Page 102 of The Comeback Summer

I take another step back, shaking my head. “I should get going.”

Adam’s forehead wrinkles. He looks hurt and confused. “Did I misread this? I’m so sorry. I thought...”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, interrupting him. “I just... it’s late. And I’m pretty tired.”

He exhales a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair. His curls look so soft, and I curse myself for missing the chance to run my fingers through them. But the moment and the opportunity are gone.

I wish there was a way to explain that it’s not him, it’s me, without sounding like a generic line. We still have to work together.

“Thanks for a great night,” I tell him. “I’ll reach out with next steps.”

Adam flinches, and I realize how corporate and unfeeling I sound.

“For the public relations,” I add. “Not... our relations.” God, I need to stop talking. “Thank you again, really.”

And before I can say anything to make this goodbye more awkward than it already is, I slip out the door and down the stairs into the dark, lonely night.

Crush Your Comfort Zone

THE ULTIMATE CHALLENGE COMPANION JOURNAL

WEEK 9

When we get hurt, we’re desperate to figure out why, so we can prevent it from happening again. If there isn’t a clear cause, we often turn inward and (falsely) assume it was our fault.

But just because we believe something doesn’t mean it’s true. This lie we tell ourselves becomes another excuse to remain in the safety of our comfort zones.

Today, I want you to dig deep. What lie do you believe about yourself because of your wound?

Libby, July 31

Hi, Lou.

If you ask my sister, she’d say the lie I believe is that I don’t deserve love. Specifically, the romantic, soul-blending love that people write books about.

When you’ve never seen someone who looks like you play the leading lady in a romantic movie, it’s difficult to imagine yourself in that role. People my size play the quirky best friend, the comic relief, the wise sister.

Maybe that’s why I panicked last night with Adam. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop and feeling so stupid about it, so embarrassed, but also wondering if it was for the best. No reason to go down a road that I know won’t have a happy ending.

Thirty-Four

HANNAH

Josh and I are sitting on a blanket under a tree in Grant Park, each of us focused on our own tasks. I’m on my laptop, and he’s crocheting a rainbow-colored blanket while listening to an online lecture. We’ve been meeting a couple of afternoons per week to work together outside, listening to music and stopping occasionally to chat (or sneak a kiss).

Usually, it’s relaxing, but today, I’m sweating. And not just because August has arrived in Chicago, bringing with it the oppressive heat and humidity that almost make me miss the freezing wind and snow of winter.

I’m stressing about the financial situation of the Freedman Group.

My email inbox has been nothing but bad news: the rent for our office space is increasing next month; a client is going bankrupt, so they won’t be sending our final payment; the quote to fix the broken refrigerator in our break room is double what I budgeted for. As it was, we barely had enough money to keep the lights on through Labor Day, but even that might be a stretch now.

Josh reaches over and pulls my hand away from my mouth. “Careful,” he says gently, and I notice for the first time that I’ve chewed on my cuticle until it’s bleeding. “You okay?”

Sighing, I set my laptop aside and stretch out on the blanket, staring up at the green canopy of trees above us. “I hate money.”

Josh chuckles, not unkindly, and says, “Yeah. Money sucks.”

“I hate not having enough of it,” I say. “I hate having so many expenses, and so many complicated sources of revenue. It’s a full-time job to keep track of it all, and it’s sucking my life away.”

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