Page 3 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

“I’ll talk to your supervisor,” Will said after a pause, jumping into fix-it mode. “With my connections, I’m sure we can work something out. And if not, we’ll polish up your résumé and get you back out there. Everything will be fine.”

With a jolt, I realized my employment status was to Will what the turkey was to my mother. Neither saw me. I was the thing that wasn’t fine.

The thought of beginning another job search made me want to hide under a quilt and sleep for the next thousand years. But would they even still love me if I wasn’t turkey-loving, perfectly fine girlboss Courtney?

“What if I don’t want to get back out there?” I whispered, staring at that black box looming between us.

Dead silence.

Worst of all, slowly, slowly , Will shut the lid on that little black box.

I guessed I had my answer.

Fairy tales weren’t real. Unicorns were a myth, evil didn’t always lose, and trolls only existed on the Internet, but true love…

Well. I’d always assumed it existed.

But if that was true, why did Will shut that box after finding out his princess was a pauper?

He’s just saving the proposal for later , some rational part of my brain tried to assure me. You’re the one who ruined the moment. After we had time to talk it out, he’d propose again, surely. It wasn’t like closing that box meant he was kicking me out of his metaphorical castle.

Probably.

I couldn’t take the silence anymore.

So I ran away. Out the front door. Into the yard.

And then I felt as though, for the first time, I could finally stop. I had spent my whole life running toward something. Now I walked nowhere. Slowly. Like I’d never walked before.

Outside it was quiet, and I could finally breathe.

The cold air was sharp in my burning lungs.

I’d only made it to the middle of the lawn, but it was far enough to feel like I’d escaped.

I turned to look at the house, the large dining room window like a movie screen displaying the scene of my family within—everyone clustered around Will, comforting him, even while their eyes gleamed with the thrill of witnessing Family Drama.

Thanks to the light inside the house and the darkness out here, I could see them, but they couldn’t see me. It didn’t feel so different from how I’d felt my whole life. Apart. Distant.

It stung that no one bothered to check on me, but it wasn’t unexpected. Why would they comfort me? I was the one who had lost her job and ruined a proposal. Will represented everything they valued. Success ran thicker than blood, I supposed.

I turned my back on them, accepting my place. Every family had a screwup.

I wasn’t special. I wasn’t a hero. I was some random nameless peasant with delusions of grandeur, wearing underwear outside my pants and a bath towel as a cape. A peasant who picked up the Chosen One’s sword and waved it about was only ever a fool.

I looked up at the stars, realizing I’d sort of forgotten they were up there. Earth was still turning, despite the fact some random girl named Courtney lost her job and had a bad day.

It all suddenly felt so stupid. My career had been utterly meaningless yet had felt like the most important thing in the world.

Budget cuts. That was what my boss had told me when she called me into her office. I’d tried to do everything right. I’d worn my Professional Courtney cape. I’d gotten ulcers for that job, and yet I’d still fallen short.

Really, though, I’d only been chasing after success because I had no goals of my own other than to do something that people valued, that would make people value me .

My life had felt like a lie because it was.

I’d donned capes to be loved, and so the capes were the only things that were loved.

No one knew the real me, not even me. I’d tried so hard to be everything for everyone that I’d become no one.

I turned in the yard, crossing my bare arms against the chill.

An abandoned tricycle one of my nieces had been playing with earlier sat in the driveway, lit by a house sconce.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ridden a bike for fun, cardio be damned.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done anything for fun.

The average adult spent one-third of their life at work and one-third of their life sleeping. That left you with only one-third of your life left. I’d been spending that third eating quinoa and being stressed and having ulcers treated.

In a burst of resolve, I walked over and got on the tricycle, my knees nearly touching my chest. The wheels squeaked as I pushed my foot against the pedal.

What was the point of trying to meet the conditions of everyone’s “unconditional” love when the result was superficial affection?

I could give up. I would give up. This would be the last time I’d ever have to feel this way. If I stopped trying, I’d stop failing. Instead of living a miserable lie, I’d find small happiness in a quiet life where I belonged.

I went a little breathless, thinking of the possibilities.

If I reclaimed that third of my life I’d spent feeling miserable, I could start caring about the tiny things that used to make me happy that I’d started taking for granted.

I could do all the things I told myself I would do “one day” and then never got around to.

I could dye my hair a weird color or get a piercing. I could bartend or bungee jump.

I yanked the handlebars toward the street and pumped my legs.

Cold air lifted my hair off my neck as I peeled out of the driveway, going up on two wheels for a second before slamming back down as I straightened out.

Legs burning, I pedaled, squeaking my way down the street.

I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care.

Without a conventional, stifling Happily Ever After looming in front of me, my future was suddenly bright and endless.

Life was too serious to take seriously. I wanted to care deeply about insignificant things, like ice cream flavors and favorite colors and whether I’d rather fight a horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses. Surely, Will would understand.