Page 18 of Finding Jack
But it wasn’t just me that it embarrassed. My dad hated it too. It made him so uncomfortable. And once, when I was eight, she’d had an extra glass of wine at a wedding and reallllly got down with her college girlfriends on the dance floor, he’d mumbled an excuse and escaped to the restroom. When my mom came back flushed with wine—or Shooping or both—I’d complained. Again. “Why do you have to do that? It makes Dad so uncomfortable. It’s not nice.”
Dad was more like me. He liked order and structure. And decorum, for pity’s sake. But Mom had only smiled and said, “I do itforhim, honey. It reminds him of who he used to be before all the pressure.”
I’d been so mad then, because I didn’t really understand her answer. All I knew is that I never wanted my dad to look at me with the same anger and embarrassment he’d had on his face before he escaped from the wedding.
In the end, she refused to change. So did my dad. Which is how they ended up divorced two years later. And how my mom went through about four more serious relationships, another marriage, a divorce, and now a third husband. David. They were going on three years, probably because he took her out dancing whenever she wanted. Even still, they were doomed to sputter out soon.
I didn’t love my mom’s uninhibited approach to life sometimes. Most times. And certainly not the way her lack of inhibitions led her to fling herself into one failing relationship after another. But now, listening to Paul talk more about the metric he’d developed for making sure we found the perfect sunset, I realized that there was a tiny bit of merit in her playfulness—if it were dialed down—A TON. Paul needed more spontaneity in his life. Not “Shoop-even-if-your-spouse-hates-it” spontaneity. But a big step away from his spreadsheets.
I’d been so worried for months about making sure our experiences together were low-stress and perfectly executed, and it was the opposite of what we both needed.
Not until I Shooped like an idiot on the boat had I realized how much I’d needed an injection of silliness. And Paul was many, many good things, but he wasn’t silly.
He’d looked at me, embarrassed. It hadn’t felt good.
I took a deep breath. All right. Time to do the right thing. The only thing that made it doable was the knowledge that it was the right thing for him too.
“I don’t think I’m up for a coast drive. Can we just drive to the bridge overlook?”
“But I have this whole thing planned. It’ll be great.”
“I think I’m worn out already. I’m sorry.”Chicken. Do the right thing.I cleared my throat. “But also, I want to talk to you about something.”
Paul smiled. “The overlook then.” He handed me his phone. “Can you sync it? I made a playlist.”
It was called “Sunset Playlist,” and as we merged onto the harbor road, the first of several love songs played.
Oh, man. This was going to suck.
Chapter 8
Paul steered us into the pullout for the overlook, and even though we could have enjoyed the view from the car, I climbed out anyway and sat on a bench. It was conveniently placed to provide an ocean backdrop for dumping people who were in all ways perfectly acceptable and somehow still not right for you. I burrowed into my sweatshirt against the chilly breeze.
Paul sat beside me, and I drew a steadying breath before turning toward him with a gentle smile. “So I’ve been thinking—”
“Me too,” he said, picking up one of my hands and lacing his fingers through it. He wasn’t usually an interrupter, but now his eyes shone, and the words tumbled out of him like he couldn’t help himself. “I know we’ve kept things casual for the last five months while we both focused on work, but now that you’ve got a promotion, and I’m about to get one, I was thinking we should—”
“Paul.” I couldn’t let him get the words out. I owed him that much. I slid my fingers from his, and the excitement in his eyes dimmed. He pressed his lips together and looked at my hand, the one I’d drawn away to resettle in my lap. “You’re getting a promotion? That’s great.”
He was no dummy. “What’s going on, Emily?”
My eyes wanted to drift away, to focus on the ocean or the clouds or anything but the confusion on his face. But that wasn’t fair, so I returned his gaze while I searched for words. “The last few months with you have been so great. I honestly saw it going on like that indefinitely, maybe even growing into something else. And this is the point where it should feel like that, right? Like the point where it’s time to take the next step. I’m worried that’s what you were going to say we should do next, but I don’t want you to. I’m not sure I understand why, but I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
He straightened so he was turned toward the water instead of me and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs in short, nervous movements. Finally, he said, “I’m surprised.”
I sighed. “Me too.”
A long silence fell between us before he broke it. “I’m fine with waiting. When you get the hang of your new job, we can revisit this.”
He was taking it with so much grace, I hated what I had to say next. “I don’t think this is going to change with time. I feel a restlessness I can’t explain when we’re together. I don’t know what it means, but I think my instincts are trying to overpower my brain for once.”
“And for once you’re going to let them?” His tone was flat.
“For once I’m going to let them.”
He nodded, not looking at me. He shuffled his feet in the dirt, then leaned down to pick up a small pebble and throw it out toward the ocean. He didn’t bother to see where it landed. “Why didn’t you say something before we started this big day?”
“Because I didn’t know. I think there’s been something bubbling up for a little while, and being on that sailboat cleared my head. And then I couldn’t unsee it. I’m really sorry.”
