Page 19 of We Met Like This
Any self-respecting person would be. But as I lay in bed, trying to read, I had decided that Sloane was right. Intentional or not, me walking into that office and kissing my boss not even a full day after telling him we needed to talk about my future with the agency was… self-sabotage, self-preservation, self-hate? It was definitely something.
My phone chimed with another notification. Oliver had followed up his statement with:You? For or against?
I thought I was against but my subconscious seems to be all about self-sabotage. It’s a flag waving, pin wearing, dues paid in full member of the self-sabotage club.
That sucks.
I couldn’t help but laugh at that simple yet completely accurate statement.So much, I responded.
Do I get actual context to this line of questioning because I’m dying to know?
I smiled at his word choice. Most guys in my dating history would’ve played it cool, pretended it wasn’t a big deal either way. But not him. He wasdying to know. I knew his openness with his emotions and questions was because we were chatting like friends.
And yet, still, could I tell Oliver, the most consistent guy in my life (according to Sloane), about my less-than-stellar life choices? A wave of shame washed through me again. No, I couldn’t. But I could tell him part of it. So I responded with:I should’ve been promoted at my company about three years ago, after paying my dues in the assistant and junior agent pool, but I haven’t. For many reasons, most of which consist of me holding myself back. I should’ve taken my resume and experience to another agency if my boss wasn’t willing to give me a chance but I haven’t.
I thought it was because I was loyal, but really it was because I was holding out hope that something would develop between me and my absolutely-wrong-for-me boss.
Why haven’t you?he asked.
I think I’m afraid of rejection. Of failing at this.That was true too, I thought as I typed.
And what would happen if you failed?
I knew that was supposed to be a motivating thought. It was supposed to make me think of the worst thing that could happen and realize that the worst thing wasn’t all that bad. But from where I sat… well, from where I lay at the moment, my bedside lamp creating a soft glow in my room… the worst thing was a complete derailing of my future. I’d have to figure out all over again what to do with my life, and I was worried that I’d have absolutely no idea.
Somehow, despite my brain being unable to turn off, I managed to fall asleep. I didn’t feel much better in the morning, though. I wanted to pull the blankets over my head and fake a sick day. But Rob would see right through that after the way I’d fled his office.
I groaned and opened my phone. Several messages waited for me. Not surprising with how many matches I had pushed through the night before. Some of those matches were questionable, considering my state of mind. I scanned through them quickly. Most were the fairly typical “Looks like we’re a match.” But then I came to a guy named Riley.
Riley at threeA.M.:Hi, how are you?
Thirty minutes after first message. Riley:Hello, are you someone who doesn’t answer messages right away?
“Can’t answer messages in my sleep, Riley,” I said to his little profile picture on my phone.
Thirty minutes after second message. Riley:Whatever. I’m a 9/10 but sometimes I message a 4/10 because I value personality over looks, but I don’t wait around forever for fours.
Such a gentleman. Thanks for taking the trash out, I messaged back before unmatching him.
Despite my snarky response, his comment stung. “This is your penance,” I reminded myself.
I scrolled further and came to a message from Oliver. Relief poured through me and my mood immediately lifted.
What did you really need to hear last night, my texting teacher? Because it wasn’t what I said.
I chuckled and typed back:Failing sucks? I understand why you might be paralyzed in fear, feeling like your whole life is on the line? I’ve never failed in my life so I don’t get it? One of those would’ve worked.
He didn’t immediately answer and I got up and padded to my bathroom to brush my teeth. When I was done, a one-word answer was there.
Sorry.
I returned to my room, shut the door, and sat on the end of my bed to respond.Yes, please read my mind next time. You can make it up to me by telling me your worst failure. That might help as well.
Easy. My engagement.
What? How did I not know this?
We didn’t talk much on our date.
