Page 68 of Changing the Playbook
“He’s leaving, Ally,” I finally voice the fear that gnaws at me. “The commentators wouldn’t stop talking about how he’sguaranteed for the draft. Then he’ll be gone to Chicago or wherever. And I’ll still be here with all my responsibilities.”
“You’re afraid of depending on someone who’ll leave.”
I sink back onto the couch. “I can’t go through that again. Jimmy bailed when things got tough with Mom. And what I feel for Mike after just weeks is already stronger than anything I felt for Jimmy after a year. So, clearly, if I let myself fall deeper…”
“Sophie,” Ally says, uncharacteristically serious. “Has it occurred to you that this is actually good?”
“What part of ‘he’s leaving’ sounds good?”
“Not that part. The part where you’re finally opening up. The part where you just admitted what you had with Jimmy was never that deep. You two weren’t right for each other—that was obvious to everyone but you—but that doesn’t meaneveryguy is wrong for you.”
“Thanks for the retroactive warning,” I say dryly.
“I tried! You were too busy planning your joint medical empire to listen.”
I sigh. “Fair.”
She continues. “But this Mike guy sounds like exactly what you deserve.”
“Which is?”
“Someone who lifts you up instead of someone to lean on.”
I frown. “What’s the difference?”
“You don’t need anyone to support you, Sophie. You’re already the strongest person I know.” The words hang between us, heavy with truth I’m not ready to accept. “You need someone who makes you feel like you can fly, not someone who’ll catch you when you fall.”
The distinction hits me hard. My throat tightens. All this time, I’ve been viewing potential partners as safety nets, as load-bearers, because I assumed I couldn’t handle everything alone.
“I never thought of it that way,” I whisper. “I’ve been so focused on finding someone to help carry everything.”
“You don’t need help carrying anything,” Ally says firmly. “You’re not actually the person holding up your family, despite you pulling double duty and trying to convince yourself. Your parents are adults. Your dad coaches elite athletes. Your mom still works as a nurse despite MS. They’re not helpless.”
“I know that,” I protest weakly.
“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve appointed yourself family manager, and that’s not your job.” Ally pauses for what feels like an eternity, letting the words sink in deep. “They appreciate what you do, but they don’t expect you to sacrifice yourself.”
My immaculately clean kitchen suddenly feels like evidence of something larger. “Maybe that’s what Dad was trying to tell me. When he said to back off. Maybe he wasn’t saying I care too much. Maybe he was saying I’m trying to control too much.”
“Bingo.” Ally sounds proud. “And has backing off been terrible?”
“Actually, no. Mom and I texted about Taylor Swift’s new album yesterday. Not a single mention of MS.”
“See? Progress.”
Something loosens in my chest for the first time in weeks. “When did you get so wise?”
“Always been wise. You were just too busy alphabetizing your spice rack to notice.”
“I’ve never alphabetized my spice rack,” I protest. “They’re organized by frequency of use.”
Ally’s laugh warms me through the phone. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“I’ve got to run, but promise me something?”
“What?”
