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That doesn’t keep me from doing it, though. A lot.
I’m empathetic, so I often cry on behalf of other people—or from a great scene in a book, or a father-son reunion in a Coke commercial.
Today, when I rush away from Lindsay and Owen, I’m fighting tears that are all my own.
My can-do attitude is a damp paper towel holding up a bowling ball. I’m normally all “it’s fine, we’ll figure it out,” but something is off.
And I realize at this moment what it is.
My emotions and my things have been burned, both figuratively and literally.
My rosy attitude has been replaced with the reality that my house caught on fire and I could’ve died and I might’ve lost everything that means anything to me, and while those things are just things, they were my things, and being reminded of it every few minutes is shaking me to my core.
I wonder what survived.
My favorite loofa. My perfect pair of jeans. My Birkenstocks. The box of mementos—old movie stubs, notebooks, letters folded into triangles from high school—I keep under my bed. My candy stash for when I get stressed out.
Is any of it still there?
I’m not sure if I can wholly attribute this sudden burst of emotion to the frayed, post-fire state I’m in. . .or if it’s seeing Owen and Lindsay together in the same place.
Lindsay’s back. Owen’s back.
And I never left.
It’s easy to see how this could become a replay of eight years ago.
Even if he was too blind to see how wrong she was for him. Owen deserves someone who loves him just as he is. Not someone who tries to change him. And I knew back then, before he even realized it, that’s exactly what Lindsay was doing.
She knew Owen was attractive and they looked great together, but she wanted to turn him into someone she could show off at office parties or family gatherings.
She waited until the day of their wedding to realize he wasn’t going to ever let anyone stuff him into a box. Or a suit. Or an office.
I would never try to do that to Owen. I couldn’t. I knew him, the side he didn’t really show to other people, and he didn’t need to be changed. Yes, he made some mistakes, but I had theories on why. I always believed what Owen really needed was a cheerleader.
Without hesitation I would’ve been that person.
Owen might not be the perfect man, but he was perfect for me.
And I waited until the day of their wedding to let him know.
So. Stupid.
I’m not her. All head-turning make-up and great posture.
I’m the weirdo.
I’m the girl who is more likely to spend a Friday night on my couch, engrossed up in a romance novel than going out to the bars. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I went out on the weekend.
That’s not something I’m looking to change.
Even if it does solidify my future as a spinster.
I like who I am. I like spending my time the way I want to spend my time. I like my pajamas and my books. And I like helping people via my podcast. I’m comfortable with who I am, and I’m not going to let this trip down memory lane change that.
“Emmy?” Owen’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I’m standing in the middle of my office, just off to the side of the back room, with my arms wrapped around myself. I hurry to wipe my cheeks dry and turn to look at him.
The second our eyes meet, concern washes across his face. “Hey. I’m sorry about. . .that. I came to check on you.”
