To Sir, with Love - Lauren Layne Page 0,48

as I imagine dancing toward the line of interference without actually crossing it.

“Have you told her any of this? Does she know how you feel?”

He blinks at me. “She knows I love her.”

Oh, men. So sweet. So clueless.

“I’m sure she does,” I say with a reassuring smile. “But does she know that she’s enough for you? You know how Lily is. She’s never failed at anything in her life. I wonder if she’s not feeling a little lost knowing that she might not be meant to bear children naturally. I wonder if she doesn’t just need to know that you’re there.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I should cut back on the travel is what you’re saying.”

I smile, and Alec nods. Point taken. He gestures toward my drink. “Can I have some more of that?”

I shove it toward him, and he takes a long sip, winces, studies the cup. Then takes another sip. “Yes. Yes, I do like this. Now, back to you. Do you want to run Bubbles for the rest of your life? Because if that’s what you want, I’ll help however I can. The numbers don’t tell a great story, but it’s possible this is just a bad chapter.”

I look down at my thumbnails, at the chipped pink polish I probably should have removed three days ago.

“I know what I don’t want,” I say, still not looking up.

“That’s a start. Let’s hear it.”

“I don’t want to break my promise to Dad. I don’t want to disappoint Lily and Caleb.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

He asks it gently, curiously, but I can’t bring myself to answer, not out loud. I don’t want to answer.

But somewhere deep inside me, the answer whispers anyway. No. That’s not good enough. I want to be brave enough to go after what my heart wants.

I want to be bold. Daring.

Happy.

I take a deep breath, both exhilarated and terrified when I realize what I have to do.

To Sir, out on a shaky limb,

I apologize for the radio silence. I’ve been sorting through some of the messier bits of being human as of late. Do you ever ask yourself the big questions and realize you don’t have a clear answer? What sort of person do I want to be? What sort of life do I want to have? With whom do I want to live that life?

I know I’m a kind person, or at least I try to be, but I’m also realizing I’m bit of a chicken in a lot of ways. More obsessed with the dream than doing the work to make the dream a reality.

I live a good life—I do. But I’m learning it’s a life lived largely for the people around me, to support their expectations, to never rock the boat, to never let anyone down. I feel trapped, but how does one find that balance—to be true to oneself without being selfish?

The one area I’ve always thought I was in control of, the one area lived for me, by my standards, is my personal, romantic life. And I know I’m overstepping our usual topics of conversation, but I feel I’ve misstepped here as well. I’m alone, and on some level, I’ve always known that’s of my own making, but now I can’t help but wonder if there are opportunities missed, chances lost, connections I never let happen.

I’m rambling now. This is the longest message I’ve ever sent, by far, and I apologize if I’m destroying what we have, moving us from pithy quips to something altogether a bit more maudlin. Especially since I haven’t shared this with anyone in my “real” life, which I guess leads me to this:

Life feels most real when I’m writing to you, when I see your screen name in my in-box. I don’t know your name. Your face. Your age. But I have the sense I know you. And that you know me too, in a way perhaps nobody else does.

So if nothing else, even if I’ve scared you away, I want you to know that when I’m old and withered, saggy and gray, I will look back on these days, and you, my friend, will be a bright spot.

Lady

* * *

My dear Lady,

I’m not quite sure where to begin. I suppose, most obviously, you haven’t scared me away. You haven’t ruined things. I’m here. And perhaps now it’s me who’s making things weird, but I have a hard time imagining a version of my life where I won’t be here for you, however you need me.

You’re