Page 5 of Let's Talk About Love
Her new room wasn’t so much a bedroom as it was a small den—the curious 0.5 in Feenie and Ryan’s 1.5-bedroom apartment that they may have not-so-legally agreed to sublet to her. Truth be told, if she stood in the middle of the room and stretched her arms out, she could almost touch the walls. And the ceiling. But a tiny windowless hole in the wall wouldn’t deter her from artfully designing this room within an inch of its life. There were pictures on Pinterest ofrooms the same size, or smaller, where people had worked sheer decor magic.
Personally, Alice was obsessed with color and clutter, but she could separate herself from what the room needed. It spoke to her instantly—one single word: minimalist.
A monochromatic theme with the tiniest swaths of soft colors. Her twin mattress would line up nicely in the corner along the far wall with her easily paintable nightstand next to it. She could loan her TV to the living room, since it was bigger than Feenie and Ryan’s, to reduce the overcrowded feel. Washed-out black-and-white posters and fan art from her favorite TV shows and movies would function as wallpaper. She would hang soft white Christmas lights and lanterns. And buy a pale, lilac-colored comforter.
(As much as it pained her, there wasn’t much she could do about the ugly brown carpet.)
“It’ll take some doing,” she said, still semi-lost in her vision. The final result would be a soft Cutie Code: Pale Yellow—comforting as sunshine. “But I’ll make it work.”
“I’m sure.” Feenie rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to the truck.”
“Aye, aye, Captain, my Captain.” An old joke of theirs that would never die. She eyed Feenie’s bare shoulders. “Are you wearing sunscreen? You know your skin goes from snowy owl to boiled lobster in a matter of minutes.”
“I love you.” She laughed, heading for the door. “But you still have too much shit.”
Feenie didn’t walk—she stomped everywhere she went. Alice could never figure out if she genuinely walked hard or if she did it on purpose to make her seem more intimidating. The semipermanent scowl on her face certainly took care of that.
(Not to mention the few scars on her face she’d earned from fighting whenever she felt disrespected—which Alice learned meant justabout any reason. Feenie’s pride and joy was the one that cut straight through her top lip on the left.)
Alice began unpacking the first box, wincing at the contents. Instead of sorting through her desk, it seemed far more efficient to pull out the entire drawer and upend the contents.Way to go, Past Alice, she thought, sorting through the wreckage. Near the bottom, a photo of her and Margot stuck to a ticket for a concert they had attended during her first semester.
Freshman move-in day last year had been eventful to say the least.
She noticed Margo’s giant mound of hair before anything else about her—it was that natural sunlit blond tempered with streaks of light and dark brown that sent customers in droves to hair salons. It complemented her beautiful olive skin, soft gray eyes, and that wickedly easy smile always up for a challenge.
She was Cutie Code: Orange-Red and then she was just Margot before becoming Alice’s Margot, but now she wasn’t anything.
Because Alice was a Corpse.
Because she wasunnaturalandincapableof loving someone.
(God, when in the hell was this going to stop hurting?)
Alice’s shoulders began to shake as silent tears flowed out of her.
“Oh, Buttons,” Ryan said. He set down a box in the last free cubic inch of space on the floor.
Alice and Feenie had met Ryan at the same time—sixth-grade social studies class. The majority of Ryan’s baby fat had melted away in tenth grade when he joined the swim team, but she still saw him as the tan, chubby-cheeked boy with giant glasses, dark brown hair in a bowl cut, who didn’t like talking because of his thick Tagalog accent (which had also seemed to melt away during high school). The thing she remembered most, though, was when she used to make him laugh so hard, he’d have a wheezing fit.
“It’s fine.” She swiped underneath her eyes. “I’m fine.”
He plucked the picture from her fingers. “It’s for your own good,” he said when she protested. “I just can’t believe she said that to you. I mean, I know you’re not lying, but she seemed so nice.”
“It’s the nice ones you have to watch out for.” She crossed her arms. “Or whatever that stupid saying is. Why can’t I find someone who loves being with me, as is, as much as I love being with them? Romantically. Am I asking for too much?”
“I say this cautiously because it’s not the only answer, but maybe try dating someone who’s ace, too.”
She scoffed. “Long-distance relationships are not my jam, and that’s probably all I’d find. The Internet is great, a lot of my friends live there, but I want a partner who’s here with me.” She flicked a white speck off a black stuffed bear before setting it down on her sliver of a desk. The thing was barely three feet wide. “I’m tired of putting myself out there,” she mumbled.
“You can’t keep letting this get to you.” Ryan sighed, a deep and doleful sound that made Alice’s face pucker. “It’s not healthy.”
She side-eyed him, matching his pity with irritation. “Because you havesomuch experience with breakups.”
“We’ve broken up before.”
“For like a week two years ago. And I won’t name names, but I distinctly remember readingsomeone’sterrible poetry blog in the name of friendship when thatsomeonepissed Feenie off.” She looked him dead in the eye.“Someone.”
“That was different. I was young and emotional.” He laughed. “My poetry wasn’tterrible.”
