I murmured my thanks and fell into a stiff chair. I scribbled my information onto the form she gave me and handed it back without a word. After several minutes of blankness, my mind whirred back to life.
I’d rejected Adam Driver.
I’d ruined my Kylo Ren fantasy forever.
I’ve never not pursued my wildest fantasies before.
What was happening to me? I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
This was all Christopher’s fault. Ever since he accosted me, I’d felt discombobulated, unsure of everything. I was always so certain of myself and my opinions, always right about everything. And then this man, this Christopher Butkus, throws himself inmy path and makes me question everything I’ve ever thought about men. Men like him are vile, boring, and selfish. But he… wasn’t? I could see that Christopher Butkus was objectively a desirable man. And yet I had felt so sure of myself when I rejected him. I had been cruel at the time, I could see that now. But had I been wrong?
It didn’t help that my mother’s voice had infiltrated my mind. The woman may be insane, but she was still my mother and her opinion mattered to me, as much as I wished it didn’t. Everything that had happened was making me question my judgment, and I didn’twantto question my judgment. I wanted to go back to my sure footing, my sense of absolute Rachel-ness. But clearly I had been wrong about Christopher in some ways, like his relationship with Stephen. So what if I was wrong about other things?
All this introspection was making me panic. I buried my face in my hands and moaned.
“The nurse will be out shortly, dear,” the woman at the desk called to me.
“Thank you,” I mumbled. Having a physical injury to mask my inner turmoil was quite convenient.
An hour later, I sent a picture of my ankle boot to the group chat. My ankle was sprained, and I would have to wear the boot for about a month. They responded with alarm and sympathy, and I explained the events of the evening in as few words as possible.
“I suppose this is the universe’s way of telling me to take it easy. Lay low. Focus on myself,” I concluded.
Eva replied, oh so helpfully, “Or… hear me out… the universe could simply be telling you not to jump off any more rooftops.”
CHAPTER 20
THE NEXT MORNING, Iawoke in a haze of embarrassment and physical pain. I regretted every choice I had made in the last twenty-four hours, or perhaps… ever?
There was already a message from Amy in the group chat, which I read with one eye squinted shut. It was a link to aSeattle Timesarticle. I opened it with a lurch of existential dread.
PAGEANTCEO LAUNCHESNEWNONPROFIT
A new nonprofit, launched Friday by local CEO Christopher Butkus, will aim to improve the quality of arts and humanities education in Seattle-area public schools. Its first project will be to launch after-school programs focused on art and music in lower-income communities.
Right.Of course he had. Excellent!
No, really… good for him.
Look, I knew the world didn’t revolve around me. I did know that. But this news made me feel like absolute garbage (and Ihadn’t thought I could feel worse than when I woke up ten minutes before). Christopher Butkus had just spun up a nonprofit that would change people’s lives. And, if I were to indulge myself in one more self-centered thought, I had an inkling that he had only gotten the idea after our conversation. After he’d told me he was going to think hard about how to spend his money. Which would mean that he’d gotten the idea and executed it in two weeks.
Two weeks.
And I’d been sitting like mold on a log for the better part of a decade, content to gather a paycheck from an unfulfilling job. Letting the years slip by.
What was Idoingwith my life?
My best friends were all where they were meant to be in their careers: Amy had five years of teaching under her belt, Sumira was climbing the corporate ladder, and Eva had bounced around for a while before finally deciding to go to library school. Jane had a fabulous and interesting career working for the local news channel. And there was Natascha, Felix’s tiny ex, who’d upended her life to go to nursing school.
Meanwhile I was stuck. I spent my days fielding tickets from senior citizens with no concept of modern technology. The week before, there had been the man who couldn’t figure out how to work his GPS. (We do not sell GPS technology.) And the week before that was the one who couldn’t figure out how to download our app onto his phone—his Nokia flip phone. And in between these support tickets that raised my blood pressure to dangerous levels, there was Kenneth. Lately he’d been avoiding eye contact with me because of that time his gaze slipped down to my cleavage. He’d been so flustered that he stopped talking midsentence and backed away from me like I was the queen of England. He backed all the way down the hall and around the corner.
And Christopher had a successful business, and now this nonprofit… I noted with mild surprise that he’d chosen to focus on the arts instead of STEM. Everyone, even nontech people, thought that focusing on STEM was the right thing to do. But Christopher had chosen the arts. It was almost like he knew that we had to emphasize arts and humanities to flourish as a society. And I hadn’t even told him that. He justknew.
Right, well, I wasn’t going to sit here and mope all weekend. I was going to take steps toward… something. I was going to moveforward.
I made myself a green smoothie and then typed a list into the group chat.
Rachel Weiss 8:42 AM:
