Page 2 of Out of Focus

“Well, yes, Charlotte. I’m ready now because the CEO position is ready now. We both said we wanted to meet career goals before committing. We both agreed. We’ve waited years for this, and you know you’re the only one I could ever marry.” This fact is what had kept me going. Kept me waiting. I always thought Robert was a good guy for not pressuring me into a relationship when I wasn’t ready. He once told me that he knew the first time I smiled at him that I was the one. I don’t even remember the moment. Don’t remember the smile since it was probably fake. Likely because I was trying so hard to look like I belonged in the room, rather than fighting off the urge to put on headphones or leave and quiet my mind with a book or a walk. I had my mask on when I gave him that smile, but he doesn’t know that. Most people don’t.

“How long?” Robert’s voice barely registers among all the noise. In my head. Out here. I need to find somewhere quiet.

“What?” I ask, not even sure what he’s going on about.

“How long do you need?” His tone’s changed from cajoling to slightly annoyed.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps until Lainey and Adam are married? Once Maeve gives birth? I don’t know. I need space, Robert. I need space from you.” There. I said it. It might feel as though my heart is about to gallop out of my chest, but I said the words.

Robert clears his throat. “Oh. I didn’t realize. All these years, I thought, well, I thought you wanted this. Me.”

“I did. I…” I can’t force myself to say I do because I’m not sure that’s true any longer. “I did. I still might. But I can’t figure that out when you tell me we’re not together and then two weeks later decide you want to marry me because your dad has a position ready for you. Where am I in all of this? When do my feelings start to count?” I take an exasperated breath. “We made this decision years ago when neither of us were ready, and I’m still not sure that I am. I need to see for myself what the best thing for me is. Personally and professionally. And my sister might need me here. It’s a delicate time. There’s so much going on. I don’t want to miss it all.” My temples throb as the words pour out of me.

“I’m trying to understand, Lottie.” This time, when I hear the nickname that only he uses, my muscles relax. The familiarity is soothing. This is the conundrum I always find myself in with him. One moment he overwhelms me, and the next, he’s the familiar presence I need to calm down. But it never lasts with Robert. One way or the other.

“Thank you. Are you all right?” The words stick in my throat. I know I need to do this, but Robert has been a constant in my life for years. Other than Maeve and Elaina, he’s the person who knows me best. Who mostly understands my need to get away; my difficulty with sensory overwhelm. It’s hard to simply let a person like that go, especially when I’m not very good at letting people in.

“Yeah. Fine.” His voice is a bit harder again, and I’m back on the Robert roller coaster. Is it too much to ask for to simply be understood? Fully? “Is this you trying to get back at me? Because we agreed to an open relationship until we were married, Charlotte. It’s not my fault you chose to stop dating other people, and I didn’t. But if what you need is for us to be broken up so you can shag some LA boys before you come home to me, then fine. Get it out of your system.” He’s completely serious, too.

It’s never bothered him to think of me with other people. I thought it was sort of progressive, even if it did always feel like a bit of red flag hanging limply between us. Now that red flag is practically glowing, waving aggressively and warning me to stay away.

He’s partially right, though. It’s not his fault I chose to stop dating, but now, I feel completely unprepared for the possibility of a permanent relationship. With anyone.

“I should go. I’ll call you when I’m ready, all right?” I’m about to say goodbye when I hear the telltale sound of the call ending. He hung up. I keep the phone to my ear, embarrassed.

Do the people around me know I was just hung up on? Can they tell? I say goodbye, pretending that didn’t happen and willing the burning sensation in my cheeks away.

It doesn’t work. The whole interaction throws me off, and I end up pacing back and forth on the sidewalk for several minutes. My phone is clutched to my chest like a security blanket as I dwell on every single word we just said to one another. My heart rate is still accelerated, the whooshing sound loud in my ears. Sweat is trickling down the back of my neck, making me itchy. Tears sting my eyes, but I can’t let them fall. There are too many people, and I can sense their eyes on me, so I start walking.

What am I doing here? I should have stayed in London. What if I go back and they don’t want me? I won’t have a job. How will I make money?

I should have moved to LA a long time ago. I haven’t been happy in London for ages. Have I ever been happy? Why don’t I know the answer to that? What is wrong with me?

What if working in finance is my entire purpose, and I’ve just messed it up? I should go back. But what if I hate it? Do I have to do it for the next several decades?

I owe it to myself to figure this out. That’s why I’m here. But what if I don’t? Do I have to suffer through living in this limbo forever?

Why am I so indecisive that I can’t just pick something and someone and live a happy life? Why am I so stupid and unable to handle simple things like everyone else can?

When I find myself in front of a small park, I spot a woman running, and I remember the reason I left the apartment to begin with: to escape. While the world of finance is where I've always excelled, writing is what brings me home.

On my walks, I often get lost in the characters I’m reading or writing about. What started as a hobby, quickly turned into a hyper-fixation, and has now morphed into an all-consuming, secret side hustle. I write the love stories I wish I lived myself. I write the happy endings I hope everyone gets to have. The one I never saw my mum get because she was so selfish and always seemed to pick unavailable men. I live in both worlds, but this one that I’ve created, with flawed but beautiful characters, I get to keep to myself. I get to control it.

I tuck my phone into the pocket of my pants and take in my surroundings. The relief is almost immediate as the thoughts fall away, and I focus on my breathing and the movement of my legs.

Soon, my thoughts trail to the characters I’m writing. I get lost in the mental planning of the settings, the mood, and how I want things to feel. I let myself get lost in getting to know these people.

I walk for so long that my legs are almost numb, but I can’t stop now. Not when my mind finally clears. I need to hang on to this feeling.

I close my eyes for a second. Just a second. And my body comes in full contact with a wall. Then, the pavement. I open my eyes just in time to feel my elbow hit the sidewalk.

Ouch. That’s going to leave a mark.

I lay my head back on the floor and drape one arm over my face to hide from the embarrassment of walking with my eyes closed. I’m acutely aware of the shooting pain in my other elbow and the soreness in my lower back since I landed mostly on it. Words are leaving my mouth, but I couldn’t tell you what they are. And is someone talking to me?

“Can you tell me where you’re hurt?” The voice is soothing and sounds a little closer now.

“I think it’s mostly my ego if I’m honest. I’m so very sorry. I was just getting into this groove, and I closed my eyes for only a second, I swear?—”

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