“You know what? I’m not doing this with you tonight,” he says. “Have it your way. The entire ice cream social will cram inside the shop, leaving our patio furniture woefully empty while the neighborhood’s most voracious readers all struggle to hear each other above the cacophony of metal music.”
“Sounds like a pleasant evening. I hope you sell lots of ice cream.”
“We will! Countless pints.” He turns on his heel and heads back across the street.
“Good!” I holler after him. “Nothing like a neighborhood filled with thriving businesses!”
“Exactly!” he yells back at me. “Your success is my success.”
“I’ll make sure to tell all the bikers to stop by for a scoop,” I practically roar as a few road bikes pull up.
Finn cups his hands around his mouth. “Please do! Second scoop is free tonight, if you can even taste it above that ruckus!”
We both turn and march into our respective businesses.
After grumpily securing the windows and doors to minimize our impact, I head to get a beer, fuming. I don’t want to ruin an ice cream social or a book club mixer or whatever the hell he’s doing over there, but something about Finn infuriates me, along with other...emotions.
It’s how he gestures all animated, and that face with those distractingly nice cheekbones. The way his lips purse when he’s mad at me. I just really like his face, damn it.
The band starts playing, thrashing away while the small crowd of bikers gathers up close. I stay in the front of the shop, right by the windows, and spend as much time looking across the street as I do at the show in front of me.
A steady crowd arrives to The Scoop, some with books under their arms. Through the front window of the ice cream shop, I see them all stuffed in the little space like sardines, hiding from the noise.
I feel bad, but directly in front of me, a rowdy gang of misfits enjoys the show, thrashing around and yelling over the music. The bikers deserve fun just as much as Finn’s patrons do, and dissonant chords and frantic time signatures make these weirdos happy. We can’t all like wholesome, quiet passions.
Spitefully, I decide the books they’re talking about probably aren’t even that great.
After the show, I head out the side entrance to avoid Finn. It’s been a long night, and I’m exhausted when I crawl into bed. Needing to get my mind off the argument earlier, I open up the latest email from MorningEnthusiast and read over his contribution. After nearly fucking, the fae prince and demon outlaw are instead running from each other and their collective destiny, but unknowingly both searching for the same enchanted dagger, lost somewhere in the city.
I open up a message to MorningEnthusiast. I’ve been writing to him more and more often lately, and it’s easy to pick up our running conversation.
I also appreciate the potential in things. The potential disasters waiting around every corner. The potential for a series of blockbuster movies to completely fall to shit (which only heightens the more you like the series and the longer it goes on). The potential enemy in every new friend.
Just kidding about that last one. I’m not a total pessimist, and despite somehow remaining perpetually single, I do have meaningful friendships that I’ve sustained for years. Just to underline this one more time, I am not an ogre.
But unfortunately, I think I made myself a new enemy recently. I’m not quite sure how it happened. Conflicting interests, I guess. My blunt charm might have played arole, too. It tends to get me in trouble. Unlike previous enemies I’ve faced (looking at you, Dr. Who trivia champion Tatius Henderson), in this situation, there’s no clear end in sight.
And my new nemesis appears relentless.
Thankfully, these stories you and I write are still nothing but good potential. How can I care about my bullshit problems here in New York, when there’s a cosmic fuckfest about to erupt in the sacred vampire caverns?
When I hit send, a jolt goes through me.
“Fuck!”
I said where I live.
