Page 13 of Like You Want It
I don’t care about this Fin guy. I just don’t like not being liked. Especially when I feel like I haven’t been given a real chance to show him, and now Susie, why I’m such a great friend.
Carly, it’s okay for people to not like you. Everyone prefers different things and people, and you don’t have to be everything to everyone.
My high school therapist told me that once. I ruminate over it for exactly 3.8 seconds before saying screw you to that therapist –I never liked you anyway, Judy– and heading back into the stairwell. Whether it’s true or not doesn’t mean I can’t try to get people to like me.
I don’t want to live next door to someone who runs and hides when she sees me. So the best thing I can do is make her my friend. I’ll take an acquaintance if that’s all she’ll give me. But I have no intention of being ignored, dismissed or fled from.
What that says about my confidence is something I decide to tuck away and unpack with my current therapist at our next session. Because right now is definitely not the time.
I only have my plan halfway thought out when I find myself knocking on her front door.
She opens it and I can tell immediately that finding me outside of her apartment is not what she is hoping for.
“Hi Susie,” I say, careful to keep my voice at a moderate volume. “So, like I said before, I’m your neighbor. My name is Carly Palmer and I’ve lived in the apartment downstairs for a little over five years. I just wanted to put it out there that I used to be pretty friendly with the old residents of your place. Harriet and Leo were an older couple who retired to Las Vegas. But I’m really excited that someone closer to my age has moved in, and I’d love for us to get to know each other. So if you’re interested in getting together and popping open a bottle of wine or tequila and venting life stories, I’m totally down.”
She twists her mouth and I see her eyes flit up and down my frame, though it happens really quickly.
“Also, I have a cat that you may see wandering around. Her name is Cabbie the Tabby and she’s really sweet. She’ll come and stay, like a dog. I named her after Cabernet, because it’s my favorite wine.” I pause. “And because it rhymes with Tabby.”
She leans into the door she’s holding open, and I can see her gearing up to shut me down. But before she can say whatever she’s preparing in her mind, I let out a gasp.
Because her movement has pushed her door open just slightly more, revealing a wall inside of her apartment that iscoveredin eighties movie posters.
Tonsof them.
She turns her head to look behind her, to see what has me gaping like a total fool.
“Can I look at your poster wall?” I ask, my voice holding a thread of reverence for what I think I’m seeing.
She gives me a slow, uncertain nod, but steps out of the way to allow me inside. I can’t even be bothered to look at her face to see if she thinks I’m a crazy person or not.
Because this, right here, in front of me, is a collection of original,signedmovie posters from the eighties.
My eyes fly over the framed images, cataloging them as quickly as I can.
The Breakfast Club. The Goonies. Back to the Future. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Die Hard. Stand By Me.
There are so many that her collection spans all three walls in her living room, which is open to the kitchen area.
I turn to the wall on my left and lean over the couch to take a look at the signatures on my favorite movie ever.Sixteen Candles.And there at the top, in swoopy cursive, is a signature from Molly Ringwald.
I gasp again. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, turning to look at Susie with wide eyes. “How did you get all these?”
She stands near the front door, which is still open, likely in case she needs to flee the crazy lady practically sniffing her movie posters.
She has one arm wrapped around her stomach and holding her other elbow, in what is very much theI’m uncomfortable with you being herestance.
Now I feel like shit.
“Oh my gosh, I amsosorry,” I say before she has a chance to respond. I move quickly out of the room and back into the landing outside of her door. “I didn’t mean to just barge in when you honestly have no idea who I am and whether or not I’m a crazy lady.” I let out a little laugh at the pinched look on her face. “Don’t worry, lots of people think I’m crazy. But it is definitely thegoodcrazy that invites you over to drink wine and play board games. Not thecrazycrazythat snorts cocaine off a hooker’s ass.”
My comment seems to catch her off guard, because she lets out a huff of a laugh and it eases something in my chest.
She’s cute, and when she laughs and doesn’t look like she thinks I’m gonna murder her, I can see this adorable pixie thing going on that I’m totally jealous of.
“I hated that movie,” she says, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses. “The only reason people likedThe Wolf of Wall Streetis because you got to see Margot Robbie completely naked.”
“Oh my gosh,thank you!”I cry out, pressing my palms together. “It assumes we’re supposed to wish we were these assholes that are just being the absolute worst to everyone? No. Gimme Leo every day, but not like that. I just wanted to slap that stupid smarm off his face.”
