Page 79 of What We Break
I poke at a chunk of mango. She's right. Things are different this week. Not bad different. Just... more.
"I cooked dinner at his place last week," I say. "Met his roommate Blake. We've started going to this weekly trivia night with Reid's work partner and his wife."
"That's a lot of socializing for someone who was eating pasta alone three months ago."
"I know." I take a sip. "And the weird part is, I loved it. All of it. Not just being with Reid — the whole package. His friends, his house, the way they all just... fit together."
"So what's the different face about?"
I set down my smoothie. Stare at it for a second.
"Bethany — one of the travel nurses on my floor — cornered me in the break room on Wednesday. Her contract's up next month and she was scrolling through postings on her phone. San Diego. Honolulu. Somewhere in the Virgin Islands that looked like a screensaver." I pick at the edge of my napkin. "She asked if I missed the beach, and before I could even answer, she laughed and said,'Never mind, you've got the hot paramedic and a permanent address now. You're basically a townie.'"
Jamila tilts her head. “Girl, she sounds like a bitch. But what she said bothered you?"
"It terrified me."
"Why?"
"Because six months ago, I was Bethany. I was the girl scrolling postings and chasing the next sunny place. I never stayed anywhere longenough to be called a townie. That was the whole point." I lean back in my chair. "When I first got here, I built my own system from scratch. My apartment, my job, my routine. I unpacked my suitcases and shoved them in the back of a closet for the first time in my life. The plan was all mine."
"And now?"
"Now I'm rewriting the plan to include the hot paramedic, and I didn't even notice it happening until Bethany held up the mirror." I dig my spoon into the smoothie. Way too hard, flinging little bits. "After she said that, I went to Target. Just needed laundry detergent. One item. One. But did I leave with laundry detergent? No. I ended up in the housewares aisle staring at a mug that said 'World's Okayest Cook.'"
Jamila's mouth twitches. "Oh no."
"I almost bought it for him. For a man I've been dating for two months. I picked it up, put it down, walked away, circled back, picked it up again. I stood there for ten minutes having an existential crisis over a ceramic joke because buying it felt like admitting my bags are actually unpacked."
"Did you buy it?"
"No. I left it. But I'm still thinking about it. Which is worse."
Jamila laughs — not at me, with me, which is an important distinction — and leans forward. "Okay. So Bethany called you a townie, and now you're spiraling because you think settling down means you've lost yourself."
"I don't want to be someone who builds her whole life around a guy," I say. "My friend Claire did that. Moved to a new country, met someone three weeks in, completely rewired everything. Dropped her plans. Changed her career goals. Stopped being the person she was before him." I pause. "It wrecked her."
"Is that what's happening to you?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know." I shred the napkin into little strips. Methodical. Like if I make them even enough, the answer will reveal itself. "I still love my job. I still go to yoga. I still have my apartment and my routine and my plants that I mostly remember to water." A strip tears crooked. I start on another one. "But when I'm at his house,cooking in his kitchen, sitting at a table with Blake and Tony and Angie — I feel more like myself than I do alone."
I stare at the pile of napkin confetti I've made.
"And that scares the hell out of me."
"Because?"
"Because Bethany's out there looking at postings in the Virgin Islands, and six months ago I would have been looking right over her shoulder." I flatten my palms on the table. Press them down. "And now my first thought when she showed me that listing wasn't I want to go. But what about Reid?"
I look up at Jamila.
"When did he become the reason I stay? When did that happen? Because I didn't sign off on it."
Jamila is quiet for a moment. She does this thing where she doesn't rush to fill silence, just lets it breathe.
"Can I tell you something that might piss you off?" she says.
"That's never a great opening."
