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Emmy
Being back in your childhood bedroom is kind of like a dating app for garden gnomes.
It’s weirdly familiar, but everything is smaller.
It echoes coziness.
That night, after the market, with my parents out at bingo night, I’m back in my bedroom, surrounded by my Gone with the Wind, Jane Eyre, and Wuthering Heights posters.
As I look at them, I think, Wow, I was a real catch in high school.
Some parents turn their grown children’s rooms into guest rooms or man caves or hobby rooms, but mine left ours alone.
Maybe because it felt like a museum already.
In stark contrast, my sister Ellie, who now lives in the Midwest and who almost never comes home, will forever be represented in this house by the sprawling collage of photos she taped to her wall and ceiling in high school.
Ellie.
Always the social one. Two years younger than me and much more popular, Ellie’s room is like a shrine to social life.
Did I mention the Shakespeare art print I framed and hung over my desk? Line up, guys!
But I understand why everyone loves my sister. I love her, too. She’s fun and goofy and always optimistic.
Now, safely alone with no chance of running into Owen, my nerves finally settle.
I sit down at my desk, open my laptop, and log in to my podcast email. I sent a message to Ripper to let him know we may need to take a break this week, but I didn’t tell him any more than that. I find his simple reply waiting for me now:
All good. Here when you need me.
I begin to sort through the emails my virtual assistant, Lily, sent over. She’s learned which questions make great podcast topics and having her go through them first saves me a lot of time.
“What have you found for me today, Lily?” I say out loud, scrolling subject lines for anything that catches my eye.
I read the first few emails. A woman whose boyfriend stole her identity but is now back on her doorstep wanting a second chance. A woman whose husband falls asleep at 7 p.m. every night, putting a damper on their love life. A woman who is dating a twin and is wondering if it’s okay if she secretly marks him with a Sharpie to make sure they’re not swapping.
Yikes.
I scroll through a few others, then stop on one that has promise.
Dear Hopeful Romantic,
I’m dating a great guy. He’s funny and has a good job, and we’re having a great time. There’s just one problem—he isn’t very romantic. I’ve tried bringing it up to him, but he doesn’t seem to get it. His idea of romance is letting me pick the movie and the restaurant and the time and the day.
He’s perfected the “whatever you want” response. Is it too much to ask him to pick?
I know you’ve said before to hold out for the guy who will dance with you in the rain, but there’s no chance with my current boyfriend.
Am I missing out on “great” waiting for “perfect”? How would I know if this is the wrong guy who just happened to come along at the right time?
How do I know if I should walk away?
Signed,
Hopeful and Heartfelt in Hoboken
I glance over at my microphone. I hadn’t planned to do any recording right now, but with my parents out, this might be the best time. I’m not sure when I’ll get another chance.
