Page 1 of Her Alien Neighbor

CHAPTER 1

VANESSA

The women who buy themselves fresh flowers every week have their shit together. I am not one of them, but that doesn’t stop me from perusing the flower section of the grocery store, searching for an affordable bouquet that isn’t already wilting. I’m desperate to become the kind of woman who is financially stable enough to have a cart full of ingredients for healthy meals, with a bright bouquet delicately placed on its side in the upper part of the cart.

Some women rock matching sports bras and yoga pants, and some are in full Important Businesswomen attire, but all have an air about them that screams “I work hard, and I have earned this beautiful trophy cut fresh from the earth.”

I, on the other hand, have a heavy basket with handles digging into the crook of my elbow filled with boxes of pasta and jars of sauce because it’s the easiest meal to cook, and somehow, I’m still not sick of it. After a decade of eating it four nights a week, you’d think I’d detest this food, but it’s also the cheapest, which, as a struggling thirty-eight-year-old actress living in Los Angeles, is exactly what I need. I certainly work just as hard as the women with flowers, spending my days memorizing lines and my nights mixing drinks at the dive bar down the street, but I have yet to reap the benefits.

I reach for a flimsy bouquet of baby’s breath, eyeing the four-dollar price tag. I could get it if I put the jar of tomato basil sauce back, but will that get me through the week? Or will I need to eat plain pasta with butter one night? Would that be worth it? My phone vibrates in my purse, and I decide to put the flowers back. Maybe next time.

My nerves rise as they do whenever my phone rings, and I let out a sigh as “Tia - Agent” flashes across the screen. “Okay, I’m ready. Just give me the bad news. No dancing around it this time, Tia.” No one ever calls with good news. If it’s good news, I’d get a text filled with emojis and exclamation points.

She sighs heavily, and my heart sinks. “They decided to go another way. I’m so sorry, Vanessa.”

Placing the basket at my feet, I immediately walk out of the store as tears fill my eyes. I can’t go through the checkout line with this much pasta while sobbing. It’s too pitiful.

“So what was the reason?” I ask Tia the moment I step outside. There’s a zero percent chance the answer she gives me won’t crush my spirit, but I need to hear it anyway. I wanted this part so badly. They called me in for two more rounds of auditions after the first one, and I thought I had it nailed. I was wrong.

Tia scoffs, clearly annoyed. “I can hear you crying. I’m not going to kick you when you’re down.”

“Just tell me.”

She huffs a breath. “Fine.” I hear her take a sip of something, then she says, “It was down to you and another actress. They chose her because she’s…”

“She’s…what?” I ask, impatient.

Tia clears her throat. When the feedback from the casting director is bad, she stumbles over her words because she doesn’t want to tell me. The more she stumbles, the worse it is. “Well, she’s also plus-sized, but in a way they…”

“They what?” I shout, knowing where this is going and fed up with the stalling.

“She has more of an hourglass shape,” Tia finally says.

I bark out a laugh, bitter and cold. “So she’s the right kind of fat. Is that what you’re telling me? And I’m not. I’m just too gross for viewers to look at because I have a stomach and fat arms.”

“You donothave fat arms,” she scolds. “You’re not even fat. Stop putting yourself down.”

“Ugh, are you serious, Tia?” I almost scream, then realize I’m in a parking lot and people are starting to gawk. I lower my voice as I head toward my car. “I am fat, and you denying it is more of an insult than anything else.”

I close my eyes and try silently counting to three as a way to calm myself. It doesn’t work, though, because I’m sick of having this discussion with well-meaning people who don’t understand how they’ve been brainwashed by society. “That’s…that’s like you saying you have blue eyes and me replying with ‘Your eyes arenotblue,’” I say in a patronizing tone, “when in fact your eyesareblue, and there’s nothing wrong with blue eyes.”

“I know,” she replies. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I have clients who still see ‘fat’ as an insult.”

“I get it,” I say, softening my tone as I gaze down at the small crown I had tattooed on my finger. It was supposed to serve as a reminder never to settle for less than I deserve, a motivating image. But now I just see it as a symbol that doesn’t fit who I am. “We’ve all been conditioned to think that way. But I’ve worked really hard to undo that damage. There’s nothing wrong with a fat body. Just like there’s nothing wrong with a short body, or a tall one. It’s just a descriptive term.”

“You’re right. I’ll try harder.”

“Thanks,” I reply, not feeling any better since I didn’t get the part.

“This decision came from the network execs,” Tia offers. “The casting team loved you. In fact, they wanted to write a part specifically for you after the network made them choose the other girl.”

“And they didn’t because…” I ask.

Tia audibly gulps. You’d think she’d be used to giving me bad news by now. She’s been my agent since the beginning, and I’ve only had a few decent roles, none of which led to anything else.

“Well, the network pushed back because they didn’t want two plus-sized women on the same show,” she adds. “They didn’t want viewers to think it was a…” she pauses, “a show about fat people.”

“Right,” I say through gritted teeth. “Naturally.”

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