“Mm, I see, so your feelings are like Bruno. We don’t talk about them.”
“Bruno?” I asked, baffled.
“So myEncantoreference is lost on you. Don’t mind me, I live off theater and movie quotes. We’ll fix your ignorance soon enough. In the meantime, how’s this whole ignoring-your-feelings strategy going for you?”
I groaned. “Waning with every passing day. Luke truly sees me and gives me the freedom to be myself. And you’ve seen him, he’s sexy as hell and doesn’t even realize it. He jokes about being big and intimidating, but his strength never comes with ego. He makes me want to believe in people again, and when he holds me, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
Alright then. Not only was I admitting the disaster of my feelings, but I’d also decided to go all in. Still, I couldn’t deny how good it felt to unload all those pent-up thoughts.
“I can’t say I blame you. If I had that to come home to every day, I’d have already taken up permanent residence in swoon city, with nightly getaways booked straight to pound town.”
“Yes, well, even if I wanted to, pound town lies far beyond the impassable Sea of Heterosexuality. I’m firmly marooned on the desolate shores of Hopelessville, population me.”
“Poo, that certainly affects some things. Lucky for you, forbidden love is my specialty. I’m the punk fairy godmother of romantic disasters. I live for this.”
“I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I’m still recovering from all the wounds my ex inflicted. I can’t be falling for someone. That’s insane.”
“It’s not insane, it’s human. Wanting to be safe and cherished isn’t a betrayal of your healing, it’s part of it. But I get it. Timing’s a cruel little trickster, and residual trauma has this way of muddying the waters. You know what I think?”
“Nope, but I suspect you’re about to tell me.”
“Right you are! We are best friends in the making, I can feel it. I think it doesn’t have to be anything. You’re allowed tohave a little flutter in your chest when someone sees you. You’re allowed to want gentleness. Crushes aren’t contracts. They’re just sparks. Sparks that remind you of what’s possible. You don’t owe them anything except honesty with yourself—and me of course, you have to keep me appraised of this saga.”
“Well, I’m not sure what you’re expecting, but what you’re going to get is likely an endless string of tragic pining.”
“Don’t worry, I was forged in the fires of tragic pining. We’re twin souls, forever entwined in a doomed tango of unfulfilled longing. But the romantic in me is always rooting for the moment when the pining is returned and the heartbreak becomes harmony. Give me the cinematic moment where the beloved finally sees what’s been there all along.”
“You better prepare yourself for a letdown. What you’re more likely to get is me gushing over the incomprehensibly sweet thing he does that leaves me vaporized, while he remains oblivious to the impact.”
“That sounds suspiciously like there are stories. Or perhaps a whole series?”
“It’s become my daily existence. A never-ending highlight reel of moments.”
“Alright, I need deets. Let’s order our smoothies and then you can tell me. By the way, it’s my treat. Order whatever you want with any additions. The sky’s the smoothie limit.”
“Thank you. I’ll cover next time,” I said.
“All part of my brilliant plan to get us to keep hanging out,” Talia said with a wink.
We approached the counter, a chalkboard menu listing an abundance of flavor combinations. Scanning the selections, my eyes caught on one with a blend of blueberries, banana, lavender, honey, and almond milk.
“I think I’ll go with this one,” I said, pointing.
“I’ve had that one before, an excellent choice. I’m getting the one with acai and passionfruit.”
The whir of the blenders rose to a steady roar, swallowing the small talk around us. As the person behind the counter poured the creamy, dark-violet smoothie into a fancy Mason jar with a handle and the company logo stamped across the glass I licked my lips, eager for a taste.
“Alright, give it to me,” Talia said as we sat down. “What’s he done lately to devastate you in the best possible way?”
“This happened a few days ago. Work had been hell. When Luke got home I started venting to him. And then, mid-sentence, I broke. I remembered how my ex used to respond to those moments—having a bad day was grounds for punishment. I kind of lost it. I couldn’t stop thinking Luke would snap, even though deep down I know he never would.”
“Ah, yes. That’s what I like to call trauma glitter. It clings to you, even when you think you’ve scrubbed every surface clean. You find it in your hair, on your lips, shimmering behind your eyes. You’re sitting there thinking, ‘I haven’t touched any glitter. Where the fuck did this come from?’ And the answer is always the same, it never left.”
“That’s an apt analogy.”
“So, what happened?”
“He comforted me and got me to calm down. But the part that wrecked me came the next morning when I walked to my desk—I work from home—and there, sitting on my keyboard, he’d placed a fuzzy plush lion. Tucked in its paws he’d left a folded note. It said, ‘Sometimes you gotta roar. Roar loudly, and without apologies. Don’t let the world drown out your strength, your courage, or your voice.’”
