Your life's not a book, you idiot.

The First Date

The first date with Book Boyfriend was magic. He chose a table near a heater so I would be warm. He touched my hand. He made me laugh. He was handsome.

The first date was magic.

Wasn’t it?

Well… he did seem a little uneasy at times. His eyes were shifting a lot. I actually noted it at one point.

“What do you keep looking at?” I said, smiling.

He stopped then and his gaze found me again.

“I just like to be aware of my surroundings,” he replied as he lifted his glass and took a drink.

Now I wonder if he was looking for a woman he knew. Maybe one who wouldn’t be happy to see him out with me. Maybe he was just looking at all the other pretty girls at the restaurant.

All the pretty girls who weren’t me.

Cute enough

On our second date, we talked about modern dating.

“How long does it take for you to determine if you’re really into someone?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Some girls are really attractive and the chemistry is there right away. Some girls are just cute enough…”

I remember wondering what he meant.

Cute enough for what?

Cute enough to date?

Cute enough to sleep with?

Cute enough to tolerate?

That was me.

Wasn’t it?

Not beautiful.

Not attractive.

Just… cute enough.

“What about their personalities?” I pushed further.

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged, pressing play on the remote.

Conversation over.

Our first kiss

My heart is racing. My cheeks are flushed. I’m nervous. So, so nervous to tell him what I want. I’m terrified of being rejected.

He’s lying down, his back to me.

I muster the courage. I tap his shoulder.

“May I ask for a quick favor before I leave?” I say timidly, my voice shaking just slightly.

“What’s up?” he replies.

“May I have a goodnight kiss before I head home tonight?” I ask quietly. My heart is beating too loudly. I can feel it reverberating in my ears.

“No.”

…Oh.

Maybe he’s kidding?

“Wait...actually?” I say, feeling a bit bolder.

“Yes, actually. I’m tired,” he responds, turning farther away from me.

My stomach drops. The rejection stings. We were having a good night. I hope I didn’t ruin it by asking.

“Okay. Maybe next time.”

I cry the entire drive home. I cry into the night until I fall asleep.

Months later, we’re giggling in the backseat of a car. I try again.

“Please kiss me. Please.”

He does.

I blush. I grin the entire way home.

What a pretty fool.

Whoops.

I mean, what a cute enough fool.

One day he will be the one asking you for a kiss, right as you're saying "goodbye."

Movie Night

“What do you want to watch?” he asks.

There’s a large bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. A few bottles of kombucha. A bag of organic gummy bears.

He looks great tonight, as always. I watch him wide-eyed, mesmerized by the simplest movements.

Love, what a strange hypnosis.

“Hello?” He waves his hand in front of my face.

“Any ideas for a movie tonight?”

I choose carefully. Horror is usually safe. There aren’t as many scenes with beautiful women in those. Bonus points if it’s a zombie movie and the actresses have to hide their beauty.

I’ll do my research ahead of time.

I’ve gotten good at this.

I’ll work out more. I’ll perfect my makeup. I’ll scan the restaurant and choose a table away from the pretty girls. Away from the threats.

I never viewed women as threats before. That’s odd. I didn’t even notice them before, and if I did, it was to admire their beauty, not run from it.

Objectively, I don’t think I’ve ever been prettier.

Yet this is the ugliest I’ve ever felt.

I’m more than this. I’m more than this. I’m kind. I’m funny. I’m loyal. I’m...

A woman walks by.

Reapply lip gloss.

Reposition yourself.

Block his view.

Eyes on me.

Please.

Please keep your eyes on me.

Maps

I am a dot on a map on a boy’s phone. He has full access to me. I offer it willingly.

He can see where I am at all times. I send pictures and videos for extra assurance.

I’m home.

I’m at the gym.

I’m at a bookstore.

I’m with him.

Right where I’m supposed to be.

He is not a dot on a map on my phone. I’m not allowed to have his location.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Need to know basis,” he replies with a winky face emoji.

I smile. He’s smooth. He’s playful. He’s flirty.

I mean… he likes me.

Right?

He must like me, because he gets upset when I post a picture on my Instagram story. It isn’t scandalous, I promise. It’s just a selfie.

He says it looks filtered. He says it doesn’t look like me. He says it’s too pretty.

Oh.

She looks pretty.

She doesn’t look like me.

I take the picture down.

Red Flags

Sometimes they’re obvious. Sometimes a man can wave a red flag directly in front of your face until you finally get the hint.

Other times, they’re hidden.

They’re tucked between bonfires and storage unit talks. Hidden in the way your son giggles when he throws him on the bed. Hidden by butterflies and midnight hikes. Hidden by the way he dances in your living room. Hidden by the way he cooks you dinner. Hidden by the money he sends for popcorn at the movies. Hidden by trips to apple orchards and belly laughing on the couch. Hidden in the pages of a love story I've been writing for months.

They’re hidden because you’re in love.

The flag is there, but I stand in front of it, blocking both of us from acknowledging it.

Like I said before, I’ve gotten good at this.

Ignore the red flag.

Eyes on me.

My mind races in the aftermath of Book Boyfriend. The things I didn’t notice. The things I didn’t want to notice. The way I painted him as the perfect man. The way I romanticized our time together.

The desperate, grotesque need for a fairytale ending.

He needed to love me back.

I needed his love.

After our first date, I called all my girlfriends.

“He’s like a character out of a love story!”

—

Your life’s not a book, you idiot.