The Wake-Up Call

by Beth O'Leary

We are all misled and misdirected from time to time. Perhaps there really is no shame in that, as long as we wake up to it before it’s too late to change.

There’s a reason it’s harder for women to approach men than the other way around—when the world tells you your worth is about men desiring you, it’s hard to take it when they don’t, and we’re scared to be rejected.

because if you’re made for each other, you’re made to heal her when she’s hurting.

(Why is it that when men sweat, it’s sexy, but when I sweat, I look like I’ve been crossbred with a tomato?)

would like to believe that I can let a person see me, and that once they have, they might think more of me, not less.

“You are ridiculous. It’s a lasagne! Nobody cares.” “I care,” I say. “I want you to have the best things.” She sobers at that, looking at me, round-eyed. “Lucas,” she says, softly now. “You can relax. It’s just me.” It’s just me. Like she isn’t fucking everything.

“I promise to think the best of you from this moment on. To ask you, if I think you’ve done something hurtful. I promise never to be unkind.”

“Though I kind of like that you’ve seen that side of me. The worst of me. People tend to think I’m super nice, and I do try to be, obviously, but . . . Sometimes everyone’s a bit of a bitch, aren’t they? I get a bit exhausted trying to keep it up nonstop without ever slipping up and swearing at bad drivers or complaining about guests, you know?”

Sometimes things are lost, and you grieve for them, and they change you, and that’s OK.