Page 110 of Is This for Real?
“For that night, sure.” Maria picks up the pace. “But you have to be willing to show up for the relationshipallthe time, not just that once.”
I nod.
We walk up the curving hill near The Harlem Meer. I thought we were both showing up. But maybe I wasn’t fully showing up. I was still holding back, afraid to get hurt. I hadn’t told him that I loved him.Don’t cry.Focus on the conversation. And keep up the pace.
Chapter forty-three
Myglancefocusesonmy framed first rejection slip above my desk. My dad said I should be proud of that because at least I was out there trying. I had skin in the game. That little, typed, yellow slip forCalico the Caterpillarrebukes me. Eight years old and rejection didn’t faze me, and now at twenty-nine, I was letting it define me. I was holding back with Rory.
I should have said “I love you” that night when he whispered, pained, that I had told Jamie I loved him. I shouldn’t have let him think it was even comparable. I should have yelled at him, “I love you! When I told Jamie I loved him, I had no idea what love was, that love could be like this . . .” But even now, I can’t think of the right words to describe what our relationship feels like for me, except that it feels so right—that I know that whatever happens, we’ll be there for each other because we’ve already been holding each other up for years. He’s my buoy, serving as my navigation mark and inspiring me to float up. I have to tell him that.
Now. It’s been five days since we talked. I have to bike down to his office and say it in person.
My eyes feel drained, but still weepy. I clip on my bike helmet, pull on my coat, and run out the door, down the steps, and sprint to the Citi Bike rack.
One Citi Bike left, and a person with a bike helmet approaching from the other side. I all-out cannonball toward the bike. This one is mine.
We arrive about the same time—all right, he arrives a millisecond before me.
“I need the bike,” I say, rushed. “I didn’t tell this guy that I love him, and I hurt him, and I need to tell him right now because I don’t want him thinking a moment longer that I don’t love him, and I don’t care if I have to tell him in front of his whole office. I just have to tell him.”
The guy backs off.
“All yours,” he says.
“Thanks.” I sniff.
“Lucky guy.” He smiles. “Go get him! Good luck!” And he gives me two thumbs-up.
And my eyes get all wet again. I love New York.
Round and round, the bike pedals bear me closer. I swoop around Columbus Circle and continue down Broadway to Fiftieth Street, feeling lighter already. The bike clicks into the nearest Citi Bike rack. And I walk up to the guard at the reception desk and ask to see Rory, handing over my ID. He calls his office.
The guard’s brow creases, and he hands the phone to me.
It’s Rory’s assistant, Evan. “Penelope?”
“Yes, I came to see Rory.”
“He took some time off.” Evan’s voice sounds puzzled. As it should. “He went on a fishing trip with his dad.”
“Oh, thanks.” I stare at the modern lobby. “For how long?”
Evan doesn’t immediately answer. He’s got to be wondering why I don’t know. “A week.”
“Thanks, Evan.” I give the guard back the phone. That’s not a good sign. That’s a week of him being with his dad, who thinks I’ve got my own therapy-worthy issues.
I get back on my bike and cycle Uptown. The trees are bare now. The city looks gray, and people are bundled up against the cold. The tires feel deflated on this bike, or maybe it’s just me. The Maine cabin has limited wireless reception, but I still try calling. His inbox is full. I want to say this in person, but as a lifelong New Yorker, I never learned to drive, so it’s not like I can drive up to their cabin in Maine, not that I even know where it is.
I need a Plan B for Win Back Rory.
Chapter forty-four
Thephonerings.It’sMaryAnn fromMini Mania. I shipped the art gallery to them earlier this week.
“The art gallery is fabulous! We love it, especially those paintings by Rafael. Do you think we can get him to attend the event?” MaryAnn asks. “And the food is so realistic.”
“I think so. I will reach out to him.”
