Page 88 of Falling Off Script

“Both,” I say, pulling out a chair.

She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. She never asks questions she already knows the answer to. Instead, she puts the kettle on. Chamomile. Code for emotional triage.

“Tea?” she asks. “Or something that helps with dissociation?”

“Got anything that pairs with ego death?”

“I have rooibos. And wine I forgot to process emotionally.”

I exhale. “Rooibos. Let’s stay grounded.”

She sits across from me, careful and calm. She always gives me room to speak. Sometimes I wish she wouldn’t.

“You think I became a coach to help men get relationships?”

“I think you became a coach to manage yours,” she says calmly. “From a safe distance. Preferably with good lighting and a sense of control.”

I huff out a breath. “Are you analyzing me right now?”

“Occupational hazard.”

“You still seeing clients?”

“Just a few. Referral-only.”

She pauses. “One reminds me of you.”

“Poor thing.”

“She’s sharp. Strategic. A little too quick to diagnose people so she doesn’t have to trust them. You’d probably hate her.”

“Or imprint on her sexually and call it growth.”

She doesn’t blink. “Not your worst pattern.”

I rub my eyes. My skin feels wrong. My brain’s a reboot halfway through an update.

“You remember that whole voice memo thing?”

“The one that leaked on three platforms, got remixed into a lo-fi seduction track, and inspired a dozen TikTok think pieces about emotionally unavailable men? Vaguely.”

I groan. “God. You heard it.”

“It was forwarded to me. Repeatedly.” She looks at me over the rim of her cup. “The themes... they rang familiar.”

“Please stop saying themes.”

I set the mug down, too hard. Tea sloshes over the rim. “You want to know what happened?” I say.

She doesn’t answer. Just waits.

“It was never meant for an audience. Definitely not for me,” I say. “But I saw it before it leaked. That was private. It was her, unfiltered. It was messy and human and... way too real.”

“And you listened to it,” my mom says softly.

“I listened to it.” I nod, slow and reluctant, like it still makes me flinch. “And I didn’t have a playbook. I couldn’t flip it into a response video or a witty clapback or a charming invitation to collaborate. I just... froze.”

“Because itwas real.”

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