“I’d rather not have a penis. Or die of a heart attack. Correct.”

He snorted. “You know what I mean.”

I smiled to myself again. “Yeah, I do. And who knows. Maybe I’ll chicken out. But a couple years ago–this is going to sound stupid– I saw a show. Like, just your typical 90’s sitcom in a small town. And I thought about how much I might like that. Everybody knows your name. There’s some little old man you always pass and ask something like, ‘still planning to audition for the town play, Mr. Winkles?’ And, of course he’s the lovable town grouch, so he just shakes his fist and mumbles something back at you.”

Dean was smiling over at me, and the look on his face cut me off.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t think that’s stupid. It’s amazing. And hell, yeah. Chase your dream. Why not?”

I retreated to my thoughts at his question. It was the same question I’d asked myself a million times. Why the hell not? Because it would mean moving away from my family? Even though I mostly interacted with them via Facetime now, the thought was unsettling. Was it because I worried my life wouldn’t feel “real” somehow if I moved out of my comfort zone? Because I was worried about leaving behind Marley, who was pretty much the only work friend I’d made in all of my time at Pollard?

Maybe I was worried about that new fear I’d felt creeping in this past week. It was the fear that leaving Pollard Marketing behind would also mean leaving behind Dean. He’d continue his fast-paced life in Manhattan and I’d be only a memory within days. Would I spend my small-town hours daydreaming about the big city man I’d let get away?

I hoped not, but the fears were all there.

“It’s probably just a dream, in the end,” I said. “I like my job at Pollard. I’m good at it, and I have Marley there. If I keep on the track I’m on now, I’ll probably be a senior in my department and get the pay bump that comes with that. I could maybe upgrade my apartment and I’d have more creative power at work. It’s all stuff I should want.”

“Should,” Dean echoed. “Not the word of somebody who really believes what they’re saying.”

I sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m prone to bouts of extreme anxiety. Like I said, I’ve been better lately, but it still comes up. It’s a constant battle. And sometimes it comes from something as small as an impending interaction with the lady I’m going to order my coffee from. I think actually being serious about moving out of the city might put me into full-blown meltdown mode. So, yeah. I’m guessing it’s going to stay a dream.”

“Well, that would be a shame.”

“Because you’ll still have to deal with me if I don’t leave Manhattan?” I asked. I’d meant it as a little tongue-and-cheek comment. Something playful to get us off the increasingly heavy topic I wished I hadn’t brought up.