Page 47 of What We Break
So why does the thought of getting more serious with him make me want to run?
"I don't want to be one of those women," I say finally.
"What women?"
"The ones who move somewhere new and immediately change their whole life for a man." I've seen it happen. In the Philippines, there was this nurse — Sarah — brilliant, funny, had all these plans to open a clinic. Met a guy three weeks into her assignment. Two months later, she'd dropped everything. Moved to his town, changed her specialty to match the local hospital's needs, stopped talking about the clinic entirely. Last I heard she was miserable and blaming herself for losing the plot. "I watched it happen to a friend. She moved somewhere, met a guy, and then she wrapped her entire life around him. I'm supposed to be figuring out who I am here, not who I am with Reid."
Joyce sets down her fork and looks at me with something that might be exasperation, might be affection. Probably both. "Honey, I'vebeen married for thirty-five years. Trust me when I say there's a difference between changing your life for someone and letting someone become part of the life you're building."
Thirty-five years. That's longer than I've been alive. Not that I think she'd appreciate me sharing that fact.
"What's the difference?" I ask.
"One makes you smaller, and one makes you bigger." She pauses, studying my face. "From what I know about that boy, he's not the type to ask you to be someone different. He seemed to like you just the way you are."
She's not wrong. Not once — not over pancakes, not at the park, not during any of it — has Reid suggested I should be anything other than exactly what I am.
That's the scary part, isn't it? He's not asking you to change. He's asking you to stay. And staying is the thing you've never been able to do.
But I can do hard things. I've done a lot of them. But this one, this building a life and staying put is one of the scariest things I've ever done.
"So what are you going to tell him?" Joyce asks.
I look at my phone, where Reid's text is still waiting for an answer.Somewhere nice. Just the two of us.
"I don't know," I say. "What would you tell him?"
Joyce grins. "I'd tell him yes, but maybe suggest something a little more casual. You don't have to jump into fancy dinner dates if you're not ready for that level of... intensity. But don't let being scared of big feelings keep you from someone who might be worth getting swept away for."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's the ending of my break timer.
"Duty calls," I say, gathering up my sandwich wrapper.
"Think about it, Laine," Joyce says as I head for the door. "Sometimes the scary thing and the right thing are the same."
I spend the rest of my shift thinking about what she said. Between checking vitals and distributing medications, I find myself replaying every interaction I've had with Reid. The way he made me laugh during that crazy festival night. How natural it felt to work together atthe homeless camp. The way he looked at me when he took my hand in his truck. The cheek kiss outside the diner that I've thought about approximately four hundred times.
None of it felt like I was changing who I was for him. It felt like I was becoming more myself.
So why am I being chicken about this?
By six AM, I've made my decision. I find a quiet moment between patients and pull out my phone.
I'd love to.
Delete it.
Dinner sounds great! How about?—
Delete it. Too many exclamation points. I sound like a children's TV host.
I'd love to have dinner with you.
Stare at it. That's good. Butsomewhere nicestill makes my chest tight. Not because I don't want to see him — God, I want to see him — but because I want it to feel like us. Like pancakes and bad coffee and talking until we forget we're exhausted. Not like a performance.
Delete it.
I'd love to have dinner with you. But would you be open to something a little more low-key? Maybe we could cook together at your place? I make a mean pasta sauce.
