Page 61 of Our Sadie

“You didn’t have to do that, but we all appreciate it.”

They nod as one, and I’m fascinated by the change that’s occurred with my three contractors. They’ve united in their efforts to sustain me rather than on individually winning my approval.

It couldn’t have come at a better time.

This past week has been devastating for me, and losing control like I did was mortifying. At least my weakness seems to have made them band together as a group. Might’ve even encouraged them to somehow bond as friends.

I didn’t foresee that.

Although I’m not sure yet what this might mean for my experiment overall. I can’t tell if it’s an omen or a silver lining.

Any positivity I might’ve tried to instill in myself during the past several months has been fractured into teeny tiny pieces. Obliterated beyond recognition or repair.

Yeah, I’m a regular Humpty Dumpty.

I’ve never been overly gung-ho about Christmas, anyway, I suppose. Yes, as a child I relished it—especially receiving presents—as much as the next little girl. But as the lack of cohesion in my parents’ marriage became more and more apparent, eventually, what I wished for was what I saw portrayed in all those idyllic Christmas movies.

The Normal Rockwell image of living in a happy and loving home.

I never got it.

Since the crash, I’ve ignored those red-letter days altogether. Yet, this time...

I don’t know why I thought I had somehow conquered it, why I believed that I’d transformed into some magically healed superwoman unaffected by my past. Maybe because I finally made the decision to construct my own future. Maybe because I had enough intestinal fortitude to ask for what I wanted from these men to actually receive it.

But I was over-confident.

Now I’ve acted so out of character that I’m afraid of what the guys must’ve thought of me, what they still must think of me. During those painful hours, I became a lunatic. I’m too terrified to bring it up even now that I feel saner again.

Yet the question that continues to haunt me is will it happen again?

The irony of all this is if anyone were to base their opinion of me on nothing but paper, I’ll seem golden. An irrefutable success. Harvard graduate with a perfect grade point average. Independently growing my wealth not by living off my inheritance but due to my entrepreneurial pursuits. Shoving forward with my life and goals despite a debilitating accident.

All that prior to the age of twenty-five.

By those somewhat empty benchmarks, I’m exceptional.

Yet to me, those benchmarks hardly matter. I haven’t tweaked the code of Elegance or anything else for weeks now. Granted, doing so around the guys would be foolhardy. But it’s not hiding from them as much as not being up to it.

Besides, I’ve realized something about myself since that horrible day when I totally and completely lost my shit over the Christmas tree.

I’ve been telling people I’m all right when I’m not. I’m not even close to all right. I’ve been existing as if I am, but it’s a lie. A lie I’ve been telling myself and everyone else.

I think Win suspects this. She knows not to mail any kind of holiday paraphernalia my way, yet she texted me on Christmas Day, nevertheless.

Win: Just checking in.

Win: You know, to make sure you’re hunky dory.

Win: I’m here if you need me.

Win: Text me back, Caroline.

I didn’t discover any of these until a couple of days after I fell apart, and while I almost texted her back with something reassuring, I didn’t. Couldn’t. I don’t like lying to my bestie. And I didn’t feel like descending into the briar patch that is the truth.

So, I’ve sent her nothing. Maybe later today I’ll get myself together enough to sit down and send a proper response. A long explanatory email might be how to go. Or as much of a unicorn as calling her direct is, I might do that instead. Even if it’s our least favorite form of communication.

I have to provide her with something, or she’ll contact Max.