Page 123 of Love is a Game

Tuck

The real estate agent is talking, but his words slide right past me, blending into the low drone of city noise outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Something about market trends. High demand. Low inventory. A prime opportunity.

I nod, like any of this matters, my eyes drifting over the skyline. Glass and steel stretch endlessly, cold and impersonal. And this apartment complex? Bland and gray, except for the curated touches of throw rugs, floral arrangements, and vanilla scents, so commonplace that every investment opportunity I’ve viewed today feels like a copy-paste job.

“Rent’s are up,” the agent says, swiping through stats on his tablet. “Skyrocketing, in fact. Now’s the time to tap in, make a move.” He gestures around the space with a practiced smile, listing off a string of features—imported marble, custom millwork, heated floors. “Those luxury elements are exactly what’s trending. It’s what people want.”

What some people want. Not people like my parents—I tried to buy them a new modern house, and they turned me down.

‘We have everything we need right here,’ Mom had said, standing in the doorway of the same old house where I grew up. The floors creak. The kitchen cabinets are outdated. The front porch leans a little to the left. But they love it.

Everything they need.

I glance around this space. Another box in the sky. That despite all the styling feels so damn empty.

My phone jolts to life in my pocket.

I check the screen, and heat needles through my veins.

Damn. I can’t pretend. Pen still demands my attention even after everything that went down.

But as I rapidly open the message, I’m left scratching my head.

Pen:Knock knock

I tune out the agent rambling about chilled bathroom drawers and frown at the screen. It’s no use trying to ignore her. Guess I may as well play along.

Me:Who’s there?

Pen:Arya

Me:Arya who?

Pen:Arya ever going to talk to me again?

A reluctant smile tugs my lips even as I shake my head at her silliness.

Me:I’m talking to you now aren’t I?

Pen:Wait I got another…what do you call the employee who keeps jamming the Kellogg’s conveyor belt?

Me:Dunno

Pen:A *serial* screw-up…get it? Cereal?

Me:(EYE ROLL emoji)

Pen:And…what’s *another* name for a serial screw-up?

Me:…

Pen:Me. *I’m* the serial screw up

Pen:But I’m hoping there’s a redemption arc…

I look up from my phone.

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