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So, I decide to save up my bravery forthatconversation.
I want John’s support, but I don’t need his preapproval.
“All of it,” I answer honestly. “All of it bothers me. She only agreed because she won’t break a promise to you.”
“Because she trusts me,” John clarifies. “You both do.”
Which is true. True-ish. I think John is very steadily ebbing away at the level of trust Chelsea and I both have in him.
“Do you really think this is the best option, John? You couldn’t just let her find a guy on her own?”
Or maybe consider setting her up with your best friend instead of total strangers?
John pauses, then speaks carefully, annunciating every word like he thinks I’m dumb. “Trust me. I’ve thought this through for a while. I’d bet money that by the end, she’ll find the right guy. The perfect guy for her.”
The idea of Chelsea with another guy makes me feel nauseated. I already followed her on one date this week. I’m not sure I can survive a whole slew of dates.
No—I’m sure. I can’t.
“It’s a terrible idea. Do you know how many weirdos and predators are on dating apps?”
“That’s why you’re there. You’ll be like the proverbial dad with the shotgun, scaring all her dates.”
Scare them? Maybe. More like … scare them away.
Actually, that isnota terrible idea.
“I just want Chels to find the right guy,” John repeats.
I could tell him right now that I’d like to be the right guy. That I AM the right guy. If I can’t be honest with my best friend, who can I be honest with?
But there’s a big part of me who wants John to see this for himself. I want him to believe in me. I want John to seemeas the perfect choice for Chelsea without needing to convince or beg him.
He probably has no clue I evenlikeChelsea. I’ve hidden my feelings so long that doing so is like breathing. Well. Breathing with a bad case of asthma and a collapsed lung, but still.
Sure, I’ve dated around some the past few years, but it always stayed casual and didn’t last long. I think subconsciously, I compared every woman to Chelsea, and every other woman paled in comparison.
“Don’t you want her to be happy?” John asks.
My blood is like a boiling, raging river in my veins. My hands are restless on the steering wheel, wanting to punch something. Or someone. A particular someone who is an ocean away. I almost have to pull off the slow-moving road to do breathing exercises.
“Of course.” My words sound like they are coming straight out of a wood chipper. John has no idea how much his sister’s happiness means to me. “But this is not the way to go about it.”
It feels refreshingly good to argue with John. Good, but also strange. A sudden flare of guilt surges through me, a byproduct of being a people-pleaser. I remind myself of something else I've learned in therapy—there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make other people happy. But that doesn’t mean I need to please all the people all of the time. Not even my best friend.
But John will always be the easy leader, and I’ll always be easygoing. It’s hard to break out of our dynamic. But the status quo is working anymore. Something needs to change. Especially if I want to change my status quo with Chelsea. It will inevitably shift things with John, and now is a perfect time to start shifting.
“I won’t do it,” I say, inching forward at a red light.
I wait. John is quiet. Too quiet.
“You’d break your promise?” he asks quietly. It’s impossible not to hear the hurt in his voice.
“Does it have to be this?” I plead. “Anything but this.”
“Please,” John says. “Trust me.”
Trust him to … what? Pick out the kind of guy Chelsea can live happily ever after with—a guy who’s not me? Trust him to keep meddling and overstepping in both of our lives?
