that someone named “Jarvis” would be serving us breakfast on a platter.
Fine by me.
I thought about giving Marley a call, but figured she would likely be dozing on the charter bus, assuming they hadn’t already stopped at a hotel somewhere. I considered Steph, but wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to her right now. This morning, I would’ve made the call. But tonight? Tonight I didn’t feel like I completely understood my own feelings.
