Page 73 of Your Pace Or Mine

“That’s the whole story,” I reply, confused.

His brow furrows. “That’s it? She left you at the bar and you didn’t reach out at all? You didn’t tell her how you feel? She walks out of your life and you’re going to let her?”

“Well, I’m hoping we can be friends again when all this passes.” I’m dimly aware of how ridiculous that sounds.

Seth gives a sharp laugh. “It’s not a fucking kidney stone. For a smart person, you can be incredibly stupid.”

“What was I supposed to say?” I sputter.

He shakes his head at my confusion. “That you’re crazy about her? That you get a goofy smile when you talk about her? That you grit your teeth watching her dating reels because you secretly hate the idea of her ending up with someone else? That you’re so bent out of shape over possibly losing her that you didn’t sleep and woke up smelling like you showered in whiskey? That you’re obviously in love with her, Rossi. That’s what you should have said.”

It makes sense, but it’s not supposed to make sense, because I don’t fall in love. “It’s not like that.”

He surprises me by raising his voice. “It’s exactly like that! It’s so obvious, even I knew. You can’t expect her to have missed it.”

“I don’t do love, Seth, you know that.” I’m almost shouting now too. “I don’t do relationships. It’s not who I am. I admit I screwed up, but don’t expect me to change who I am because I let one person get too close.”

Instead of yelling again, Seth sighs and shakes his head. “You’re not your dad, Sebastian. I thought eventually you’d grow up and realize that. Look, my father is a hoarder and sends me print-outs from conspiracy sites about the dangers of 5G. Diana’s parents don’t even remember her birthday. We can choose not to be like our parents.”

“It’s different.” I want to explain, but I don’t know how or why it’s not the same. It just feels like it is.

“Bullshit,” Seth replies. “I’m not saying it’s easy. Go to therapy. Read self-help books. Do whatever you need, but stop telling yourself you don’t have a choice. I’m not saying you have to settle down and get married. But don’t let your dad’s example convince you that you aren’t allowed to want those things. That’s a cop-out.”

I stare into my mediocre coffee, at a loss for words. I suppose he’s right. I’ve always told myself that I won’t be like my father, and the only way to do that was to avoid any real attachments. But maybe there’s another way. Maybe I don’t need to close off my feelings all the time. The idea is terrifying.

But what’s more terrifying is the idea of never laughing with Ashley again. Never seeing her eyes light up when she’s scheming about something. Never hearing her belt out show tunes at an obnoxious volume. Never texting her stupid memes that remind me of her. My mind has been spinning for days, but clarity hits me like a medicine ball to the stomach—losing Ashley is scarier than the idea of commitment ever was.

Seth is watching me like he’s been waiting for me to catch up. When it’s clear the message was received, he says, “Call her,” and goes back to his computer, the conversation over.

I nod and walk into the hallway, dialing Ashley’s number without a second thought about what the hell I’m supposed to say, but it goes to voicemail. My heart sinks. She’s likely either screening her calls or she blocked me. I go back into the office and shake my head when Seth looks up.

“I can’t reach her.”

He looks sad but not surprised, then turns back to his monitor. “Well, man, you’ve got some work to do. Let’s talk through our summer advertising budget in the meantime.”

The day plods on. I do my best to run numbers with Seth and finish my to-do list, but my brain is mush. I call Ashley a few times, but it goes straight to voicemail and my text doesn’t go through. Yep, blocked. I consider emailing her, but it seems a little underhanded to go through my work address, so I leave it as a last resort.

I don’t know how this works. I try to recall all the stupid romantic movies she made me watch over the years and consider my options.

Stand outside her window with a boombox: That’s creepy in real life, and besides, she lives on the tenth floor. Not to mention, where does one get a boombox nowadays?

Run through an airport after her: This has a high potential of being arrested.

Song and dance routine with a marching band: Where would I get a marching band?

Pay off the man who ran off with her sister: Her sister’s already married, I’m not rich, and it’s not 1815.

A lot of the movie scenes involved breaking into song, but doesn’t work so well if she won’t let me into her building.

For now, I order a dozen roses and a card that says “I’m a huge asshole.” It’s not enough, but it’s all I can do right away. To make matters worse, the florist calls me later to let me know she refused delivery, saying she was out of town and can’t receive it. So I’m back to square one.

I’m sitting on my couch later, mindlessly scrolling my tech news app, when a notification for my Mr. Six account pops up. A tiny spark of hope ignites at the idea that she may not have blocked me there. I open her profile, and oh God. There she is with her ridiculous sunglasses, playing Fallout Boy and talking about how she put her heart out but her feelings weren’t reciprocated. It’s all I can do not to scream at the phone that I’m an idiot, that of course the feelings were mutual. I always thought people were being dramatic when they talked about broken hearts, but I get it now because seeing Ashley so sad makes me physically ache. I want to reach through the screen and take her in my arms, but now I can’t even call her.

And then I get an idea. I can’t talk to Ashley, but I can at least be honest with the rest of the world. I need to try to be the person I should have been all along.

Mr. Six Reel (with transcript)

Mr. Six appears in his ball cap and Groucho Marx disguise. Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi” is playing in the background.