Page 47 of Lotus

I ponder her suggestion.

Yes… thatisa fantastic idea. I’ve always wanted to visit a library, and I wonder why I haven’t done it yet. “I think I’d like that. Should we stop in and speak to someone?”

Sydney nods, standing up straight and stretching her arms. “I took my niece there last week and saw some ‘Help Wanted’ flyers. A girl I went to high school with is a librarian. I’m sure she’d hook you up.”

“That would be lovely.”

This new prospect is exciting, but part of me can’t help but wonder if it’s also a bit… underwhelming. An entry-level position at a library doesn’t seem very remarkable. I suppose I can’t help my circumstances, though, it’s a mystery how I’ll ever advance in the professional sense. I worry about how I’ll be able to provide for myself, or one day, possibly, provide for a family.

Awife.

Sydney looks almost amused as she peers down at me, one hand curled around the back of my chair and the other planted on her hip. “I kind of need to know what you’re thinking right now,” she prods me.

I don’t mull it over and blurt exactly what’s on my mind, a concerned frown in place. “If you saw that I worked at a library on the ‘getting laid’ database, would you swipe right?”

She immediately starts coughing, as if she’s choking on her own air. “Wait,what?”

“Are you all right?” I rise from my seat to face her, assessing her condition. “Did I upset you?”

Sydney’s coughing fit transforms into delirious laughter. She cups one hand over her mouth, her eyes watering with mirth. “Shit, Oliver. What the hell is Gabe teaching you?”

“The Tinder. Do you have one of those?”

She regains her composure, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. “Um, yeah. I have one of those.”

“For finding a suitable partner,” I deduce.

“Well…”

My fingers muss through my hair as these strange new priorities begin to infiltrate me. “I would like a wife one day. Children, too. I fear I won’t measure up in the eyes of a woman.”

Sydney’s amusement fades, her features twisting into something else. Something soft and empathetic, with glassy eyes and the slightest wrinkle of worry between her brows. “Oliver…” She reaches for my hand, interlocking our fingers together. “First of all, fuck what other people think. If a woman doesn’t think you “measure up”, then she’s an idiot and not worth an ounce of your time. Secondly, I think you’re jumping the gun a little. Right now, you should be focusing on learning and growing—healing. Finding yourself. Figuring out whoyouare.”

All I can seem to focus on right now is the way her fingers feel laced with my own. “I know who I am,” I mutter softly. “I’ve had twenty-two years with myself. I want to learn what makes people tick—what drives them. I want to experience raw emotion, inspired by other humans. Love, passion, companionship.”

Sydney tightens her hold on my hand. “It’s not so simple. Some of us wait our whole lives and never really get to experience those things.”

That sounds absurd to me. “Why is that?”

“Because we’re a fucked-up, complicated species prone to self-sabotage, baseless insecurities, and the notion that there’s always something better around the corner. We’re constantly chasing imaginary destinations, thinking we’re missing out, wantingmore. We’re never truly present.” She smiles, but it’s a sad smile. A little hopeless—maybe even ashamed. “The truth is, sometimes I’m envious of you, Oliver. People haven’t desensitized you. Relationships haven’t broken you. Society hasn’t poisoned you.”

“Envious?” The notion is preposterous. “Of me?”

“Told you we’re a fucked-up, complicated species.” She lets go of me with a wink, diluting the somber mood that has settled in. “But just for the record… hell yeah, I’d swipe right.”

Her face brightens with another glittering smile, her nose crinkling in that playful way it does, then she turns around and floats out of the room, her ponytail swinging behind her.

Oh.

I’ve concluded that ‘swipe right’ correlates directly to finding another human physically appealing.

My own smile spreads as I follow her out.

“Perhaps you can teach me.”

We’re sitting across from each other on Sydney’s living room floor. Alexis is on her back between us, pawing at a toy that resembles a fishing pole. Sydney bounces it up and down, sometimes just out of reach, as the mouse-shaped trinket dances above the orange tabby.

My eyes lift to meet Sydney’s as she pauses her motions, allowing Alexis to successfully nab the toy between her paws.

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