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I Look In People’s Windows – Taylor Swift

Declan

L arge pieces of abstract art decorate the clinical beige walls of Sharon’s office. Her leather couch is no more comfortable than it was a month ago during our last session, and though I’ve offered to buy her a new couch, she always rejects me.

“About this couch,” I start, offering her a coy smile.

She hates this conversation, but I love how much it riles her up. It also calms some of the nerves in my stomach.

Sharon has been my therapist for over three years. There’s no one I’m more comfortable with, but she’s also aloof enough that I don’t know how she is going to respond to my news.

“Declan.” She gives me a bland look, but there’s a softness to her features, too. She knows I’m deflecting. “I want to know how you've been since our last meeting. It’s been a month.”

I tug at the drawstring of my hoodie.

“Well…” I draw the word out, then let silence fall.

She knows every piece of my history and has spent hours unravelling knotted balls of trauma so I can move forward with my life without being tied down, but very seldom do I have good news to share—at least, not about myself.

The majority of my good news lately stems from EndZone, the charity foundation I started this spring. I’ve poured my heart and soul into it, and the anxiety and anticipation for our first event next week sit like a boulder in my gut.

But it’s nothing compared to asking Addie out on a date.

“I zinged!”

Sharon blinks behind her funky neon green glasses, one side of the frame a circle, the other a square.

Oh my god, I’ve stunned my therapist into silence.

“Could you elaborate?” she asks, at last.

With intense detail, I tell Sharon about Addie and her awful date. I get a small sneer when I share what her date said, and then a smile when I explain our impromptu picnic in the park.

“Your special tree?” Sharon asks, knowing the meaning behind the large oak tree in the park.

Outside of its perfect location to spot seabirds bobbing in the waves, it’s where Alan and I sat when I moved to Seattle after I was drafted. Where he told me he loved me and was proud of me. Where he called me his son. Where I wanted to ask him if I could call him “Dad,” but chickened out at the last moment.

I’ve spent a lot of time regretting that decision.

Grief swirls around my chest, and I rub my solar plexus to dislodge the discomfort.

“It was on his birthday. The day I ran into Addie. It was his birthday. I ordered all of the food he loved from his favorite restaurant, and she was right there, eyes screaming for someone to save her from that shitty date.” I’m rambling now, but once I start, it’s tough to stop. “But, I think she saved me a bit, too.”

Sharon nods in understanding. “How do you know Addie?”

“We work together.”

“Oh.”

I’ll give Sharon credit, she attempts to school her features, but not before surprise flickers over them.

“That makes it complicated, but I checked with HR and nothing is preventing us from dating.”

She hums. “And that’s what you want? To date her?”

The word falls flat for what I think I may want with Addie, but it’s the first step. Sharon’s quiet for a moment, before she inclines her head and sets her notebook to the side. My knee bobs rapidly, and I snatch one of the fidget toys she keeps on the coffee table. The silicone square absorbs the brunt of my nerves as she assesses me.

“We’ve been working toward this,” she says gently. “This is a good, exciting thing. What’s holding you back?”

“What if she rejects me? What if the zing is wrong? What if I fall in love with her and she leaves?”

The questions whoosh out of me, and just voicing my concerns out loud relieves some of the pressure building behind my eyes.

“Let’s unpack that.”

“My least favorite three words,” I grumble, but sigh and lean back on the couch. “I think I’m finally crashing from the high of realizing I zinged, and now the reality that she may not reciprocate has set in.”

What I don’t say out loud is I’ve allowed myself to start to daydream about her—picnics in the park and stolen moments at work—and the longer the dreams linger, the more painful it will be when it doesn’t happen.

Most of my childhood was filled with dreams just like this—ones that felt so close, but just out of my reach.

“But what if she does?” Sharon raises a brow. “What if everything happens exactly how you hope and Addie agrees to go on a date?”

I open my mouth to counter, but pause. What if everything happens exactly how I hope?

The hope that formed when Addie met me in the lobby grows a bit larger, a bit more permanent.

“Trust your gut. If it tells you it's worth pursuing, then do so.” A bright smile blooms on my face. “With caution, and care,” she adds. “Recognize that Addie may not feel the same, and set a plan in place to manage your emotions if she doesn’t reciprocate.”

Sharon’s right.

I need a game plan to win over Addie’s heart. Structure and attainable goals. Back-ups if the first option of the play falls through.

And I know exactly who to call.

I slam the front door open with a loud bang, and six pairs of startled eyes meet mine.

Usually book club is an exclusive event, and Deon, Henry, and Jack only make guest appearances—they never read the books, much to my chagrin—but all of my friends have been summoned tonight.

This gathering has a different agenda, and it requires all seven brains to plan. I need Deon and Jack’s level-headedness, Sawyer and Nathalie’s expertise in love and declarations, Maren’s steadfast determination, and Henry’s bright optimism.

It’s time to formulate a game plan to win Addie’s heart. I’ve been navigating the dating world on my own, and it hasn’t worked. I offer myself horrible advice.

The last woman I dated, Gia, is a perfect example. She was standoffish to my friends, refused to do anything unless the cost ended in multiple zeros, and she hated apple pie. Who the fuck hates apple pie?

It was the final nail in the coffin that was our short relationship.

The only reason it had lasted that long was because I forced it—told myself it may not be perfect, but it was better than being alone.

“Good. You’re all here.”

I survey Maren and Jack’s home and the love that pours out of every inch of the space. The light wood and creams of the space are inviting, and the few weeks I spent here in spring were some of the most peaceful I’ve ever had.

I’ve never been able to voice the words, but the days when Jack and I silently worked together in his greenhouse healed some of the small fissures in my soul. I could acknowledge the grief creeping up my throat like bile without the pressure to convince everyone I was coping. Jack understands the pain of losing a parent, and he never pushed. I’ll never know how to thank him for his kindness.

A chaotic ball of onyx fur darts down the hallway and crashes into my legs. Ragnar, Jack and Maren’s energetic puppy, swirls between my legs.

“Ragnar!” Maren chides when he leaps up onto my chest. Her tone demands submission, but Ragnar ignores her like she’s dust in a high corner. “Ugh, who am I kidding? He doesn’t listen.”

I drop the tote bag hanging off my shoulder onto the kitchen island. Snacks for each person tumble out, and greedy hands snatch them away.

Jack rips into a piece of jerky. “Why are we all here?”

“This better be good. It’s the first night of our dating show,” Deon adds, mouth full of pretzels.

“Don’t worry,” Nathalie whispers to Deon, “I recorded it and blocked all the social media accounts so I don’t spoil it.”

He drops a reverent kiss to her forehead, and my heart squeezes. I’m glad he’s finally allowed himself the love he deserves.

“I’ve got it, Declan,” Maren says, wheeling the large whiteboard from her office into the living room. She sets it up in front of the couch. “Everyone, sit.”

“What’s going on?” Henry asks, clasping my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

I let the giddy smile I’ve been holding back slip. After my chat with Sharon today, I’m lighter than I have in a long time.

There’s a sense of anticipation flooding my veins, like a dam has been broken.

“Does this have something to do with your zing?” he asks quietly. I nod, and Henry chuckles. “Well, alright. I can’t wait to see what wack shit you and Maren came up with.”

He sits down beside his wife on the large L-shaped sofa and pulls her into his lap. Deon and Nathalie are huddled close, and Jack sits like a lone wolf, watching his wife with a wary, yet affectionate gaze.

Maren stands on one side of the whiteboard. Her smile is wide, if not slightly manic. I stand on the other side and nod for her to flip the board.

There’s no one I trust more with creating a plan than Maren. She is a scientist after all, and she executed Deon’s grand gesture for Nathalie with efficiency, even if she did bark orders like it was her calling in life.

She flips the board, and the words “a game plan for love” are written in large pink letters at the top. Small hearts and stars are drawn around the words.

“Welcome to the planning session,” Maren says, whipping out a long pointer I didn’t know she owned. She taps the whiteboard three times in quick succession.

Nathalie raises her hand and waves it wildly. She speaks before being called upon. “Is this about Addie?! Please, tell me it’s about her.” She turns to Deon. “What do you know?”

“Even less than you,” he grumbles. “She gave him a trash can and he zinged.”

“Aw, you’re like a little raccoon,” Sawyer coos.

Jack stifles a laugh, but Henry doesn’t bother, outright cackling at his wife's statement. My shoulders curl inward slightly at the teasing. I know they mean it in jest, but her gesture means something to me. Even if it was unorthodox.

“Enough!” Maren booms, and the room goes silent. She drags her pointer in the air, pausing on each of our friends who stare at her with shocked gazes. Even Jack looks on with concern. She stops on Henry, who cowers beneath her gaze. “We are here to scheme. If you’re not going to participate, then you know where the door is. We have ground to make up for after our care package fuck-up. She was the only person to think of Declan, it doesn’t matter that she gave him a trash can.”

She levels each person in the room with a look that harbors no argument, and Sawyer’s lower lip quivers. “We’re really sorry about that,” she says softly. Henry runs a hand over her spine.

“I know.”

The air is somber around the room, and when I glance at Nathalie, her face crumbles and she buries her face into her elbow. This is exactly why I didn’t say anything. It’s because I know they love me, regardless of whether they sent me a care package. Maren is more stoic than Nathalie and Sawyer, but I know it upsets her too. It’s why she’s thrown herself into this wild game plan.

“So, what’s this plan?” Jack asks, breaking the uncomfortable tension.

Maren pulls out a whiteboard marker and scribbles ‘Step one: Determine interest’. “This step is complete. Both parties have expressed interest via words or actions.”

“Step two: Ask her out on a date. Do you have a plan?” Maren asks. I nod. “Good.”

“Do you know her favorite flowers?” Deon asks. “You could bring her some.”

“Great idea, Romeo!” Maren cheers.

I grimace. I have no idea.

Sawyer cuts in. “She has an air freshener in the shape of a daisy in her car. You could get those. But there is one thing…”

Nathalie punches her in the stomach, and she groans. “Not our place.”

What the fuck was that?

Part of me wants to know what’s going on, but the other half wants to stay the hell away from it.

“Practice!” Henry yells, shifting the conversation, “Practice what you want to say so you don’t blurt it out all at once.”

Another scribble on the board.

“Alright. What happens if she says no?” Maren tosses out the question I don’t want to think about.

“We crawl into a hole and die,” I mutter.

“We respect her wishes and act professionally,” Jack says.

“And if she says yes?” I prod.

There’s a chorus of answers. Take her to the movies. Dinner at an upscale restaurant. Laser tag. Tide pooling. After some back and forth, we land on a list of appropriate restaurants for a first date. They move on to appropriate attire and topics of conversation.

The board becomes a mess of pink as Maren writes as quickly as possible. She underlines ‘be yourself’ a handful of times, then adds ‘when in doubt, ask her what her favorite shark is’ next to it.

She writes out the remainder of the steps she’s created.

Step one: Determine interest.

Step two: Ask her out on a date.

Step three: Learn about her interests and hobbies.

Step four: Kiss her.

Step five: Show her you care about her through actions.

Step six: Explain the ‘zing’ without sounding crazy.

Step seven: An overnight (if she doesn’t freak out about the zing).

I cut Maren off. I think if I’ve made it to step seven, I will no longer need this game plan. Every suggestion they’ve made is on the board, including Deon’s less-than-helpful advice: tell her I need new Ninja Creami recipes.

We silently survey the board, and then Nathalie blurts, “Compliment her! And flirt with her a lot . Make her feel wanted.”

“That’s really all anyone wants,” Sawyer says, “And if she cries, don’t try to fix her problems. She can do it on her own, she just wants a shoulder to lean on.”

“And don’t eat her secret stash of snacks,” Maren adds pointedly.

It happened once at Sawyer and Henry’s wedding getaway, and I have never been able to live it down. In my defense, they weren’t labeled or hidden very well.

“So, you know where to start?” Deon asks.

I nod.

First, I go home and mildly freak out.

Next, I need to make it through the first EndZone event this week.

Then, I buy the largest bouquet of daisies I can find, ask Addie out on a date, and pray she says yes.