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Alana goes quiet for a moment, then her voice comes low. “Or…is there something that doesn’t sit right with you about all of this? If something feels even the slightest bit off, then this is the classic ‘utopia is actually dystopia’, and you need to get out of there.”
I release a wet laugh as I stand from the table and slip out of the kitchen. “Everything is a drama with you.”
“No. Everything is a story. The biggest part of life is figuring out which kind. Drama is a possibility, but we turn those shows off by refusing to associate with the characters who star in them.”
“Right,” I murmur. “How foolish of me.”
“So. Does anything at all feel off? Too happy? Giving subtle ‘this could be a cult’ vibes?”
My immediate answer where it concerns Ollie is no. There’s a spot in my memory with a creepy house and a man who looked evil, but appearances can be deceiving, and perhaps the fact things don’t look completely perfect makes it all feel more safe. After all, history written without flaws is usually a fabrication of the victor’s pride. Truth comes with some ugliness. “These people are just…people. And Ollie…he’s wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone half as considerate. It’s not perfectly ordered or plastic. Everyone is just…” I stare at the mess on the living room floor. The tiny barricade surrounding it. A small strip of felt that implies the mess has just come off a red carpet. “Everyone is just existing. Together. It feels almost like the way things should be. You know…if humans could be held to their word, and loyalty to a single benevolent ruler didn’t always end in bloodshed facilitated by greed.”
“You’re certain he’s benevolent?”
“He’s Ollie’s friend.”
“And you’re trusting Ollie’s judge of character?”
I smile at the mess, at the tiny signs around it written in red marker denoting Do Not Cross and No Flash Photography. It’s the most inane thing I’ve ever seen. It’s near impossible to picture someone with a bad bone in their body capable of putting it together for absolutely no reason at all. “I trust Ollie. He’s given up too much of his time, energy, and pride for me to believe he’s anything other than genuine. He is perfectly imperfect. I don’t feel pressured one way or the other. I don’t feel like I’m in a corner. For once in my life, I don’t feel like I’m responsible for someone else’s mood.” I laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m still naive. Maybe there are red flags everywhere, but I just can’t see them again.”
Alana says, “Yeah. Maybe. Or…maybe you’re in love.”
My heart skips a beat, and I dart a look back toward the kitchen, finding Ollie at the sink with his headphones still in place, before I nestle myself into my bedroom and close the door. “I know I’m infatuated, and I deeply care about Ollie…but it seems premature for love.” I swallow. “Doesn’t it?”
“Maybe for normal people.”
I let my back rest against the door. “Right. We’re soulmates. But, see, that part doesn’t feel like the storybook stuff. There’s no electric pull or hum constantly beneath my skin. No uncontrollable buzz. I really like Ollie, and I’m dreadfully attracted to him, but as far as soulmate influence goes, I don’t think I feel anything magical beyond comfort.”
“That’s really not what I’m talking about, although that is very interesting information for me to have as I try to find my own soulmate, thank you.” I hear a smile in her voice. “What I mean is you know that people like us fall hard and fast. Often for the kinds of people who give us emotional roller coasters, which satisfy something broken in our brains. People like us give everything to the ones we care about from the first instant. We love completely and suddenly—even when we shouldn’t, even when we don’t want to, even before we realize it. We don’t know how to put constraints on our emotions in an effort to maintain something appropriate. You’re not stupid, and I know that jerk of a boyfriend you had before has made you cautious, but if you’ve been living with a guy and these past weeks with him are the calmest you’ve been in your life? Even with this massive decision hanging over you? And with all of this unknown and change just around the corner? Well…what do you think you’d call that?”
I think…I’d call that love.
I love him.
Every second of him.
Every one of his worries and anxieties that stem from his immaculate care.
Every smile and laugh and joke.
Every time he’s blushed over something romantic even though I’m the inexperienced one between us.
Every bit of the dedication and thought he’s put into what it means to be with me.
I love him. I love him because he loves me. Because his character is a reflection of love for everyone around him, even as he denies himself the right to accept that love in return.
Crap.
It…it’s completely real now.
This is happening.
It’s too late to turn back without breaking my own heart into a million pieces.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and I whisper, “I’m really going to miss our phone calls. And—” My voice cracks. “—I don’t know how I’m going to tell our parents. I just don’t.”
“We’ll get through it, together. Even if the rest of this world is a mess, you and I can still be the way things should be.” Alana’s voice hitches, just subtly enough for me to know she’s holding back tears. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
