Page 55 of Falling Off Script

I slap his shoulder — lightly, reassuring. Old instinct.

“You’re building the man you want to be,” I say. “And if she’s the right woman? She’ll appreciate the effort.”

He nods, but I see it. The doubt. Not just in her. In himself.

And, fine. Maybe in me.

After the session, I sit alone with my notes. They’re blank, because who am I kidding — I haven’t used them in years.

Matt’s voice echoes in my head.

How do you know when it’s real?

I used to know.

Now? I just sell it.

25. Emily

Rachel walks in wearing the kind of outfit women pick when they’re either falling in love or quietly preparing to torch the whole thing. Cream blouse. Clean lines. No accessories. Like she’s here for clarity.

I offer tea. She declines. Just sits — posture perfect, eyes slightly too bright.

“I need your opinion,” she says.

My internal warning sirens go off immediately. Clients only ask that when they already know the answer and want someone else to say it first.

“Okay,” I say. “Shoot.”

She exhales. “I like him. I do. But... something’s off. Like I’m dating a mancosplayingas my type.”

I tilt my head. “What makes you say that?”

Rachel pauses. “He said I’m the embodiment of his ‘divine polarity catalyst.’”

I blink. “That sounds like either a soulmate or a Pokémon evolution.”

She doesn’t laugh.

“He’s still kind. Still generous,” she continues. “But now I catch him... hesitating. Like he’s running his sentences through spellcheck before he speaks. Or he’ll say something about ‘masculine leadership’ and then immediately scan my face like he’s waiting for applause.”

I nod. Slowly. “That’s a big shift.”

“It’s like — the guy I met at the coffee shop? He was nervous. Honest. Maybe a little awkward. But Ilikedthat. And now...” Her voice trails off.

Now, he’s a man trying not to forget his script.

Rachel looks up. “Do you think I’ve been too critical? Maybe I should be grateful he’s putting in the effort.”

I shake my head. “Effort’s great. But performance isn’t the same as presence.”

She flinches a little. I soften my tone.

“Rachel, you don’t need someone who plays your perfect match. You need someone who canstaywhen things get messy — unscripted — real.”

She nods, but her voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t think he can.”

I let the silence hold.

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