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even though the prospect of Max and me being together is long gone, it still stings to watch someone else set their sights on him—even though I probably should be used to it.
We weren’t a thing, so anyone had a right to chat him up.
Even though we’re not a thing now, I got a taste of just how hot things could be between us . . . until he decided I wasn’t worth it anymore.
“You do enough, Mom. More than enough. You always have,”
“Mom,” I say gently. “It’s enough. Promise.”
“Hey. You don’t have to be sorry, okay?
I was just so happy to have her back.”
“Don’t be sorry, Joelle. These furry little bastards own our hearts. We can’t help but cry over them when they give us a reason to.”
It’s like the air in the room has shifted. The tension is long gone, leaving behind something else. Something warm and soft.
That half smile appears and it feels like fireworks are exploding in my chest.
Frustration burns inside me. I swear I feel it across every inch of my skin.
don’t care, though. I’m too upset to try to decipher any more of this weird dynamic of ours, where one moment we’re good and the next we’re bickering and the unspoken tension is so thick between us you could hack at it with a knife.
“Jesus. What the hell is that guy’s problem?”
when the sun eventually rises and filters in through the window, we are then, as she says, “bathed in the purest light possible, giving us the most beautiful, holistic start to the day.”
I’ll never, ever be the kind of person who reaches the euphoria during yoga that some people talk about.
I will always, always feel the burn in my muscles.
“Feel the warmth of the sunlight as it washes over you.
this is a time for tranquility, peace, and centering ourselves,
“Don’t let Max get you down, okay?”
he’s got a lot more to him than meets the eye.”
“I think I spent a lot of time building him up in my head when I was pining after him,”
my fantasy of Max didn’t live up to the reality. That’s my fault in a way too, I suppose. Unrealistic expectations,
I hate how expecting to meet a decent man is see...
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is it too much to ask for a sweet, thoughtful, respectful, well-groo...
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All a dude has to do to be seen as a dream guy in this modern dating hellscape is to be halfway decent.
“Kind,” I say. “And smart.” “And attentive.” “And patient.” “And funny.” “And hot. Super
“And willing to be open and honest about how much he cares about you,”
“Willing to say ‘I love you,’ no matter if you’re blissfully happy or fighting like cats and dogs . . . and mean it just the same.”
No matter what Max says or does, you’re amazing.”
“Thanks, Whit. Love you.” “Love you, Jojo.”
God, I hate being a woman sometimes.
Having to tiptoe around the space where I work—a place I should feel safe and welcome—just because there are men nearby who act like cavemen is a special kind of infuriating.
Good Enough Alone
because I’m kind of a loner, I don’t really have anyone to talk to about it,
Moody silence, as messed up as it is, is better than that.
I sound so insecure and unsure. But that’s exactly how I feel. Because I don’t know how to smooth over this divide between us and it’s making things awkward as hell.
want to make it clear just how much I admire her.
I don’t possess that type of kindness; I haven’t in years. When it comes to this, I’m all grit now. I don’t know how to be anything else.
freshly made pandesal, bibingka, croissants dipped in a rich purple ube glaze, haupia hand pies, and biko.
I’m sick of having to just roll with the punches.
For years, I’ve had to play the cards that life dealt my family and me.
I didn’t have a...
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don’t know how much more of this I can take.
That’s the cost of living life, sweetie, Dad’s always said. There’s always something to pay for, and it’s always more expensive than you think.
If he’s been pretending this whole time, he did a hell of a job making me believe him.
What exactly does that say about me? That I’m painfully naïve . . . and too nice for my own good.
I’m done going along with this madness, just letting everything slide—things that end up screwing me over.
Even a shy introvert like me has limits, and he just pushed them.
“I need some air.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Joelle,” he says gently. “It was really kind, though.” “I was just being decent. Decency shouldn’t be thanked. It should be baseline.”
