Kendall lets out a frustrated breath. I have her there, and she knows it. “Fine. Cling to your principles. But I’m telling you, Ems, change is not always a bad thing. Maybe Janie went overboard trying to please her boyfriend, but if she feels good in her new skin, be happy for her. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to project a specific image—unless of course, by doing so, you neglect your friends.”
It’s my turn to let out a frustrated sigh. “I know that. I’m just…” Scared. I don’t say it, but the word rings out loud and clear in my mind, as if shoved to the front by my subconscious.
And I am scared.
No, that’s wrong.
I’m terrified.
My grandmother and Kendall were both right when they said I don’t like change, that I’m not a risk taker. Only it’s more than that.
Change, upheaval of any kind, reminds me of the early years of my childhood, when my mother and I would move every few weeks, going from one boyfriend’s apartment to another. Some of those moves were voluntary on my mother’s part, others not so much. In the case of the latter, we’d often have to leave our things behind and start over. I’d have to go to a new school, adjust to a new neighborhood, get new clothes, make new friends—or, after a while, not even bother to do the latter.
Why try to get close to anyone when in a few months I’d have to do it all over again?
Why risk putting myself out there when the payoff was so small?
It wasn’t until my grandparents took me in that I gained stability in my life, and I treasure it to this day. Change and the risk that comes with it are deeply unsettling for me. I need the comfort of the familiar, be it my worn-out clothes or my job or even the way people perceive me—as a bookish, slightly frumpy girl who, as Kendall pointed out last month, was turning into a stereotypical cat lady… a woman who can never be what a man like Marcus needs.
“Look, Ems,” Kendall says, and I again hear honking in the background. “I have to go now, but you should really think about your future and what you want. I know you still have doubts about Marcus’s intentions, but from where I’m sitting, the main obstacle in your relationship is you. If you want this to work, you can’t expect him to do all the heavy lifting. Spending time with your grandparents, welcoming your pets into his place, taking you to meet important-to-him people—he’s making room in his life for you and all your baggage. It’s up to you to do the same for him.”
She hangs up, and I sit in silence, staring out at the traffic.
She’s right, I know she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to process.
True, I’ve already compromised by agreeing to let Marcus pay for stuff when he invites me out, by using his driver and flying on his plane and eating meals prepared by his chef. I let him stay at my grandparents’ house for the entire Thanksgiving weekend, and I’ve now spent two nights in a row at his place.
On the surface, I’ve done nothing but give in, but the reality of the matter is I haven’t compromised on anything truly important—not the way he has. He’s a neat freak who never wanted pets, yet he’s gone out of his way to embrace my fur babies. His dream partner is a glossy socialite, yet he hasn’t batted an eye at bringing me to an investor dinner wearing my cheap clothes and scuffed boots.
He has done all the heavy lifting in this relationship, and as strong and determined as he is, I can’t expect him to keep doing that.
I have to carry my fair share of the burden.
To make this work, I have to take a risk and embrace change.
35
Marcus
All morning long, I brainstorm ways to get Emma to stay at my place another night. The deal we made means I can’t keep asking her, so I have to resort to more underhanded methods.
Get Wilson to call in sick so he can’t take her and the cats home?
No, I’d just have to call a taxi, and we’d end up arguing about who gets to pay.
Incentivize the cats to run from Emma by bringing in a few live mice for them to chase?
No, too cruel to the poor mice.
Pounce on Emma as soon as she gets home and keep her in my bed all evening?
Yes, that’s a more promising idea—and if all else fails, I’ll go with her and spend the night on her lumpy bed.
Of course, that’s just a short-term solution. I need something more permanent, and I need it soon.
At lunch, I call the realtor who visited Emma’s landlady and ask her to reach out to her again. “Tell Metz you have a buyer ready,” I instruct, and after I hang up, I call Weston Long.