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She shoots me a look. “Don’t you do that, Chlo. You asked people if they wanted to go sledding while singing kumbaya. You did not decide to snatch up the weakest idiot you could find and use her emotional frailty to go for a ride.”
My lower lip puckers.
She puts up a hand. “Sorry. You’re not an idiot. You’re a smart person. He’s just an unusually ruthless man.” She throws out a hand. “He’s got an open problem with narcissism, for goodness’ sake. He read this book for that reason. It’s not your fault he discovered you were a particularly easy target.” She shakes her head. “He’s like a vampire. And you were out there just bleeding openly on your sleeve.”
“I’m not feeling better.”
“Right.” She snaps the book shut. Swings her feet to the floor. “So here’s what we’re going to do. The way I see it, you have two options. The first? Flee. Flee from all of this and hide away and never answer your phone and eventually he’ll go away. I’ll guard the door. Pelt him with candy canes before he gets on the sidewalk and—”
“That sounds good.”
“Or,” she adds. She sucks in a breath that says Get ready, this is obviously the better choice even if it’s harder, and her gaze locks intently with mine. “You use this experience as the best test for overcoming your fear of rejection. I don’t save you. You don’t cower in your bedroom. No. You reject him.”
“I like the first option.”
“The first option is out.”
“The candy cane one.”
“I’m not going to waste candy canes on him.”
I purse my lips. She continues, “So here’s the thing. We both know you’re kind of at a crisis point personally. You want to be braver and stronger and willing to face your life without caring a smidge about what other people think. Basically you want to be like me.” She nods understandably, like Who doesn’t? “Fair. I have an awesome life, if I do say so myself. This guy comes along who uses your heart like the dummy in a crash test for his own plans. You have a golden opportunity to spin this around and see that suddenly, tonight of all nights, you can work specifically on facing your wounders head-on. You can be brave. You can be strong. You can look him in the eye and beat him at the game before he knows what hit him. You can win the game.”
“How?”
“You push him so hard, you earn his rejection like never before. He loses. You prove you can take rejection from the people who hurt you most. Who scare you most. Who you want to run away from most. You go head-on. You. Win.”
I stare at the litter of wadded-up tissues on the desk beside me. This would be a chance to hit reverse on the way I’ve done things every time in the past. I should have faced Dom head-on instead of running. I should have cornered Mike and earned a conversation instead of slowly bleeding out as I crawled away. I should have brought things to light at Synon instead of cowering behind a resignation email.
I could face this head-on.
“C’mon,” Genie says, eyes glinting. “I say if this is worth anything, it’s worth all the marbles. Ten points out of ten. It’s the ultimate test, and tonight you’ll earn it. Whaddya say?”
“I say . . . I still would like to explore the hiding option.”
“Chloe,” Genie grills.
I drop my head. “Fine. Yes. Let’s do it.”
“No, we’re not doing it. You are. You’ll do it. And you can be proud of yourself for knowing you did after.”
I give a monumental sigh. Rub my tearstained cheeks.
Nod.
“Just tell me the plan.”
Chapter 8
The Christmas No List
Version 3
Objective: Collect ten rejections by Christmas and, in doing so, experience a breakthrough in breaking the cycle of chronic people-pleasing.
Rules:
Ultimate test: Go on a date with James Stone (instead of hiding from him like I want to) and earn total and complete rejection at any cost. *And no throwing up after.*
