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I shuffle some papers around my desk, pointlessly moving them from one pile to another knowing that I am achieving nothing.
Am I too old for her? I know I am. She deserves someone younger, full of life, easier going than me. I know I am not the easiest person to get along with and I struggle with my moodiness. I can be a bit gruff sometimes, a bit harsh and blunt. She deserves someone tender and gentle who can take care of her in the ways she needs to be taken care of. She is so soft and sweet.
But she is also strong. But being strong does not mean that she should have to put up with me.
How can my age not be an issue for her?
The more I think about it the more I worry. I know how other people will see it. I am her boss. I am older than her. They will think I have used my position of authority to take advantage of her. No wonder her father is so angry with me. Maybe I have taken advantage of her? Maybe I made her feel like she would lose her job if she did not give in to my… advances?
Shit. I start to really stress as the thoughts run through my mind and I can't stop them.
My mind is not focused enough and for the first time in my life as a doctor, I call my receptionist into my office to cancel the rest of my surgeries that are booked for the day. It is Friday and they will have to wait for the new week. I can't risk my patients like this.
"Are you ok?" Carla says in shock.
"Yes, I am just feeling a bit off and do not want to take any risks. Please reschedule the patients; they will just have to be understanding."
"Sir, what do I tell Eric?"
Annoyance grates through me. "I don't care. Just get it done."
Carla jumps a little and I shake my head, not at her, at myself. Why do I always have to be so abrupt with people? How can I be the right person for Emma? She is so happy and friendly. Everyone loves her. Everyone gets along with her.
Carla is standing in the doorway staring at me. "That is all, Carla." Again. Again, I was rude. It seems to be my default.
I need to get out of here.
I pack my things and head out to my car. I should message Emma and let her know that I am leaving, but I can't even piece together thoughts in my head right now, never mind worry about someone else. That is my problem. I am too focused on myself. Emma is the first person who has really pulled me out of myself to open up and let down some of my walls, but it is not her job to do that. She is not here to fix me. I need to sort myself out.
I do not think I am ready for a relationship that is this serious. How can I be a good partner never mind a husband or a father?
No. I am a good father. I know that at least.
While I am driving home, I am thinking about who I am as a person, and I begin to think that I do not even like myself. I am abrupt, aggressive, and too blunt. I am hard on the people around me. I do it because I expect the best from them, but is it the right way to handle things?
If I want to be in a serious relationship with anyone, I need to really work on myself - my reactions - how I treat people. Especially with Emma. She is too good for this. She deserves better.
I know she does because I love her.
I love her.
I sigh deeply annoyed at myself. This is the first time in my life I have not felt good enough for someone.
Or is it? Maybe I never felt good enough and that is why I overachieved everything and had to flirt with so many women, to prove that I could get them? Maybe that is why I treat people so harshly, to prove that I am better than them? Why am I like this? I do not want Emma to see who I really am. She will not be able to love someone like me.
I pull into the parking bay at my apartment in the city and shut off the engine. I have so much thinking to do and so much personal growth to get through. I am starting to accept that I need to let Emma go.
Unlocking the front door, I let myself into my apartment. The first thing I notice is that it smells like home because it smells like Emma. Her soft, warm scent is in the air, and I breathe it in with a sad heart. This apartment, like all of the other apartments and houses I have ever lived in, has always meant very little to me. I look around the apartment. But it does not feel meaningless here. It feels like home. For the first time in my life, I have a space that feels like home.
It is because of Emma. Not because of me. I have never been able to create a home. I am just not that type of person. I have things of convenience. I use things. I don't get attached.
Except that I do. I am very attached to Emma.
I dump my work things in the office room and change into more comfortable clothes. I grab a glass from the cabinet and pour myself a whisky on the rocks. Sitting at the dinner table I strum my fingers on the surface. Agitated. Restless and irritated.
I did not realize how long I had been sitting there until the door opened and Emma walked in.
"Lennox?" She says, looking me up and down where I sit, a little lightheaded from my third whisky. She reaches out to flip a light switch on and I realize I have been sitting in the dark for a while now. She eyes the glass in my hand.
