Page 35 of Meant to Be

“I’ll figure that out,” I said. “Soon. I promise I will, Mags. You can help me.”

Margaret shook her head, looking so sad. “I don’t think I can help you, Joe.”

I forced a smile. “Wait. Are you saying I’m a lost cause?”

Margaret didn’t take the bait. “No. I’m saying that you have to do this on your own. For yourself. It has to come from within.”

“Okay. Yes. You’re right,” I said. “Itwillcome from within. I’m close to a breakthrough here….”

“Good,” she said. “I really hope that’s true.” Her eyes filled with tears, which killed me. I can’t stand whenanygirl is sad, but seeing Margaret cry was the absolute worst.

“Don’t cry, Mags. Please,” I said. “Just give me a little more time. Iloveyou.”

“I love you, too, Joe,” she told me. “And I always will. But I can’t do this anymore. I need to move on. I’m sorry.”

—

I know Icould have fought to keep Margaret. I could have gone out and bought her a diamond ring the very next day. She would have said yes. I know she would have. At the very least, I could have smoothed things over, reassured her, bought myself a little more time. Instead, I just let her quietly slip away, acquiescing to her decision. In doing so, I likely only proved her theory about me not being in control of my own life. Once again, I had chosen the path of least resistance.

My mom was devastated and also angry, accusing me of suffering from Peter Pan syndrome. But I insisted that it had beenMargaret’s doing, almost convincing myself of the same. Then, about a week later, Margaret came by to pick up the things that she had left at my place. We arranged for her to do it when I wasn’t home, but somehow the press caught on and stalked her as she loaded bags into the trunk of her car.

In the photos, she looked distraught—like she’d been crying for days—which confirmed everyone’s narrative that I had broken her heart. Deep down, I knew they were right, and I’d never felt so guilty—way too guilty to track down the very girl who had upset Margaret in the first place.

—

Almost a yearlater, Margaret called me out of the blue. My stomach lurched a bit hearing her voice, and I felt that weird emotion you have when someone you once knew so well now feels like a stranger.

After catching up for a few moments about our families and jobs, she told me that she had some news—and she wanted me to hear it from her first.

“Okay,” I said, expecting her to tell me she was moving out of the city, something I knew she had wanted to do. Maybe she was even returning to Africa. “What’s up?”

“I’m engaged,” she said.

“Engaged inwhat?” I asked, confused.

“Engaged to bemarried,Joe.”

I was stunned, and for some reason, my pride felt a little hurt, too. But I played it off, pretending to take it in stride as I asked her who the lucky guy was. Did I know him?

“Yes. You know him.”

“I do? Who is it?”

“Toby,” she said.

I only knew one Toby, and there was no way she was marryingthat guy. A classmate from Harvard, Toby Davis was brilliant but socially awkward as hell. “Toby who?”

Margaret sighed, then said, “OurToby.”

“He’s notmyToby,” I said with a laugh, trying to cover for the fact that I was feeling territorial.

“Joe. Stop it.”

“Okay. Sorry,” I said. “But wow.”

“Wowwhat?” she said, her voice uncharacteristically challenging.

“I’m just surprised….” I said, knowing I was being a little unkind. “We used to make fun of him. How he followed you around like a puppy dog.”

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