“Thank you, sweetheart.”
I nodded and turned to walk out but had to say something. “Iris?”
She looked up. “Hmm?”
“I’m really sorry about this morning. It was totally unprofessional, and it won’t happen again. I promise.” Unexpectedly, tears welled in my eyes.
Iris took off her glasses. “Shut the door, Charlotte. Let’s talk.”
She walked from behind her desk and sat on one of the four oversize upholstered chairs that faced each other on the far end of her office. “Have a seat.”
I’d never been nervous around Iris before. This was the woman I’d spilled my guts to within the first three minutes of meeting her in the ladies’ room. Yet my palms were sweaty, and I had to fight the urge to wring my hands.
“Do you want to talk about it? You know that anything you tell me is between me and you, right?”
“I do.”
“Tell me about the man who sent you those beautiful flowers. Is your heart torn? Maybe you want to move on but you’re struggling? I know you care about Reed.”
“Yes. No. Yes.”
Iris smiled. “Clear as mud.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I’m not struggling or torn. Blake is a guy that I knew in college. I went out with my friend last night and ran into him. We talked for a little while. He asked me out, but I said no. The flowers were nothing more than him trying to get me to change my mind. But I didn’t exactly explain that to Reed when he saw the flowers. He got the wrong impression, got jealous, and I liked the way that felt.”
“I see.”
“Every time we start to get close, he puts up this wall.” I began picking imaginary lint off the arm of the chair I was sitting in. “I’ve tried to get him to cross the line by . . . well, he’s your grandson so I don’t want to freak you out. But let’s just say that he’s rebuffed every advance that I’ve attempted, even the half-naked ones. I’ve even gone as far as telling him I was going to go out with Max.”
“Because you thought making him jealous might get him to react?”
I shook my head while staring at the floor.
“Well, normally I’d say that a man who doesn’t show his interest without games is a player and not worth your time. But we know my grandson’s struggle isn’t about being a bachelor who doesn’t want to settle down. He’s afraid to burden someone he loves with his condition.”
“That’s the thing. Reed thinks he’s a burden. But the truth is, he has a burden, and it’s easier to handle when it’s shared.”
Iris stared at me. “You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?”
A warm tear slipped down my face as I nodded. “I know he cares about me, too. I can see it.”
“You’re right. He does. The two of you fight like an old married couple, flirt like you’re in high school, and confide in each other like you’re lifelong best friends. My grandson isn’t pushing you away because he’s afraid to fall for you. He’s pushing you away because he already has.”
“What do I do?”
“Keep pushing back. However you need to. He’ll come around. I just hope it’s not too late when he does.” Iris reached out and took my hand. “You’ve been hurt before, and with Reed you’re fighting another uphill battle. Don’t forget to put yourself first. Push Reed, but keep pushing yourself, too, Charlotte.”The more I thought about my conversation with Iris, the more I realized she was right. I needed to push myself, keep working on the things that I’d let slip over the years. So I vowed to at least make progress on my Fuck-It List each and every week, no matter how small that might be. Digging out the list I’d printed and tucked away in my drawer, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat at my kitchen table, ruminating over which item I should work on first.
Sculpt a Nude Man.
Dance with a Stranger in the Rain.
Learn French.
Ride an Elephant.
Go Skinny-Dipping in a Lake at Night.
Well, that one I can cross off, can’t I?
Find my Birth Parents.
Make Love to a Man for the First Time in a Sleeper Cabin on a Train Ride Through Italy.
I’d added a new entry to my list last week while sitting in the back of an Uber on the highway and watching the big rigs glide down the road.
Learn How to Drive an 18-Wheeler.
I chewed on my pen cap while deciding what to tackle first. There was one that I kept coming back to. Honestly, it was time.
Find my Birth Parents.
I’d been curious about my biological parents my entire life. My mom and dad had always been open about the fact that I was adopted, and they’d encouraged me to talk about it. Yet I was always afraid that if I did, I’d make my parents feel like they weren’t enough, when in fact they were more than enough. They were everything a child could have wanted. Somehow, though, that still didn’t plug the hole I had from not knowing anything about my family history. I wanted to know my birth parents’ story. Had they been young? Had they loved each other? I also wanted to let them know that I was okay—that the decision they’d made was the best one for me, and that I’d turned out pretty good.