Julian:Wow, I can’t believe how easy this is.
Leti:How easy what is?
Julian:Talking to you. Last time didn’t work out so well for me…
I assume he means the last time he matched with someone. To be honest, I’m a little surprised talking to him is so easy too.
Leti:I get it, believe me. I haven’t dated in a few years so I thought this would be much harder.
Three dots appear and disappear for a few minutes as he types his reply, ratcheting up my anxiety. Then they disappear entirely.Guess I spoke too soon.I bite my nail for a moment, thinking. Was I too honest? Is he unsure of how to respond? Maybe we need more harmless small talk before we start divulging our dating histories.
Leti:So, rom-coms, huh? Do you have any favorites I should know about?
His reply is immediate, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Julian:Too many to name. I don’t want to overwhelm you.
Leti:I understand, it’s like asking me to pick a favorite video game. The answer changes every week.
Julian:Exactly!
Leti:We should see a rom-com together. Dinner and a movie is the perfect first date, right?
Minutes go by without a reply, and doubt starts to creep in again. It’s not exactly the smoothest transition, but I can’t risk liking him any more than I do without a clear indication that this is going somewhere. Hence, the blunt ask-out.
Leti:I really like talking to you, and I think we’d have a lot of fun together. How does next Saturday sound?
An entire hour passes without a response, effectively bursting my bubble. I guess what they say is true—if he seems too good to be true, he probably is.
2
Leti
There’s a strange pressure that comes with being the last single sibling.
Elena found the love of her life so easily. One glance at Diego sitting two rows down from her in their college auditorium and my older sister was a goner. They did everything the “right” way, according to my parents. They met young, fell in love, walked the graduation stage together, moved into a new apartment, got married a year later, and then started a family. Now they live in a house larger than the one we grew up in with an actual, honest-to-god white picket fence. It’snauseating.
At least my younger brother isn’t moving in with Kayla yet. After finishing undergrad, Andrew has officially moved out of student housing and into his first adult apartment, though he’s still living with a roommate. I don’t know why it had to be the same complex as mine, something I’ve asked numerous times before and after he signed the lease. I can count on one hand the number of conversations we’ve had that haven’t devolved into shouting matches. Maybe there was a time after high school I thought that might change, but some cuts run too deep to ever fully heal. Which is why, up until now, my method for dealingwith Andrew has been tonotdeal with him. It’s easier on both of us that way.
At least, it was until we became neighbors.
Since I conveniently missed his moving day (like the bad sister I am, I said I was sick and spent the whole day playing video games), I have to scroll through the family group chat for his apartment number. He lives one floor down from me. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have let Elena guilt me into this admittedly overdue visit, but I’m at least comforted by the fact that I won’t have to be alone with Andrew.
At the sound of my name, I whip around toward an open door and my brother waves me inside.
“Look whofinallydecided to come down for a visit.” Andrew shakes his head as I step past him. This isbonkers. His apartment is practically right underneath mine. “Elena and Diego are already here.”
“They got a pass on moving day. Why don’t I deserve one?”
“They have two kids.”
“AndIwas sick.” I roll my eyes before inspecting the place. It’s the exact floor plan as mine, only inverted and with sliding doors that lead to a spacious patio area complete with its own barbecue pit. Meanwhile, all I have is a small square balcony with a view of the strip mall across the street.
The pitter-patter of my niece’s and nephew’s feet echoing from the hallway makes me realize Andrew’s not very far from that life himself. If I blink, I can almost imagine this is the apartment he shares with Kayla, and the pitter-patter is coming from his own little one running around, wreaking havoc. And then I’ll not only be the last single sibling, but also the last one to have kids. However, as much as I love being an aunt, I’m not sure I want kids of my own.
“Speaking of kids…” He crouches, making scary monster noises as he darts off toward the sound of footsteps, and that completes the picture in my head.
He’d make a great father someday. It’s not that I’m jealous of the lives my siblings have created for themselves, exactly. It’s just that they figured out their lives so quickly, and I’m still catching up. If I’m the one thwarting convention, why do I still feel so inferior?
