Love on the Brain

SHMAC: I am, too. Though she’s still a bit skittish. MARIE: Skittish? SHMAC: For valid reasons. But I don’t think she’s quite ready to admit it to herself. MARIE: Admit what? SHMAC: That I’m serious about this. That I’m in it for the long haul. Or at least for as long as she’ll have me.

“Levi’s awesome. Best boss I ever had. He harassed NASA into giving me health insurance!”

I’m pretty sure a psychoanalyst would say that it has to do with the nomadic lifestyle of my formative years. I’m a stability slut, what can I say?

“If tomorrow you see Annie and Tim and feel . . . like you felt today. Just take my hand, okay?”

I laugh. “For real—what did you tell Tim?” “I said hi. Asked how he was.” “Come on. You were speaking into his ear.” “Just whispering sweet nothings.” I snort.

“Bee.” Rocío shakes her head gloomily. “Which way is the ocean?” I point to my left. She immediately begins shuffling her feet in that direction. “Ro, you first have to get out of the building and . . . what are you doing?” “I shall walk into the sea. Farewell.”

Then again, other times friendship is made of betrayal, and heartache, and spending two years trying to forget that you blocked the number of someone whose take-out orders you used to have memorized.

“Food will be . . .” he starts, and then stops when he turns around and sees me in the room. I grab two fistfuls of my shirt and pretend to curtsy. “Thank you for this gown, my good sir.” “You’re . . .” He sounds hoarse. “You’re welcome. Food will be ready in five minutes.”

“I’m pretty sure this is sexual harassment.” “I don’t mind.” “No, you are harassing me—”