Page 80 of That Fake Feeling
Shethrows her head back. “Ha.”
“It’snot funny,”Itell her. “Itactually sounds pretty sad and lonely.”
“Okay, smarty-pants.”Shesets down her fork and turns to face me. “I’lltake your sad and lonely and raise you deliberate self-sabotage.”
“Whatthe hell is that supposed to mean?’
“Itmeans you do all that acting-out bullshit in the hope the boardwillthrow you off.Youwant them to, don’t you?Thatway they’ll have done your dirty work for you.You’dget to step away from the company and blame them for it.You’dget to do whatever you really want with your life without ever risking upsetting your family by telling them you never wanted to run a business in the first place and that you hate it.”
Andthere we have it.
Thefirst person to see right through me.
Evenmy own parents have never figured it out.
Tookme a while to figure it out myself.
DisappointingMomandDadis somethingI’venever wanted to do.Butif the board sent me packing, that’s mission accomplished without me scuttling my own career.
ButI’mnot going to explain that toRoseright now.
Timeto go.Istand up and point at the food. “Youcan put what’s left in the fridge when you’ve finished.I’llhave more later.”
Sheputs her hands on her hips. “Iwas right, then.Soright that you’re running away because you don’t want to talk about it.”
Abso-fucking-lutely.Andit’s nonnegotiable.There’szero point discussing it.
“Ihave to go shower all this off.”Ipoint at my paint-splattered arms then head toward the door.
JustasIstep over the threshold,Rosecalls after me. “Whenwas the last time you drew something?Paintedsomething?Beforetoday?”
Ipause.
ShouldIanswer that?Orkeep going?
Walkingaway would be easier.
Butit was because of what she organized today thatI’vehad the most fun in years.I’venever felt so much likeIwas doing whatIwas supposed to do, so comfortable and relaxed.Andthat’s because ofRose.Makingthe kids that happy, so full of joy, was a bigger high than drinks at a cool bar has ever been.Rosemade me a better person today.
SomaybeIshould prove her wrong now, show herIam capable of having difficult conversations.
Iturn halfway around and lean against the edge of the door.
“Elevenyears ago.Firstyear of college.Ihated my engineering degree, and messing around in the art room kept me sane.Itwas right beforeIaccidentally made a toy that went viral online andMaxsaidIshould focus on that because it could be the ticket to my future.”
“Doyou still have it?Theartwork,Imean.”Hervoice is soft.
“Yes.”
“CanIsee it?”
Showingit to her would be like revealing a whole other part of me.Maybeeven a whole other me.I’mnot sureIeven know myself who that person is or who that person would have been if they’d given themselves the chance.
ShowingRosethat painting would invite a completely different form of judgment.Riskher not liking what she sees.
Butavoiding whatIreally want—and maybe whoIreally am—doesn’t seem to have resulted in a happy and fulfilling life so far.
Maybeit’s time for a risk.
