For years I put up with a boss who wouldn’t show up for a meeting and then blamed me for getting the times wrong on his calendar or berated me in front of an audience and an hour later convinced me he never screamed or… Nope. See? I’m doing it again.

My former therapist would be very, very disappointed in me. I hate disappointing people.

I swallow a way too big of a lump in my throat and thumb my glasses back up my nose. “Oh yikes. Gosh. Um, you know I really need those. They are, well, a key ingredient to so many of my items. And tomorrow is a heavy baking day,” I lie. Every day is a heavy baking day. His mouth twists, and I see it in his eyes. He’s disappointed. In the situation, in me. And then he won’t like me. And if he won’t like me, his deliveries might get worse, and people will think I’m terrible. Word will spread around town that I’m unreasonable, that this guy made one mistake, and I’m forcing him to work extra hours.

I might deny myself dessert tonight. My old therapist would officially fire me as a client.

The therapist guided me in discovering why I have this deep, intrinsic need for people to like me, why I avoid hard conversations, and encouraged me to take the lessons I learned from my last relationship into any new relationships.

fall—my favorite season—is right around the corner. Walking hand in hand with mitts on and a shared pumpkin latte while watching the leaves change colors sounds wonderful.

Although I’ve accepted our parents are who they are, I can’t help my mind fluttering to what a supportive upbringing might have felt like.

Our parents were never fans of family dinners, steady jobs, or providing that emotionally healthy balanced upbringing that every podcast in the world seems to drone on about. But we were fed, clothed, had beds, and were safe. A lot of people had it much worse.

Wait… is Quinn interested in me? No. What? No. I mean, good Lord, I’ve been out of the game for a decade, but I think I’m reading into what she’s throwing down.

clammed up, and she backed off. Thankfully. I didn’t want to explain that Quinn and I want fundamentally different things from a relationship. Quinn is unapologetic in who she is, and what she wants from women. Honestly, I wish more women were up-front and just owned that part of themselves. The heartache I went through with Josie was enough. I’m not setting myself up for that kind of pain again. No matter how cute and tempting Quinn may be, knowing what she wants versus what I want is like a relationship warning label: Enter at your own risk. My heart is fragile enough—I’m not risking breaking it again.

And… a flutter bounces inside me. But I’m sure this tingling physiological reaction is just a friends thing. The spark of having someone I connect with, outside the bedroom. Just because it’s been a while since I got laid, I cannot confuse what’s happening on my insides with what’s happening outside. I. Cannot. Confuse. This.

“Oh gosh, that sucks. And the yelling? Sometimes I hear people talk about how females can’t be strong leaders because we’re too emotional. But then there’s a man with no control over his temper, which they don’t see that as emotional.”

second at the property. It’s almost ready.” “Zoey told me it is ready.” My head snaps up. “Jesus, did you call my girlfriend?” “Oh, so now we’re getting somewhere,” Frankie says. “Girlfriend, huh? Is this official? Did you have the whole ‘let’s go steady’ conversation?”

So, I’m really swallowing back the urge to ask Quinn, again, if she wants to join me for Thanksgiving. When I asked her last week, she was noncommittal, and that pesky little insecurity gremlin keeps edging its way into my brain, thinking I’m pushing this too fast.