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My interview onThe Nikko Show, scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, has been on my mind for days.
“Already handled that,” she says, sounding pleased with herself. “I told him that Motimer’s going to propose tomorrow, and he immediately changed his travel plans and booked a room at the Broad Hollow hotel. So he’ll be there when all this goes down, and he can catch that interview with you right after. He’s thrilled that he’s going to be the first to interview the future Mrs. Laughlin.”
I groan and rub my temples. “No, no… that’s not good. Reach out to him again, please. Cancel the interview.”
“What? Gemma, as your Head of Marketing, can I tell you that’d be a huge mistake? You remember he gets an average of a million views per video?”
“Get in touch with him. Cancel it.”
I scowl as I hang up the phone, and then immediately regret my grumpy attitude. It’s not Claire’s fault that Mortimer’s pulling this crap. It’shis.
And… and mine,I realize, as I lean back against rough tree bark and look up at the sky.
This is my fault, too.
I was the one constantly acting like my split with Mortimer was temporary. I sent all sorts of mixed signals—most recently by calling him up and suggesting a get together… and driving halfway across a state to make it happen.
That made an impression, apparently.
Actions always speak louder than words, and my actions said ‘I want you. I want us.’
I was in such deep denial.
But now I’ve pulled out of it. And I know for sure that don’t want to be Mrs. Laughlin. Ever.
I’m not ready to figure out what, exactly, I want.
I worked hard for the Right Match system. I trust it. I know it says me and Mortimer are beyond perfect for each other. But this week, Parker’s taught me that sometimes, I have tofeelthings without analyzing them. And deep down, I don’t feel that me and Mortimer are Right, with a capital “R.”
Does that mean my system’s broken?
Does that mean I have to stop doing the work I love, and abandon Right Match as a company?
I bow down and burrow my head in my hands. As I rake my fingers through my hair, I think about the countless all-nighters I pulled in grad school. Notebooks, filled with formulas. Text books, stacked all over my various apartments.
I think about the night when me and Mark and Teagan stayed in the office until four am, eating Thai take out, watching our brand new software churn through the first Right Match profiles. I remember how all three of us were invited to the wedding, when the first match we set up walked down the aisle.
My team and I worked so hard, for so many years.
I gaveeverythingto my company.
Now it’s like the very foundations of Right Match are quaking and shaking, about to crumble to dust.
And inside, I’m quaking, too.
Is this what it feels like, right before your whole life falls apart?
Parker lowers down onto the grass beside me. He takes one look at me and then reaches for my hands. “Hey—what’s wrong?”
But the feel of his hands covering mine doesn’t help. It makes me feel worse. My chin quivers, but I refuse to cry. This is my mess, and I have to clean it up. Dissolving into Damsel in Distress mode might be the easy route to take, but not the right one.
So instead of letting myself cry, I do my best to take a deep breath.
It’s shaky, but at least it helps me get oxygen into my lungs so I can speak. “I have to travel to Broad Hollow to clear up a huge mess. It has to do with my company, and a weird, complicated mix of my personal life and my professional life.” I flip my palm and squeeze his hand. “It’s sort of difficult to explain it all.”
He nods, like he was expecting this.
Which makes me want to stay here with him, not drive away.
