Page 36 of Ready or Not
Where the hell was I even planning to go?
Go to Brooklyn on a hunt for her?
What if… she didn’t want me to find her? What if leaving like that was her way of closing the door, of making sure no further steps were taken?
I hesitated, keys clinking softly in my hand.
The weight of uncertainty pressed down on me, grinding against the hope I didn’t want to admit I still had.
All of this felt so raw, so messy, and I hated how much it mattered to me.
Maybe I should make peace with the fact that shechoseto leave.
“Des,” Chance’s voice carried through the phone, dragging me out of my spiraling thoughts. “Don’t stand there overthinking. You’ve got two options: sit your ass back down and let this shit eat you alive until you regret it for the rest of your life, or you get out there and try to fix it, regardless of what happens. Either way, bro, make a damn decision.”
The line went quiet for a second as I stood frozen in place, my hand tightening around the doorknob. My chest felt tight, split between the fear of rejection and the hope that maybe—just maybe—I could fix this before it was too late.
Chance let out an exaggerated sigh. “Look, Des… I know you’re scared. I get it, man. But fear don’t mean shit if you let it win every time. You want her? Prove it. You already said she ain’t got a clue how much you care. Now’s your shot to show her.”
“And what if she doesn’t want me to?” I muttered, my throat tightening as the words came out.
“Then at least you’ll know.”
16 /SOLÈNE
Pilates wasthe last thing on my mind.
Though I dressed the part, I found myself unable to attend the noon class with a clear mind… Which led me to wander aimlessly through the park on Bedford Ave. The summer heat pressed down on the back of my neck like an unwelcome hand as I walked, coaxing beads of sweat along my hairline. The air was thick with the smell of freshly cut grass. Children shrieked as they chased each other around, their laughter an almost mocking contrast to the heaviness in my chest.
The world moved around me, but my brain was focused on Naomi’s words.
Fear can’t be your compass forever.At some point, you’ve gotta sit with the uncomfortable and at least try to work through it.
I thought I had done the part where I sat with the uncomfortable.
I had attended therapy after Andrew and I finally called the quits, I halted dating until I was sure I wasn’t dragging old baggage into something new, and I… I…
A bitter chuckle escaped my lips as I shook my head.
I lied to myself that I was.
The truth? I'd been using movement—literal and figurative—as an escape. Pilates, DJing, and surrounding myself with my friends to not feel alone for the past year… They were shields dressed up as self-care. I used them as distractions from sitting still long enough to feel any real discomfort. I avoided the quiet moments like they were landmines, terrified of what might detonate if I stepped too close. Stillness meant reflection, and reflection meant I’d have to confront the truth lurking beneath the surface—the truth I’d been so meticulously dodging.
I was afraid of what I’d find if I stripped everything away.
If I peeled back the layers of curated progress, would there be anything solid underneath?
Or was I just a hollow shell I’d painted over with bright colors and called it healing?
I stopped walking.
Sinking onto an empty park bench, the slats felt warm against my back. Around me, life continued: joggers darted past with their headphones in, and a dog barked insistently at a squirrel just out of reach. The world was utterly indifferent to my spiraling and, in some perverse way, that felt like its own kind of relief.
I pushed a curl out of my face, trying to will my thoughts into submission, but they resisted.
They always did.
Sitting here now felt too close to what Naomi had challenged me to do—sit with the uncomfortable. My fingers fidgeted against the bench as if grabbing for something else to focus on, something physical to anchor me against the swell.
