Ask Again Later Read Online Free PDF Page B

road.”
    â€œYou don’t get to pin this on me,” I say. “It’s really convenient. But do you know how many times we’ve canceled plans because of this place?” I say. “You’re no more ready to have a relationship than I am.”
    â€œYou’re completely wrong about that,” Sam says. “We’re almost finished with this project. Let’s go skiing. Maybe Vermont or Lake Placid?”
    Negotiating 101. He’s calling my bluff.
    â€œSo we can live our life on vacation a few weeks each year?” I say.
    The more I stand there, the more resentful I become. I hate it that I never leave my office when it’s light out. I hate it that I spend my weekends stressing about what will be sitting on my desk come Monday. I hate that the lines have become so blurry that I don’t know if I’m a workaholic, or if I’m using this job as an excuse to spend time with Sam or as an excuse to avoid spending time with Sam away from work.
    â€œYou’re quitting your job, aren’t you?” Sam asks.
    â€œYes,” I say.
    â€œGrow up!” Sam says, slamming the door. For privacy? Too late for that. Anyone not watching us before is watching now that the door has been slammed. “That’s not how you quit a job!”
    â€œIt’s my job, I’ll quit how ever I want to quit,” I say. If I’d thrown in a “nah-nah-nah,” the regression would be complete.
    He stares at me for a few seconds. It seems like days. I feel like collapsing and crying. Just getting it all out.
    â€œEmily, you’re supposed to quit the shitty things in your life, not the good things,” Sam says, walking toward me.
    He’s right about that. All those years in school and no one ever mentioned practical life and how to manage it. The topic never even came up. That’s beyond an oversight. It’s blasphemous. What do I need to know about statistics and Latin when I don’t even know the basics about how to interact with other people?
    I know what I’m doing, and I still can’t stop. I’ve studied my mother’s communication style my whole life. I feel stuck with it. I could see the disbelief on Sam’s face when I was talking to him. He was incredulous and angry. I never learned how to be either one. His responses are appropriate. It’s foreign and terrifying and endearing.
    His arms are around me. I stand still, absorbing the closeness for a few seconds so I can refer to it later when I start regretting my next move. I step away from him, open the door, and race down the hall. Tears well up in my eyes, and I wait until I’m in the elevator before I start crying.
    I push the button for the lobby, and then start sobbing. A tissue is being waved over my shoulder. So much for being alone.
    â€œThanks, Donald,” I say.

Falling in Love
    LOST PEOPLE ARE DIFFERENT. They will drive around in the same circle over and over rather than try a new path. Their fear of getting more lost paralyzes them into staying lost in the area that’s just become familiar. It supersedes their ability to chart a new course. They circle and backtrack and stay comfortably lost because it’s less scary than seeing something different than what’s presently in front of them.
    The weekend I fell for Sam happened over a year ago. He was still married. We were all working at the same firm—me, Sam, and Susanna. They invited me to their house in East Hampton for the weekend. Sam had a broken ankle. Men over thirty-five have a way of kidding themselves and thinking it’s a good idea to play pick-up basketball with men under the age of thirty-five.
    Susanna and I walked from Lee Street, over to Lily Pond Lane, and down to Main Beach. We left Sam and his ankle behind. It was cold and sunny. The air seemed so clean. It’s the kind of day that seems like nothing can go wrong.
    â€œWe’re getting divorced,” Susanna