Page 8 of The Romantic Agenda
After Caroline left, she filled his days, because that’s what friends did. When he called her in the middle of the night, she answered, never missing a single call. She navigated the afterburn of romantic devastation with him, encouraged him as he crawled out of his depressed shell, helped him remember how to breathe,how to find and hold on to happiness. Every whim, every idea, every emotion he had, she had been there. And it still hadn’t been enough.
I just wanted to find someone to talk to who would understand what I’ve been through, and there she was.
There’s a line between being a good friend and expecting a reward for being a good friend. Joy never expected Malcolm to fall for her—but maybe. Just maybe... maybe she hoped he’d at least consider it. Does that make her a bad person? A bad friend, terrible and selfish?
It takes three hours for Joy’s tears to slow from a river to a creek to a trickle, but the pain hasn’t gone anywhere. It lives in her like a collapsed lung—it only hurts when she breathes or moves.
Malcolm has always been the only one for her. There was something almost magical about the moments when she went from being fine with the way things were to tensing at his touch, reading too deeply into every conversation, relishing every thrill of eye contact, and experiencing the surreal confusion of discovering there was a more to even want.
Slowly, carefully, she unplugs her phone from the charger with as little movement as possible. She blinks until her eyes adjust to the sudden burst of light.
No messages. Her fingers hover above the keypad as she thinks of what to say.
JOY:Wardrobe recommendations?
Malcolm replies in ten seconds flat with a short list. It’s almost three a.m. Not only is he still awake, but he’s also been waiting.He probably knew exactly what she’d ask and had the answer ready.
JOY:Have you slept at all?
MALCOLM:Not yet. I didn’t want to miss your text.
Fuck, she was right.
Joy smiles, vaguely aware of how demented she must look in the pitch black of her room. Eyes red and swollen, face wet and reflective because of the phone’s screen shining on her. Screw couples who could complete each other sentences—they predicted each other’s every move.
MALCOLM:Cutting it kind of close there...
JOY:Sorry not sorry. It takes me ten minutes to figure out what kind of cereal to buy at the store. This was a way bigger decision than that.
MALCOLM:Why?
MALCOLM:What do you mean?
Grace wants her to try.
Joy knew she felt... different than Grace and almost all their friends early on—at fifteen, sixteen, maybe? While they all had crushes and started dating, she couldn’t even be bothered to pretend at liking someone so her friends would think she was “normal.” There’d just never been anyone worth pursuing. Not a single soul worth the risk of heartbreak to make them hers.
Until Malcolm.
Waiting for him hasn’t worked out for her, and Malcolm doesn’t wait around, period. His heart lives permanently on his sleeve—battered and bruised but still beating and always searching. It wasn’t Caroline, and if it’s not Summer, it’ll be someone else, because he’s never had a problem trying.
Grace was right—it is Joy’s turn to try. Just not in the way her sister hoped. Before she can think herself into changing her mind, she replies:
JOY:What time are we leaving?
MALCOLM:Seven.
Quickly, Joy hops out of bed and stands in front of her closet, hands on her hips, contemplating her choices. Most of the daytime clothes could be mixed and matched but she’d still need sufficient options to make it work. She also needed nightwear—a few dresses suitable for formal dinners.
She packs a second suitcase for jewelry, loungewear, her pajama sets, bathing suits, lingerie, toiletries, and all her skin care products and lotions. Thank god she decided to get her hair braided. She only needs to pack rosewater spray and hair oil to keep her scalp moisturized.
Selecting the right shoes nearly takes Joy out. It pains her to narrow down her choice to two pairs of tennis shoes, one pair of boots, and three pairs of heels, all in neutral colors. Her clothes can do the heavy lifting with daring colors and bold cuts of fabric.
Throwing together a sophisticated yet functional vacation wardrobe in under two hours takes a sharp eye and nerves of steel. Ever since she was a little girl, nothing was more important thandressing up, finding new and daring ways to express herself. She even looked forward to church on Sundays because she always got to wear her best dresses—frilly with puff sleeves, nylons, and shiny patent leather shoes. Her mom would press her hair and let her wear tinted lip gloss.
Now, having nice clothes is imperative to both of her jobs, making most of her wardrobe tax deductible. Red Warren has a dress code, but she also does online modeling by posting on an app called Rule of Thirds, whose acronym is unironically pronouncedrot. It started off as a hobby until a brand reached out, asking if they could license some of her photos. Things escalated fairly quickly after that. Her hobby became her side hustle, enabling her to drop literal thousand-dollar payments on the principal balance for her student loans.
Joy packs up Pepper’s overnight bag as well. Four days is too long to leave her alone.
