Page 52

Having your boyfriend trapped in an iPod requires some—a lot—of creativity, and we’re making the best of it.

“It was good.” Truthfully, it was more than good. See, with this burst of optimism I’ve had recently, I’ve begun to do something I thought was impossible…believe in myself.

Quitting Radiate Gaming wasn’t solely because I was crashing out. Granted, I totally was crashing out, but I knew deep down that it was the push I needed to branch off on my own.

With Rennix’s permission, I took the initial concept of his nostalgic game idea Forevermore and reworked it. Rennix was onto something with wanting a game to relive our millennial prime. I just figured out a way to code that into a game created by millennials, for millennials.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to produce the game but as luck would have it, my path crossed at the dispensary I frequent with someone from Decode Games, a company dedicated to maintaining physical media in gaming, but more importantly, a direct rival company to Kent’s. I may be turning over a new leaf with this optimism, but some things in life require you to be petty. I don’t make the rules. I only honor them.

One thing led to the next, and before I knew it, I was asked to pitch my idea. They were interested, to say the least, and offered me a position in design as lead game designer and put me in charge of the project I renamed to Thanks for the Memories.

All is well, for once in my life. I’m designing games. I’m not only able to pay my student loans on time but all my bills. I’m having the best sex of my life with a partner I haven’t yet—and never will—become bored of. I’ll admit all this happiness took a bit to get used to, but seeing as I’ve lived the majority of my life feeling the exact opposite, I’ll take it.

“Are you sure about that?” Rennix asks.

Here we go. I can tell by the inquisitive inflection in his voice that he’s caught on to the hints of melancholy poking not-so-hidden in my tone.

“Yeah. Work was good. What else do you want me to say?” Some things will never change. My horrid poker face and ability to not make it so obvious that I’m lying are at the top of the list.

“To tell me how you’re doing.”

“You should’ve asked that then. You only asked how work was.”

“True. But I figured since you’re pacing the living room and your voice is doing the high-pitched thing it does when something is bothering you, mixed with the fact that you’re mouthing ‘I hate today’ on repeat, all signs are pointing to work and likely your day not being good. I just figured you’d tell me.”

Find someone who knows you better than you do, they said.

Find someone who understands you and wants to be mature and get to the bottom of things, they also said.

That’s all fun and games until you’re in the very situation I’m in.

Sure, I can sit here and divulge the ins and outs of my mood with Rennix. If time has taught me anything, in the years of our relationship, both as friends and now more, it’s that he’s a good listener. And yeah, sure, it may help me feel better for a little bit. But I know as much as he does that it won’t change a thing.

“So why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” I rather not. “I see someone chose stubbornness today.” Yep. “Let me see if I can rephrase this a little and see if it helps. What can I do to make my girl feel better on her birthday?”

“Our birthday.”

“Yes, excuse me, our birthday. Tell me, what can I do to make you smile?” Oh, I don’t know, maybe be here, in the flesh, to celebrate with me. “Hmm?”

“Stop. Just stop it right now.” If he thought I was pacing before, that was nothing. My back-and-forth movements have progressed to jogging from one corner of the living room to the other, flailing my hands as I do. “I don’t want to get into this right now. I just need to get it together and then we can do like we planned and have Taco Bell delivered for dinner and…”

“You for dessert?” he interrupts, voice full of desire.

My heart skips a beat and my chest tenses. “Yeah, sure.” I know I don’t sound very enthused. I love that we’ve made the best of relationship limitations with sex being very auditory and reliant on toys or self-care and a heavy dose of our imagination. I’m grateful. Truly. Rennix has been able to take the tools we have at our disposal and give me the best sex I’ve ever had. But it’s on days like today that our circumstances make me sad and leave me longing for more.

“You sound so sad.”

“That’s because I am, Ren.” I plop dramatically onto the couch, my view directly in line with the iPod secured on the speaker. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but as happy as I am, and as happy as you make me, I feel like this—” I motion between myself and the neon green iPod whose presence at times feels like its mocking me. “—is torture.”

“Go on.” Of course, he encourages me to continue. Damn him and his understanding, patient ways.

“Do you know how old we are today?” Wonderful. My voice just had to betray me with that fun crackly thing it does before I’m about to cry. Rennix doesn’t answer. He remains silent, giving me the space I need to absolutely one hundred percent crash the fuck out. “Well, I’ll remind you in case you forgot. We’re thirty-fucking-five years old. That’s how old. Thirty-fucking-five. Do you know what was supposed to happen by the time we turned thirty-fucking-five?” I don’t give him an opportunity to respond. “We were supposed to get married if neither of us found someone else. Which, let’s be real, we both knew years ago when we were on instant messenger and we made the pact in the first place that neither of us was going to find anyone else. No one is you. And no one is me. We always knew this, yet we were too chicken shit to say or do anything about it. And now here we are, thirty-five in the most technologically complex relationship known to mankind, both unmarried, and we have no way of fulfilling the promise we made to each other.” In case you didn’t gather by now, I’m no longer able to hold back my tears. That voice crackle warning I got? Well, it’s now progressed to a full-fledged crying spree. I wouldn’t even call it crying at this point. I’m wailing. Absolutely incoherent and inconsolable. The only thing I manage to get out that sounds somewhat audible is “We promised” on repeat as I rock back and forth on the couch.

“Shit,” Rennix groans, muttering something under his breath I can’t quite make out.

“Yeah, shit is right. Horse shit. Bird shit. Every fucking form of shit you can think of type shit. So now you see why I’m sad?” I manage in between sniffles.

Rennix goes right over what I said, clearly still stuck in his own head. “I had this whole thing planned, but I can’t leave you crying out there like this.”