Levi chuckles, his breath tickling my lips. “I want to experience it all with you. Everything. This is just the beginning.”
Epilogue
I lean back in my desk chair and sigh. My coffee is cold, and I skipped breakfast due to an urgent call from Catherine.
My phone buzzes beside me with a new text.
Felicity: This is how my day’s going:
A picture appears of her with baby spit-up down her front, baby Eli in her arms.
Felicity: #NailedIt #WheresMyCoffee #SpikeIt
I laugh.
Me: Don’t think that is a valid excuse to cancel dinner plans.
Felicity: Are you kidding? I’m counting down the seconds until you arrive.
Me: Me too. I miss my bubba.
Felicity: I’ve been replaced. #NewShinyToy
Me: Upgrade, baby.
Me: I just need to finish up one more thing, and I’ll be headed your way.
Felicity: Drive safely.
Me: I will. XO
I stare at my computer screen, reading the title of my next blog entry for Tales of Being Single.
I apologize for my absence. I’ve been attempting to craft the perfect message for this final post and have come to the realization that there isn’t a perfect message. Why? Because life isn’t perfect. People aren’t perfect. I’m not perfect.
I’ve spent much of my thirty years striving for perfection. With my career, my relationships, my image—only to realize that perfection is a goal we set so far out of reach and reality that we often mangle ourselves in attempt to reach it.
Self-help was never my objective with this blog. It was simply an idea that was sparked on what I thought was one of the worst afternoons of my life in a parking lot where my life took a sharp turn and led me down a new path, and then it grew legs one night when I met an attractive stranger. I wanted to be brave, to try something new, and hoped that by sharing my experiences, I’d hold myself accountable to keep with it. I never expected people to actually read my blog. Never expected so many kind and thoughtful messages. However, this will be my last post, at least for now.
This experience was a journey. One that taught me to be braver and stronger and care less about expectations and more about myself.
I hoped to write this final blog post to convey all I’ve learned—share a post that wasn’t written about an experience but an overall message. Something I shy away from because it’s something I despise most in life—advice. However, even after nine months of blogging and trying new experiences, I’ve learned there isn’t a single or right path for any one thing or person. There isn’t a guidebook, though you can find numerous books about every subject—people trying to tell you the right recipe for success, parenting, self-help—but that’s a different conversation. One of the first things I want to discuss are the many misconceptions of being single.
Firstly, being single isn’t the plague that much of society labels it as. You don’t need to be doing anything to “fix” or change yourself because you aren’t in a relationship, because being single doesn’t mean anything is wrong.
I thought I would be lonely when I was single. And at times, I was. It’s difficult when you have the same person there for you day in and day out and then have that presence disappear from your life. It’s much like when you leave for college and the comforts of your bed, home-cooked meals, and your family aren’t there when you return to your dorm room at the end of class. But similar to that experience, you learn new things. You become friends with new people and begin forming a new family. Through this experience, I became even closer to my best friend after she and her husband allowed me to move into their guest bedroom. I became closer to their children and got to experience things I will always cherish. I visited my family more, making efforts to bridge gaps that had built over time and absences. I forced myself out of my comfort zone and spoke to people who weren’t my friends but now are.
I thought people would look at me funny when I did things alone. You may feel like you need to have someone with you when you go out to eat or to the movies. You don’t. Don’t wait on someone else to discover your own happiness. And so what if someone looks at you in question? People can be assholes. That’s all there is to it. Don’t worry about them. Don’t let them define you. They aren’t the people you should be caring about.
I thought I needed to be prettier. Fix my hair. Wear more makeup. Improve. What I learned was that it’s okay to do those things—as long as you’re doing them for the right reason, and that is that they’re for you. To make yourself feel good. Not for anyone else. If they don’t think you’re enough, they definitely aren’t people you want in your life.
I was afraid after getting out of my last relationship that it would be impossible to find love again. Studies show the older you get, the harder it is. Not to mention your trust seems to deplete as you age. I was focused on the few who had wronged me rather than the many who had been there for me through everything, just like I had focused on my negative traits rather than my positive ones. Don’t listen to those doubts. They’re poisonous and will keep you from being who you’re meant to be.
You can buy books or podcasts or tickets for seminars about being single and finding the best version of yourself, but really my best and only advice to you is simply to be you. Follow your heart. If faced with adversity, remember you don’t have to face it alone, but if you do, it will pass. You are strong, and no one can take that away.
I’d love to tell you all that being single is what helped me learn more about myself, but it didn’t. If you read through my blog posts, very few of them were of me doing experiences by myself. Almost always, someone was with me. I was never alone, though at times I felt like I was.
No one needs my blog or a self-help book, because no one is you. No one is facing what you’re facing or can tell you how to act or feel.
And my final note: don’t waste time.
Don’t wait for the perfect opportunity, because it’s NEVER coming. There will always be a distraction, a hiccup, a barrier that will have you second-guessing if it’s the right time, but ignore those. Move past them. Don’t read my story and do as I did. Live your life and carve out your own path with time, experiences, and relationships.
One path ends, and another begins. That’s life. Don’t miss the present because you’re so busy trying to continue on a previous path.
“You look focused.”
I glance up to discover Levi leaning against my doorjamb. His bright-blue eyes roam over my face, stopping on my eyes.
“I was just finishing my final blog post.”
Levi pulls his chin back. “How’s it going?”
I shake my head. “It feels too much like the pages of a self-help book. I don’t want for it to be that. I’m trying to be the opposite of that.”
He chuckles, pushing away from the wall and walking toward my desk. He stops and sits in the chair across from me. “You don’t have to end it. You could continue it.”
“Change the name to Tales of Being Engaged?”
He flashes his smile, making my heart hiccup. “That does have a nice ring to it. Pun intended.”
I lean back in my chair, laughing.
“But you’d have to change the name in another couple of months to Tales of Being Married, so maybe you should just call it Tales of Being Brooke?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s done. It feels right to be ending it. The blog helped hold me accountable and focus on doing things, but I don’t need that anymore. I haven’t for a while.”
Levi sits back, kicking one ankle over the other. “You could always start another one. Talk about wedding planning and the process of becoming the owner of a business.”
I shrug.
“You don’t have to have an answer tonight,” he says. “But we do have to get going. I’ve been inundated with texts from Felicity confirming we’re bringing food tonight.”
“Aren’t you sweet to say ‘we’ instead of ‘you.’”
I lock my computer and reach for my purse.
“Technically, the food arrives with you,” Levi says, standing as I round my desk.
I thread my arm around his waist and place my left hand on his chest, leaning close to kiss him. “I like technicalities.”
He takes my left hand in his as our lips meet, clearing all my thoughts of this day and the blog and impending wedding plans.
He covers the solitaire on my left ring finger with his thumb, shifting it from side to side. “How many more days till I get to call you my wife?”
“Forty-two.”
“If we’re an hour late, will she really notice? I mean, she’s got three kids now. She probably wouldn’t notice if the house was on fire.”
“We’re talking food here,” I remind him.
Levi runs a path with the tip on his nose from my neck to my ear, where he catches my lobe between his teeth. “Forty minutes?”
My phone pings from my desk. It pings again. Then my desk phone rings.
“Is that her or my mother?”
I shake my head. “I never realized how similar their stalking habits are.”
Levi chuckles, his hold on my hand and waist tightening as his lips graze my neck. “Thirty minutes.”
My phone rings again.
“She won’t stop until you feed her. She knows you made a lasagna.”
Levi steps away from me, closing my office door with a quiet click before locking the door. My office didn’t originally come with a lock. That, like many things in my life, is something that he altered. He said it was so I could keep his mother out, but I’ve come to appreciate Catherine’s random stops in my office that she doesn’t work so hard to camouflage as a work excuse and more as a time to sit and talk to each other. She can still be abrupt and even rude, but that’s to be expected. It would likely be eerie if she were to be completely civil. Instead, the lock is used for when Levi stops by early or late and most of the staff has gone home, and he flashes that dimple at me and listens to how my day was. Sometimes it’s used for when he drops off food. And other times it’s used when he shows up and tells me I’m beautiful and he's been having naughty thoughts about me all day. “You’re wearing my favorite dress.” He saunters closer to me, his eyes dark with intention.
I laugh. “You used that line last week.”
He smiles. “A man can have more than one favorite.” His hand slides along my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress up.
“Next, you’re probably going to try a line like telling me my eyes are beautiful or that you lost your number and need mine.”
“Actually, I was going to ask you for a quarter because I need to call my mom and tell her I met the girl of my dreams.”
A laugh bursts through my lips. “Still sticking with the classics.”
Levi drops his next hand to my other thigh, lifting my dress even higher. “Twenty minutes. That’s all I need to get you off, and then when we get home, I’ll show you that mirror in your pocket that shows me in your pants.”
I laugh harder. “That’s the worst pickup line ever.”
He chuckles. The sound is low and throaty as his fingers skim higher on the back of my thighs, lifting the skirt of my dress up to my waist. “That’s only because I’m distracted. Dirty thoughts have taken over, and all I want to do is tell you to bend over your desk.” He grips my backside with both hands, burying his face in my neck. “I need you.” He pulls me closer so our chests are pressed together. “I need to hear you scream my name. I need to hear you moan. I need to see you get off.”
My heart rate triples in speed, desire heating my belly as I stare up at my fiancé. “I’ll tell her I got stuck on a call.”
The ghost of a smile passes over his lips, and then he’s kissing me. One of his hands braces my neck while the other slides into my panties.
“I love you,” he whispers between kisses. “I’m always going to need you.” He kisses me deeply. Greedily. “You’re my goddamn air, Brooke.”
I know what he means. Know how his presence makes it easier to breathe. Easier to just be.
He dips a finger inside of me and steals what’s left of my strength with another kiss, and I’m spiraling. I forget about time and responsibilities … and focus only on now and Levi.
* * *
Forty-Two Days Later
“Tell me again.”
Felicity stops straightening my gown, her gaze meeting mine. “You don’t need me to tell you again. You know weddings better than anyone.”
I shake my head. “I know how to plan weddings.”
She sighs, her chin falling back with exasperation. “Don’t lock your knees. Breathe from your belly. Smile. Right, together, left, together…”
As she lists the reminders again, I peek around the corner, catching sight of a flood of people seated in chairs. “God, there’s so many people here. Who are they all? I don’t know this many people.”
“Your new mother-in-law does.” She smooths a piece of hair I keep trying to brush away. “Leave your hair alone. It’s perfect.”
“It feels weird. Too tight. Too crunchy.”
She laughs. “It doesn’t look either.”
Serena leans closer, her bouquet of white hydrangeas grasped tightly in her hand, hiding the beautiful blue satin ribbon that wraps the stems and the pearl pins that fall in a perfect horizontal line. “The limo’s going to be late. It broke down, and there’s an accident…” She pauses when I don’t react.
Soon after my birthday, I returned to Glitter and Gold, where I negotiated a healthy salary increase as well as changing my duties so that I only plan weddings, with a few minor exceptions that include things for close friends and family, including the bike repair shop my brother decided was his new passion and the doughnut shop Jerry and Levi opened together. It’s Levi’s first restaurant. The idea to open it had taken me by surprise, but then again, most things that involve Levi do.
I also implemented new policies at Glitter and Gold to streamline processes and improve employee satisfaction, and now, eighteen months later, we have a full staff of eleven, and our attrition rate is at an all-time low. I know their names and what doughnuts they love. I even go to yoga with a couple, and Serena and I go to lunch together most days. She’s still a bit scatterbrained, but she’s kind and generous, and before I’d stopped isolating myself to the four walls of my office, she began infiltrating my time and creating a space on my calendar, requesting I mentor her. I didn’t expect to become friends, but I also never expected to fall in love with my boss’s son.
Slowly, I’m learning expectations are the killers of creativity, time, and hope. They set you to focus on what is coming rather than being present, and though it’s far outside of my comfort zone, I’ve slowly learned to lower and rid many that I’ve had.
“Does your scalp always hurt?” I ask, lifting a hand to the crown of my head where Serena spent the better part of an hour teasing my hair to give it what she called “the right lift.”
She shakes her head.
“What?”
She shakes her head once more. “Do you want me to call someone else?”
I shrug. “We could always take an Uber.”
Serena’s eyes narrow, but before she can say anything, Catherine appears. Her eyes are bright, sharp enough to cause physical pain—she’s upset. “There’s an issue with the cake.” She purses her lips.
Felicity grasps my arm in attempt to offer her support before Catherine continues.
“Apparently, they had the wrong address.”
“That’s okay. We still have the doughnut cake.”
Catherine’s eyes grow round. “I thought we agreed doughnuts aren’t a wedding food. They certainly don’t replace a wedding cake.”
I don’t mention that “we” translates to “she” and that she also decided I was getting married indoors, which also isn’t happening.
“It’s okay.”
The three of them stare at me and then at each other.
; “It’s okay,” I say again. “It doesn’t matter. This is a good omen.”
Catherine places a hand to her forehead as though my words have brought on an instantaneous migraine. “You say that now, but—”
“It’s how things work. It’s the balance.”
“Oh God,” Felicity places a hand on her face as well. “This isn’t yoga class; it’s your wedding.”
“When I met Levi, things went great, and then turmoil set in. If my wedding has turmoil, our marriage will be bliss.”
Felicity slides her hand down to her neck, which she stretches in attempt to gain patience. I know because I lived with her for over a year, and while I’d thought I knew everything about my best friend, I discovered I didn’t.
“Everything is done. No one is going to notice if the chair covers are off, or if the ribbon isn’t perfect, or if the cake doesn’t arrive. The only people who know these details are us, and no one will even care.”
“You’re being entirely too calm,” Felicity says. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and be upset that we didn’t do everything to make this day perfect.”
I stare at her for a moment, finding traces of our childhood and more recent memories in her familiar gaze.
“You’re sure?” she asks again.
“Positive.”
The Fallback Page 37