The Fixer Upper

What are your success metrics then?" I frowned at Tola, and she shrugged. "I dunno ... being comfortable in your skin, having loads of adventures, living with purpose, being happy, having good people in your life, taking risks?

Can you tell me fice wonderful things you're looking forward to today?" "I couldn't give you one" I sighed, defeated "I couldn't give you half of one" "That's what I thought. Make your excuses; ill see you at St. Pancras at eleven." He went to hang up, and I stopped him, suddenly desperate "Dylan!" "Yeah?" I hesitated, unsure what I wanted to say. "Why?" "Because you're not happy. And it's very important that you be happy.

Once a month, rain or shine, I bought a delightful meal, drank something delicious, and read my book at a restaurant in London, one hundred percent alone, whether I was seeing someone or not. It was the one time I didn't have to pretend to be anyone else, didn't have to do anything for anyone. Didn't have to go on a date with someone, fizzing with hope, only to find they were third-five and hadn't dealt with their childhood traumas, didn't know how to ask a question and listen to the answer, and still weren't wearing matching socks.

I'd never really liked running. It was something I did because it was good for me, because it felt grown-up. Because it was important to do things you didn't like and just get the hell on with it.

It's easier to miss a ghost, to build up these moments and memories into something that has meaning. A history. But when that ghost turns up every day and is so different from how they used to be, it makes you wonder if any of it was ever real at all.

Which was why I was still awake at four in the morning, scouring the internet and devouring the tiny bread crumbs of history of the boy I'd once loved.

Nerds will inherit the earth one day, Dylan, we’re the ones quietly doing all the research. Don’t forget it.

Why do you want to be the boss, Marina? I’m not sure it’s suited to your temperament, darling. Running a team would stress you out. Some people are lions, and some people are . . . beavers.

And the hiking? Why did everyone on dating sites love hiking? I’d never met anyone in real life who liked it.

Tola was a one-woman cheer squad. She was also sensitive to caffeine and I could tell it had clearly been a “three Red Bulls” sort of day.

being a nag. The worst thing a woman could be, after a spinster, of course.

I closed my eyes. “Gratitude is an excellent emotion. But it’s not a shield that holds off bullshit indefinitely.” I sounded like an agony aunt column in a teen magazine, telling women not to settle for less. “You just need to teach him.

Tola nodded. “Eric’s right, babe. You know what your problem is? You’re not dating men, you’re dating projects.

Your magic vagina! Seriously, though, you can't think this is complete coincidence?

It means you date men who aren’t fully formed grown-ups yet, put all your energy into making their lives better, and then you get exhausted and tap out before you get any of the rewards of your labor.

Because you aren't great at ... feelings." I frowned. "That's not true." "Oh, don't get me wrong, you're excellent at other people's, knowing what makes them tick, how they think, why they're hurting. But I think you're not being honest with yourself or with us.

My current plan relies on proximity." "And this plan is ..." "To hang out with him until he caves and sleeps with me again. And then keep sleeping with him until he falls in love with me.

I beg of you, go to therapy. And stop helping Matthew. He's secretly a little weasel." "I thought he was beige." "You don't hear the stuff he says around the guys. Beige is a front for evil. Always.