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“What the hell does that mean?”
“If they see our breakup as a betrayal, they’ll screw us over. They’ll find a way to do it.”
I sigh. I think she’s overthinking this. “I’ll take care of it,” I assure her.
She shakes her head. “I’m going to lie down and enjoy my last afternoon of freedom.”
“Come on,” I say. “Is it that dire?”
“An engagement?”
“That was just a suggestion, a joke.”I think.
“It’s never just a suggestion,” she says.
“You were excited this morning,” I say, lightening my tone. “Remember how big you smiled when you got his text? What did it say?”
“He was picturing our honeymoon.”
“See.” I gesture toward her. “You smiled at a honeymoon.”
“There was sex under a waterfall. Who wouldn’t smile? But it’s a honeymoon that will never actually happen. Or at least I thought.” She throws up her arms as if to saythis is impossibleand crosses the sidewalk. Then it’s up the winding path to the house.
Okay, mansion. Our house is a mansion. A mansion on a massive lot with an apartment in the back.
We live in the apartment, but we spend plenty of time in the house, too. Dad is lonely by himself and, well, the house is pretty sweet. Big kitchen, bigger living room, big patio next to the big pool.
I follow Lexi up the path. Even though she’s wearing stilettos and I’m wearing heeled boots, she beats me inside.
I rush after her. Find her on the plush cream couch, arms crossed, like an adult version of the Lexi who threw tantrums because she didn’t have the right outfit for her Barbie.
She’s upset. I see that.
But that’s all I see. Emotions, people, relationships: none of it is my strong suit.
If I could build an algorithm to explain why Lexi is upset, I could do something. As it is, I have to use the data available to me.
Lexi loves freedom. Lexi hates commitment. Everyone hates losing their autonomy. Mom died right when Lexi was learning to have meaningful relationships with other people.
Of course, she can’t imagine a future with Jake. Or anyone.
Of course, she flees from pain at every opportunity. She’s had enough for a lifetime.
She rushes to short-term arrangements, and I bury myself in work, but because she’s a woman, she’s seen as superficial and slutty, and I’m seen as a studious hard worker. It’s sexist bullshit. She works hard, too. And I have fun, too. In my own way.
She just needs to remember she likes this guy. She needs to see this as her choice. And it is her choice. I can’t force her to do anything.
She doesn’t have to stay with him forever, though. Just for a few months. For long enough that everyone can agree they had a great relationship,and MeetCute made it happen.
I sit next to her on the couch. “You love his eyes.”
“I do.” She rests her head against the wall and stares at the high ceiling.
“And hewearsthat suit.” The one in the first picture she ever saw of him.
She nodshe does.
“Do you remember what you said about his tie?”
