Wynn sighs, then grabs my hand. “There’s never a right time for you to fall. It’s why they call it falling. It’s an accident. In one second. Just pray that wherever you land, you’re not there alone.”
“Wynn, I didn’t even know I wanted it. That I wanted to be worshipped this way. Even with no makeup and completely bare. I’d never wanted someone to touch me every chance he got. I’d never wanted to make excuses to touch someone else just so I can feel his warmth and how solid he is and know I didn’t imagine him. My life has been inside this box and then he’s solid and there and makes me feel something that is endless . . . I thought I knew what I wanted. Then I met him, and I don’t know anything anymore.”
“You want something else and that’s fine,” Wynn says, like it’s as easy as changing nail color.
“It’s not fine. Do you realize who he is? I’m setting myself up! I want the impossible. Men like him don’t change.”
“I beg to differ! People are always changing, it’s the law of evolution; we change. For the better. To survive.”
“Who thinks it’s for the better?”
“He will. Because being with you means something, it means he gets to be a good guy. You can give him purpose. He can give you safety. A girl who challenges you and brings out the best in you, that’s what a smart man values . . . even if he doesn’t know it until he meets her. And Saint’s a smart one, Rachel. Do you think he doesn’t know what ninety-nine percent of the people surrounding him want from him? You’re a good girl, Rachel. You can’t cook to save a recipe, but any guy would be lucky to have you.” She pauses. “Does he know?”
I shake my head and softly say, “Not yet.” I’ve got a farmful of critters in my stomach just thinking of telling him, and the biggest of them is called fear. “Like you just said . . . I’m afraid to go out on a limb and then find myself just standing out there alone.”
“Is he seeing other people?” Wynn asks, her expression concerned.
I wait for the waitress to leave a basket of Italian focaccia with a little plate of olive oil on the side before I continue. “I never went in having any expectations of him being exclusive, but . . . I don’t think he is seeing anyone else. He still hangs out with floozies but . . . he and I are having a lot of sex. A lot of sex, Wynn.”
Her eyes brighten. “For a nonmonogamous animal like he is, this is huge! Sex with only you?”
I feel myself blush hotly; all the talk about sex only reminds me of the powerful high of having Saint inside me.
“Don’t be restrained by rules,” she then chides. “Just go with your emotions. All those great romances, they’re not planned, they just happen.”
“That’s the thing—no matter how crazy it sounds, I want to be swept away. I do. I want to believe it could happen to me for once.”
“So?” she dares. “You’re already headed that way. Wouldn’t you rather go with it than fight some war you might not even want to win?”
“It’s not that simple, Wynn.” I fall back in my chair with a weary sigh. “I don’t know how Helen will take it when I let her know I’m not doing this. Edge is on its last breath. Even if Saint could change and want something real with me, I’d be putting my own happiness before how many people’s jobs? It’s killing me.”
“Edge will die anyway.”
“No.” I instinctively deny it with a shake of my head. “This would have injected new life. . . .”
“And you, Rachel?” She looks at me as if to her, my well-being is worth so much more than the well-being of the dozens of people working at Edge. She looks at me as if one small card—me—trumps all the rest. “And my friend Rachel, what about her?”
27
ON THE EDGE
The answer to Wynn’s question eludes me . . . but I know by the next morning that there are some things we are capable of, and some we aren’t. There are speeds at which we cannot run. And situations we cannot ever solve. We have limits within ourselves, and I have finally recognized mine. I grew up loving stories, sometimes loving stories more than people. Loving people in the stories, or because of the stories.
But today I love a man more than I love the story—his story.
So I walk into Helen’s office certain that she’s going to fire me. Fire me for real this time. Not only that, but I can’t bear to look anyone in the eye today. Valentine at his desk, looking for the perfect stock images. Victoria isn’t at her desk today, and I’m almost relieved I don’t have her looking at me when I need to come to terms with the fact that I’ve failed. I want to fail.
Helen looks up from her desk, and her eyes are tired behind her glasses. Her hair is a bit messier than normal. I can see the stress all over her and I can feel it around us as I take a seat.
She doesn’t even greet me. I think she knows.
“This article on Malcolm,” I begin.