My breathing was shallow, and I was suddenly terrified that I was going to cry again. “I think you need a plan,” he said. “What do you want to be doing? Because I don’t think writing press releases about neutrinos is it.”
He stopped, and I was clearly expected to formulate some kind of response. But I didn’t know what to say. I had just been laid bare by someone I thought hardly knew my name. I spent so much time creeping past his office so he wouldn’t realize how often I was late for work, only for him to tell the Washington Post, of all things, that our hours were flexible. For him to read such intimate details of my life and somehow see through those escapades to recognize that this job was a screen I hid behind so that I wouldn’t risk failure with my own writing. Because of course young Lily hadn’t lain in bed at night with a flashlight scribbling in a diary about her future career as a public relations officer for a scientific organization. I had always wanted to write. But to actually write and put that work out into the world for people to read and reject? Yes, it was what I wanted and the blog had helped me realize that, but—
“I want to write,” I said quietly. “But—” I stopped.
“But?” he asked gently.
“I’m scared,” I whispered, not even realizing that it was true until I said it.
“Of course you are. It’s terrifying to create something that’s never existed before. But like every good scientist learns, trial and error is the only way to discovery.”
I shook my head. “I’m not a scientist though.”
He smiled kindly. “Oh yes you are.”
After leaving his office ten minutes later, I walked back to mine in a daze. The plan we had concocted was that I had a year. A year to keep doing what I was doing, but also to figure out what I wanted to be doing. To start writing. To experiment. And if I hadn’t figured it out at the end of that year—well, we would cross that bridge if and when we came to it. Martin was confident I would be back in his office in well under a year to tell him I had found my passion project. “And if it doesn’t pay the bills immediately,” he grinned, “I get the feeling you’re not exactly using a hundred percent of your brain writing press releases. You can moonlight.”
I was terrified. But maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t lost everything after all.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I waited until lunchtime to go back to Caryn. I didn’t doubt that she was busy, but at least now, with my future at the foundation safe, I could offer to help lighten that load somewhat.
“You’re still here then?” she asked coolly when I came back to her office. She had a green smoothie with a straw in it on her desk, which I assumed was her lunch. Ever skinny, she looked positively gaunt now, which I knew was the product of hard work for her wedding, not my betrayal.
“I am. Can I sit?”
She glanced up at her clock. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at me blankly. “Great. Are you done?”
I looked back at her, the fringe of the Kewpie-doll eyelashes that she made me get dancing at the top of my vision. For a moment, I debated letting this one go. Caryn hadn’t been much of a friend this year, had she? I mean, it was ridiculous that I’d had to change my hair, my lashes, and my body shape for the sake of her pictures. Not to mention, I had spent more money on her wedding than the others combined, between the minimizing bra, Spanx, dress, shoes, eyelashes, keratin hair treatment, and the horror show of her shower and bachelorette party, and she showed no sign of even knowing that was a hardship for me.
And I didn’t know how to make her understand that I was happier just being who I was, metaphorical warts and all, because Caryn’s whole life was an exercise in image.
I pictured my someday wedding, ignoring the fact that the groom now looked like Alex instead of a faceless mannequin in a tuxedo. Who did I see there with me? Megan, Amy, Sharon, Becca, and Caryn, of course. Did I care that they were a mismatched bunch? Absolutely not. Did I even care if they wore matching dresses? Not in the slightest. But that didn’t mean I was right and Caryn was wrong, nor did it mean that Caryn was right and I was wrong. We just wanted different things.
“No,” I said. “I handled this badly.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I should have said no earlier in the process.”
“No to what?” Caryn’s voice was defensive.
“To the things that made me feel like the blog was an appropriate response.” She started to cut me off, but I continued. “It wasn’t an appropriate response. The appropriate response would have been to say no when we went past my comfort level. I don’t want to wear a minimizing bra, or lose weight, or wear these things on my eyelashes, or have this blonde, straight hair.”
Caryn narrowed her eyes. “That’s the worst apology I’ve ever heard.”
“I don’t mean I should have said I wouldn’t do them. I mean I should have said I couldn’t be in your wedding.”
She rubbed her forehead angrily. “What are you trying to do to me right now? It’s too late to find someone who will fit into your dress, and my pictures will look off-balance if I don’t have an even number of bridesmaids and groomsmen.”
“I don’t mean right now. I’ll do whatever you want right now. I mean earlier, when there was time to figure it out. Caryn, I spent over three thousand dollars on your wedding alone, and I’m in four others. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“That’s just what weddings cost.”
“It’s not, actually. I mean, it might be for some people, but it isn’t in my world. And I should have told you I was in over my head before it got to the point where I started resenting you.”
Her lips had tightened into an almost invisible line, but she didn’t say anything, so I kept going.
“Look, I love you. I do. And I took the passive-aggressive route here, which was me being a horrible person and an even worse friend. And for that, I am very sorry. I’m even more sorry that I repeated things you said in confidence about the other bridesmaids, because that was worse than anything I said about you in the blog. I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore for that. And like I said, I’ll do whatever you want me to about the wedding. If you want me there, I’ll be there in my minimizing bra, and I’ll wear my makeup however you tell me, and I’ll smile for pictures and keep my mouth shut. If you want me nowhere near it, I’ll respect that too.” I stopped talking.
“But?” she asked.
“No buts. ‘Everything before the but is bullshit,’ isn’t that how the saying goes? Well, I already said what I needed to say. Tell me what you want me to do about this weekend and that’s what I’ll do.”
“And after that?”
I hesitated. “I want to write. My own writing. Martin and I talked and he said he’s giving me a year to figure out what I want to do. So worst-case scenario, we be polite in the halls until then. If that’s what you want.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m going to leave the ball in your court on this one.”
Caryn looked unsure. “I don’t know if we can rebuild our trust. You told the whole world things that I told you in confidence.”
I nodded. “It would take a lot of work. On both sides. But I’m willing to try if you want to.”
Her eyebrows contracted slightly. If not for the Botox, her forehead might have furrowed, but that was no longer a possibility. “Maybe you were right about the lash extensions. You look like an anime character with how round your eyes already are.”
My mouth curled into a hint of a smile. It was said without malice—a Caryn way of saying I looked better the way I normally was. “I can take them out. I’ve got the baby oil in my purse ready to go.”
“Don’t you dare before the wedding. After all of this, those pictures better be flawless.”
“Make sure I get a copy of the one where Caroline is trying to stab me with a lobster fork.”
“There’s a decent chance that actually happens.”
I grinned. “As long as she stabs somewhere covered by the dress, I’ll be fine. She can’t penetrate all of that shapewear. I’m practically bulletproof.”