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But he isn’t wrong. I’m a fairly happy dude—until I’m not. Until I let all of this Annie stuff catch up to me, and then I fall apart. For a night. Before putting myself back together.
“This,” Levi says, pointing to me as I slump onto his couch, “is exactly why Coco is wrong. Annie turns you into a puddle of mush every time I turn around. And she thinks you should go for it?” He scoffs.
Meredith flicks Levi in the chest. “Go get him one of the cookies I made and be quiet.” She sits down next to me. “Start from the top. Tell me what happened.”
So, I do. I tell Meredith what happened tonight. I tell her how I’ve loved Annie the majority of my life. I tell her how as pathetic as it may sound—or truly be—I’d do anything if I knew it would make Annie happy.
“Including cheer for the Cowboys.” Levi makes a small gagging noise.
“Shush.” Meredith waves a hand at him. “You’re both crazy.”
“Hey.” Levi moans, but I say nothing. I am crazy.
“Owen,” she says, pulling up her legs and crossing them. “Do you know what the definition of insanity is?”
“Um—” I think for a second. I do, but is Webster what she wants?
“It’s doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. Take it from a girl who made some pretty huge changes not that long ago.” She pulls in a breath, her chest filling and then releasing. “You have to do something different if you want a different result. You do everything and anything to make her happy—but Owen, you look pretty miserable.”
I’m not always miserable. I bottle it up. And when it overflows, it isn’t pretty. But this isn’t me. Not always. Not really.
“But—”
“No buts,” she says, and while Meredith may be small and semi-inexperienced, she is persistent. “You have to do something different. You can’t live the rest of your life like this. It isn’t fair to yourself. The thing is,” she says, dipping her head so that her eyes meet mine, “it isn’t fair to Annie, either. You are essentially lying to her.”
Oof. That sounds awful. I’m not a liar. And to Annie…
But that isn’t what I’m doing…
Only maybe it is.
I sit a little taller and replay in my mind her words—insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. And for the first time, I don’t feel completely hopeless. Maybe I don’t have to keep riding the broken record. “What do you suggest?”
Meredith’s eyes turn to slits. “This is scary. I get that.” She pats my arm. “But she answers all the letters from her advice column, correct? So, write your own letter.”
Dear Annie—
“No. No one just calls her Annie.” I delete the two words I’ve typed out. The only thing I’ve gotten down. I have toleave for my date with Belle in twenty-three minutes, and I haven’t figured out what to ask my best friend yet that will convince her she could possibly love me back.
Dear Ask Annie—
Yes. Much better.
And now what?
“Knock. Knock,” calls a voice from downstairs. It isn’t Annie, though. It’s Coco—and the crew. I hear the racing footsteps of my niece Alice and the squawk of my six-month-old niece Lula. “Owen?”
“I’m upstairs,” I yell back. And I’m still in my underwear. I have no idea what I’m wearing tonight. What in my closet is first date, first impression Annie-approved?
With the herd of elephant feet pounding up my stairs. I grab the sweats sitting on the floor next to my desk. I yank on the pants just as seven-year-old Alice pushes through the door.
“I’m here for all your money, you filthy varmint!”
At least, I thought my princess-loving, ballet-dancing, girl-power niece was the one who just pushed through the door.
“Check me out!” Alice bellows, and then she twirls—aww, there’s my girl.
I take her in—head to toe. Hat to spurs. “Are you dressed like a cowboy?”
