“Hello, Mink.”
My brain sees who’s in front of me, hears the words, but doesn’t believe. It recalculates and recalculates, over and over, but I’m still stuck. And then it all comes rolling back to me, out of order.
?e video store.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Him caring about the Maltese falcon being stolen.
Roman Holiday.
White cat at the surf shop.
Churro cart.
Is it wrong to hate someone who used to be your best friend?
Cheating girlfriend.
?e Big Lebowski.
Watching movies at work.
My coworker, the human blunt.
?e Philadelphia Story.
Mr. Roth … Xander Roth.
Alexander.
Alex.
My knees buckle. I’m falling. Porter leaps up from the bench and grabs me around the waist before I hit the ground. I kick at the stone below my feet, like I’m swimming in place, trying to get traction. Trying to get control of my legs. I nally manage it. When I do, I go a little crazy. It’s that stupid coconut scent of his. I shove him away from me, beat him—hard—landing blows on his arms until he lets me go in order to shield his face. And then I just fall to pieces.
I sob.
And sob.
I curl up into a ball on the bench and sob some more.
I don’t even know why I’m crying so hard. I just feel so stupid. And shocked. And overwhelmed. Sort of betrayed, too, but that’s ridiculous, because how could that be? ?en I stop crying and gasp a little, because I realize that’s exactly how Porter must have felt when he found out.
He sits down on the bench and lifts my head onto his lap, sighing heavily. “Where are you at in the screwed-up-ness of it all? Because there are all kinds of layers.”
“We basically cheated on each other with each other,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “?at’s pretty messed up. When I told my mom, she said we pulled a reverse ‘Piña Colada,’ which is some cheesy 1970s song about this couple who write personal ads looking for hookups, and end up meeting each other.”
“Oh, God,” I groan. “You told your mom?”
“Hey, this is some crazy shit. I had to tell someone,” he argues. “But look at it this way. We ended up liking the real us better than the online us. ?at’s something, right?”
“I guess.”
I think about it some more. Ugh. My dad knew. He was trying to tell me with all that talk about blinders and horses. Another wave of YOU ARE THE WORLD’S BIGGEST IDIOT hits me, and this time, I let the wave wash over me, not
ghting it. ?e older couple that was hanging around on the
