Page 80 of Between Here and There

As Claire leaves, I return to my seat to contemplate.

“Miss Emily Rodriguez?” The receptionist calls out. “You’re up next.”

I stand, but instead of going straight to the interview room, I go to the receptionist’s desk. “Hi, I won’t go through with the interview, thank you.”

“Oh,” she says. “May we know why? For documentation purposes.”

I know what’s supposed to happen now. The fear should set in—the panic, the second-guessing, the looming dread of turning down a stable, corporate job. It’s the “right” thing to do, after all. It’s safe. Sensible. Predictable.

But the fear doesn’t come.

Instead, I think about all the moments I put myself last. The nights I stayed up worrying if I was enough—good enough, smart enough, strong enough. The years I spent waiting. Waiting for the stars to align. Waiting for the perfect opportunity. Waiting for the world to give me permission to put myself first.

But what if I don’t have to wait anymore?

What if, just this once, I decide to be my own priority? Not because it’s easy or because I deserve it more than anyone else, but because I’ve spent my whole life being told that I need to earn the right to take up space, to dream big, to demand more.

Back home, my mother acknowledged my efforts. My friends accepted me despite the failures. And Joshua stayed with me despite my self-doubts.

So, I gather a little more courage as I say, “I just don’t think it’s for me,” I say, the words surprising me with how natural they feel.

She nods, jotting down my response without fanfare, but it feels groundbreaking to me. A quiet revolution.

As I step out of the building, something inside me shifts. It’s not dramatic or sudden. It’s more like the easing of a knot I didn’t realize I’d been carrying.

For so long, I’ve lived as though my value was tied to what I could endure, how much I could give, how well I could make everyone else’s lives easier. But this time, I walked away. Not because I was pushed, not because I failed, but because I wanted to. Because I chose myself.

The thought is intoxicating, and instead of fear, I feel something else entirely: freedom. Sweet, untamed, exhilarating freedom.

I walk with a lightness in my step, my heart racing—not from anxiety, but from the sheer thrill of possibility.

I spend the rest of the day in a café, a small corner table becoming my makeshift workspace. I scribble down ideas, cross out plans, sketch a vision for something I can barely articulate yet. Hours pass unnoticed until the fading sunlight casts long shadows across the room.

Only then do I realize how long I’ve been there. Gathering my things, I step into the evening air and hail a cab, heading back to Joshua’s apartment.

As the cab weaves through the streets, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window. I look different—not in a physical sense, but in a way that’s hard to describe. There’s something in my eyes, a spark I haven’t seen in years.

When I open the apartment door, Josh is sprawled out on the sofa, his baseball cap turned backward, looking as relaxed as ever. His long legs are stretched out, his socked feet resting on the coffee table.

It’s a sight I could get used to.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Don’t even go there, Emily.

He looks up as soon as he hears the door, his smile lighting up the room. “How’d the interview go?” he asks, sitting up straight. “Do I get the ‘congratulations’ cake or the ‘you tried your best’ cake?”

“You should get the ‘you’re so brave’ cake because I didn’t do the interview,” I say, tossing my bag onto the couch.

Josh stands and walks toward me, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. As I slip off my stilettos, he towers over me again, a fact that is annoyingly distracting.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Actually, I’m perfect,” I say, smiling. I tell him everything—how I walked away, how I decided to take a leap and focus on my own clients instead of going back to the corporate grind.

Josh listens intently, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t interrupt with his usual comments, and somehow, that makes all this feel more real.

“I’m nervous, though,” I admit, letting out a shaky laugh. “It’s a lot. Overwhelming, really. There’s a very real possibility that I’ll fail.”

“Then fail,” Joshua says casually. “You don’t have to put an invisible pressure on yourself. But just so you know, you’re the smartest, most capable person I know.”

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