Page 25 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

“But you’re friends, right? Are you in a fight? Is there tension in your relationship?” Her rapid-fire questions were direct enough to put Jordan fully on the defensive. She hated playing defense.

“I—I—I guess….” Shit. “I mean, look, we had reconnected last fall and it was nice awhile back, like college again. We could talk about any and everything. And we did. Even about our dating lives—well, his busy one and my sporadic one.”

“Mm-hmm,” mused Dr. Clark. Mm-hmm? Fuck does that mean? This lady… Jordan’s patience was wearing thin. Somehow, they’d found themselves on an emotionally charged topic. And she wasn’t prepared for the confusing swirl of feelings.

“Look, I’m fine with his sexcapades. He should be doing that—sow his oats. I don’t care.” Jordan folded her arms around herself.

“Then what is it?”

“I just didn’t want to hear about him being serious with somebody else. Stop with being boo’ed up all the time. Taking them to events, New Year’s Eve parties and such.”

Dr. Clark seemed to register something that she’d said. Jordan felt caught, swirling down the drain.

“New Year’s Eve. That bothered you. So, you’re avoiding him.” Again, it was a statement question that Jordan would have to defend.

“I wasn’t traveling across the country to just hang with the crew,” Jordan countered.

“You mean your college friends and your godchildren.” Dr. Clark didn’t let up. “And Harper.”

“And his girlfriend du jour.”

“You don’t like his girlfriend?”

“I never met her. Them. Anybody,” Jordan said.

“Is there something wrong with Harper having a girlfriend?” She paused with her pen hovering over her pad in her lap.

“He’s your friend, isn’t he? You want him to be happy.

You said yourself his divorce was a painful time for him.

Maybe this is his way to heal. Maybe he feels complete with a partner… .”

“That’s exactly who he is,” Jordan shot back.

“And that partner should be me.” She looked directly at Dr. Clark as she threw out the words.

“Why isn’t it me?” For a moment Jordan was temporarily stunned.

Did I just say that? Maybe the feeling had been there, but hearing the words…

in her own voice? She’d said it. The truth.

She’d been intentionally putting distance between herself and Harper since the clock turned to a new year.

It wasn’t jealousy Jordan felt when hearing about those random chicks Harper was reportedly bringing around the college crew.

It was incredulity. “Why hasn’t he chosen me?

” Jordan heard herself say, sounding… angry?

Angry. Her voice had even cracked a little.

But she regained her composure and cleared her throat.

“You want to be chosen.” Another declarative statement. Duh.

“What woman doesn’t want to be chosen?”

“People want to be chosen,” Dr. Clark countered. “He did choose you, Jordan,” Dr. Clark reminded her. “And you said no.”

—

Jordan remembered the moments leading up to her walk with Harper on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade three years back.

He’d intimated that maybe it was finally their opportunity to make a go of it.

Take their friendship to the next level.

But Jordan’s response was “I can’t be your soft place to land.

” And she meant it. As much as she might have wanted to explore, she knew that he had to work some things out, personally and creatively.

Jordan had no regrets. Days later at Ginny’s Supper Club, Shelby yelled across their banquet table, “You told him what?!” Jordan shook her head as she sipped on her cocktail.

Shelby was far less resigned. “Who falls on the sword when they can fall on a dick?” she’d said in classic fashion. “When did you become so altruistic?”

“I’ve always been that way, Shelby,” Jordan had said. That she was. Altruistic, practical, and cautious.

Bringing herself back to the present, Jordan explained with more clarity to Dr. Clark.

“That wasn’t a choice. It doesn’t count.

He had just gotten divorced. He was rebounding.

Looking for a free option, a distraction from what he really needed to do—write that book.

Not use me as a cushion. He didn’t need to be involved with anyone.

And look what happened—he wrote his great American novel AND won the Pulitzer. ”

“You feel responsible for his victory?”

“Partially, yes. I do. I’m happy for him. And proud of him.” Jordan felt herself sit a little taller. “ And I left the door open,” she added.

Dr. Clark looked up again from her writing. “You did, but it had a lot of conditions. A lot of ‘ifs’ as I recall.”

“That’s self-preservation. But I was also being selfless. It wasn’t about me then, or what I wanted. He was really hurting and me being there wouldn’t have helped him. Or me. I wanted him to succeed.”

“In order for him to be ready for you.” How did Dr. Clark surmise that from what I said? Jordan wondered. She hated the way this woman put words in her mouth—even if they fit. But did these words fit?

“Nooo,” Jordan protested. “For himself. First and foremost, Harper and I are friends. We’ve been friends all of our adult lives. I love him and I want what’s best for him,” she professed.

“Even if what’s best for him isn’t you?” Dr. Clark made direct eye contact. “Is that truly what you want?”

The words caught in Jordan’s throat.

“What do you want, Jordan?” Dr. Clark pressed. The question was overwhelming. Jordan didn’t know what to say.

“Jordan?”

“Everything,” Jordan said finally, throwing her hands up in the air. “I used to want everything—a high-paying job, to be a boss, have the fly-girl car, get married, maybe have kids…”

“And now?”

“I want to be fulfilled in all the ways. I want to be happy. Settled. I want shit to be easier. I have and I’ve done those things I thought I wanted. And now…”

“Now?”

“Now I want to be chosen.”

For a moment, there was a silence between them. A silence that Jordan hoped wouldn’t be filled by the most obvious question. But true to form, Dr. Clarke asked, “By Harper?”

“I don’t know” was what came out of Jordan’s mouth.

“Okay,” Dr. Clark said. “Let me ask you this—why haven’t you responded to his text message?”

I’m scared. I’m scared of getting my heart broken.

Jordan followed Dr. Clark’s eyes as they gave her a once-over assessment, and then traveled back to meet her squarely, unwaveringly, for an extended beat of the silence she hated.

She needed to answer, to be honest with her therapist, but all that she could manage as a reply to Dr. Clark was, “It’s not worth discussing. ”

Dr. Clark’s usually stoic brow crinkled. “Are you sure?” she asked. The question sounded earnest—not a summary, really an opportunity. Hell no, I’m not sure. Of course I’m not sure, Jordan thought. But she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

Jordan met Dr. Clark’s gaze and waited out the clock, soldiering through the silence.

Ding, sounded the chime. Jordan didn’t even wait until she said “Well, that’s our time…

” before she blew out her candle, sending a dark plume of neroli smoke into the air.

Standing to gather her things, Jordan said a quick “See you next week” as she beelined for the door.

Jordan closed her eyes to take in the warmth of the Southern California springtime sun.

She’d picked a choice seat at Urth Caffé’s patio, in midday competition with a handful of tourists, ladies of leisure with their designer dogs, and what looked like students hard at work on their computers.

She too had her computer open, as she’d been crafting follow-up emails to the execs she’d met with in New York.

Or, rather, she was stuck trying to craft an email, given that the meetings hadn’t gone as she’d expected them to.

The show was her passion project, something to call her own and an exciting new direction.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have options. She’d received near-weekly offers trying to woo her back to a high-powered, high-paying desk job, but she had so far kept them at bay or flat-out said no.

“But I’ll consult” she’d always let her headhunter know.

It felt good to be wanted, to be needed and respected, at least professionally.

The consultancy jobs kept her engaged and busy, but there was no ownership in them.

After two years of consulting, Jordan wanted something to call her own, like her father had encouraged.

Daddy always said “Don’t just stay working for the man.

” Sure, From the Culture was her baby, among other shows she helped green-light that she believed in, but that wasn’t true ownership.

Jordan never did have ownership in the many shows she created for the network.

True ownership meant equity, a stake, and a piece of the profits that could last forever.

As the creator and producer of her wellness journey show—she’d have ownership or at least be in partnership with a buyer and the network when it got to syndication.

And, baby, when that syndication money came in, she wouldn’t have to work ever again.