Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
I stumbled out of the plane straight into the arms of a snowstorm. It took me three hours to get to my apartment, which greeted me with a stench more fitting for an assortment of rotten bodies jammed inside a sewer. I didn’t have a pet, did I? No, I was sure I’d have remembered adopting one. Who had died, then, and more importantly—what had made them think it was okay to do so at my place?
The answer to that question presented itself in my kitchen, when I realized I had taken out my milk with every intention of throwing it away before leaving but had ended up just leaving it on the counter. The red carton had molded at the edges, its mouth adorned with green, crusty milk, a halo of flies flying around it. Back to my glamorous life, it is.
“You’re fine. It’s just bad luck,” I singsonged to myself as I wrapped the carton in a garbage bag, triple tied it, and threw it in the trash can. I then cracked a window to let the air circulate, took a quick shower, slipped into super warm and comfy clothes, and made my way downstairs to the bodega to stock up on necessities. In necessities I also included a two-buck, discounted wine I polished off in front of Love Is Blind. This wasn’t a cry for help. This was a wail that could probably have been heard in parallel universes.
Was love blind? I didn’t think so. If it hadn’t been for Row’s and my mutual attraction, I would have never found out that beneath the grumpiness and dry one-liners hid my favorite person.
Truth was, love was the best or worst thing that could ever happen to you. It all depended on whether you had the courage to accept it. I turned off the TV and tossed my head against the back of the couch, letting out a groan. Maybe everything felt off because I still hadn’t slid back into my old routine. I took my phone out and texted my previous boss at the eatery I’d worked for.
Cal: Hey, Steven! It’s Cal. I’m back in town. Any work available for me? Looking for full-time. Thanks
He answered after less than a minute.
Steven: Hey, Cal. Yes. We need someone full-time who is willing to pull some double shifts sometimes. Should I put you on next week’s schedule?
Cal: Yes, please.
Steven: How about that date I’ve been vying for, for the past three years?
Cal: No, thank you.
Steven: Hey, doesn’t hurt to ask! LOL
Unless you’ve asked that every day since we met while I was still in college. Then it’s just creepy.
See? All good. Great, even.
I made myself ramen with an egg inside, snapping a picture of the culinary miracle and sending it to Taylor, who’d always tried talking me into giving my food a facelift. He answered almost immediately.
Taylor: Does that mean you’re going to start using garlic and scallions like an actual grown-up?
Cal: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m still drinking Kool-Aid with this meal.
I put on my favorite true crime podcast. I waited for the pesky feeling of hollowness to leave me. It didn’t, so I called Mamushka. Talked to her for twenty minutes. She was working on a new mitten collection, eating orange cake, and sipping tea. She sounded normal. Happy. I hung up, pulling my lips into a smile and convincing myself that it was real.
Nope. I was still feeling hollow.
You’re probably just exhausted from the last two months. Better call it an early night and try again tomorrow, a voice inside me soothed. Another voice, that sounded uncannily like Dylan, snorted out, It’s only six o’clock in the evening, and you know exactly why you’re like that, bitch.
I rubbed at my forehead, sitting in my tiny kitchen, convincing myself that I hadn’t made the biggest mistake of my life.
“You’re still you,” I told myself aloud. “Scared of men. Scared of relationships. Scared of life.”
I washed my bowl of ramen, crawled into bed, and forced myself to sleep, hoping tomorrow would never come.
CAL
“Closing Time”—Semisonic
I woke up in a pool of my own tears. They soaked through my oversized Columbia sweatshirt, dampening the pillow beneath me until it flattened.
The first thing I did, before even opening my eyes, was shoot a hand to my nightstand and pat it for my phone. Once found, I unhooked it from the charger and blinked at the screen, checking to see if Row had sent me any texts. He hadn’t. Instead, I got his half-civilized sister:
Dylan: OMG I think she just smiled at me!!! For the very first time. What do you think?
Dylan: NVM. She was just passing gas. According to Google she has a couple more months before she starts doing that.
Dylan: Smiling, not passing gas. She passes gas ALL the time. I cannot stress this enough, we need to keep an eye on this girl or she’ll NEVER find a date.