Good On Paper

by Jennifer Millikin

  “A rare spotting, folks.” I approached cautiously, head bent, and spoke in an accent that toed an obscure line between Australian and English. “This is the wild Natalia Animalus, so named for her thick mane and dedication to punctuality.” She laughed, and it spurred me on. I crept closer in exaggerated caution. “The Natalia is a solitary creature, preferring to live and hunt alone. In her head, she concocts stories about others of her kind.”

  Natalie sat back against the bench, her legs crossed at the ankle, and smirked. That’s when I took the picture.

  The guys who see this photo will never know the story behind it. A smirk meant for me will mean nothing to them. For a second, I consider taking it down and using the other one. Maybe this one is too special. A moment between best friends captured off-handedly.

  The front door of my apartment opens, and Rob and Jasper walk in. Rob throws his jacket on the table, sending a half-dozen droplets of water flying onto my computer screen. I use the bottom of my T-shirt to wipe them off, then shut the computer and lay it on the table.

  “Still raining?” I ask, even though it’s obvious the storm hasn’t let up.

  Rob’s walking into the kitchen, his back to me, but asks, “Why was a picture of Natalie on your computer?” He pauses, whips around with eyes wide, and says, “Were you… you know… to Best?”

  “No,” I say loudly, making a face. “Fuck, Rob, are you serious?”

  Relief relaxes his eyebrows and brings his eyes back to normal size. “Good. Can’t have you getting a crush. Opposite sex friendships are like a delicate ecosystem. One wrong move somewhere in the food chain and the whole thing implodes.”

  Jasper rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He’s a quiet guy, which is a godsend in a small apartment where one of the inhabitants is a guy like Rob. Physically, Rob does not take up a lot of space. But his energy, his presence, his personality, sometimes fill the space like an infinitely expandable balloon.

  I grab my glass of water and laptop off the table. “Next time I want your two cents, I’ll hand you two pennies.”

  Rob laughs and opens a bag of chips. “I’m just making sure you know the rules, Aidan.” He walks the few feet from the kitchen to the table and tosses down the bag.

  Tucking the computer between my arm and my chest, I reach in and take a handful. “I didn’t know there were rules.”

  Rob crunches a chip and gives me a derisive look. “Of course there are rules. Don’t you think one of us” —he gestures between himself and Jasper— “would’ve asked Natalie out by now if there weren’t rules?”

  I get what he’s saying, but just to fuck with him, I act like I don’t. “Ask her out. I don’t care.” False. I do care. Natalie wants the world, and neither of these guys are equipped to give it to her. It would end with one-sided heartbreak and a best friend who wouldn’t come to my door ever again.

  Rob and Jasper both shake their heads.

  “We like Natalie,” Rob says, and Jasper shakes his head again. “Therefore, we do not date Natalie. She’s undateable. Off-limits. Just like she is to you, apparently.”

  “Great, good to know we’re all on the same page.” I stuff three chips in my mouth, then wish I had somewhere to spit them. I force them down and drink most of my water. “Those are disgusting.”

  “Buffalo bleu cheese.” Rob licks chip dust off two of his fingers. “So, why were you looking at a picture of her on your computer?”

  “Natalie can tell you if she wants.” It’s her business, not theirs, and something tells me Natalie doesn’t want her online dating profile to become a hot topic with my roommates. Turning, I make my way to my bedroom. There are only two, but I get my own because I pay half the rent. Jasper and Rob split the second half of the rent because they share the second bedroom, using a curtain to divide the room and give them privacy.

  Someone must’ve turned on the TV, because as soon as I shut the door, I hear the sounds of a baseball game. Lying back on my unmade bed, I open the computer. Natalie’s face stares back at me, but in my head, I hear Rob’s question. “Were you… you know… to Best?”

  My stomach feels a little sick. It’s either the disgusting chips or the thought of doing that to Natalie’s image.

  Quickly I shut the computer and push it off to the side. I get up, go out to the kitchen, and grab a beer. There are two hours to kill until I’m supposed to meet Natalie for what will be the most boring movie. Grabbing two more beers, I hand them to Rob and Jasper and sit down to watch the Yankees game.

  “That was the longest movie of my life.” Crossing my arms, I look over at Natalie. The lights have come on and I can see her clearly for the first time in four hours. Reaching over, I pick a kernel of popcorn from her red sweater and throw it on the ground. “You did not tell me how long it was going to be.”

  Natalie grins. “Now you’re primed to watch the sequel. It’s six hours long.” She points at the screen. “You can’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

  “I did, actually. Now I understand why Rhett and Scarlett get mentioned in reference to epic romances—”

  “Alongside your parents,” Natalie looks at me pointedly and stands. More popcorn tumbles to the floor. She brushes the front of her jeans and looks at me expectantly.

  Grumbling to myself, I stand and follow her out of the theater. We both pause at the exit to pull on our jackets.

  “Where to?” She looks at me expectantly.

  I must be giving her a blank look, so she says, “You held up your end of the bargain. Now it’s my turn. But if you’ve forgotten, we can just call it a night.” She starts to turn away, but I reach out and catch her.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I tell her, even though for a quick moment I did forget what we’re supposed to do after the movie. “My place or yours?”

  “Mine,” she answers quickly. “Jasper can be so annoying.”

  My mouth falls open, and she laughs. “Just kidding. Jasper doesn’t talk enough to be annoying.” She purses her lips and looks up. “Actually, that could become annoying after a while. The never talking.”

  “It doesn’t,” I say, pushing open the door and holding it for her. She walks through, her hands immediately going to her pockets.

  A stiff, cold wind blows down the block, whipping Natalie’s long hair around her face. A section cuts across her face and catches on her lips. She tries spitting, but it’s stuck in whatever makeup she’s wearing on her lips. I reach out, removing the hair so she doesn’t have to take her hands from her pockets.

  “Thanks,” she says, turning in the direction of her building.

  I fall in step beside her, shoving my own hands into the front pockets of my jeans. It’s really cold for November. As Rob would say, it’s colder than a witch’s tit. I keep that thought to myself. Considering the current political climate, it’s not a good time to make comments like that. My mother would say it never was in the first place.

  “How are your parents?” Natalie asks as we come to a stop at an intersection. We’ve just barely missed the walk sign. I would’ve pushed it, but Natalie stops when she knows it will soon switch to Don’t Walk.

  “You must be a mind reader. I was just thinking about my mom.”

  “I wish I were a mind reader. That would be cool.” Natalie smiles. “So, how are they?”

  “Good.” I nod and shrug. “They’re always good.”

  Natalie watches me, tipping her head to the side. I’ve always answered that question the exact same way, so she shouldn’t be surprised to hear me say it again tonight. My parents have a perfect marriage, one that my mother made into a best-selling book nearly twenty years ago. That book was made into a movie, and the movie won an award. The entire world was in love with my parents’ marriage. A popular book reviewer called it Epic. Transcendent. The power of love at its finest.

  The progeny of such a union should be happily married by now, with a boy and a girl and a yellow Labrador Retriever. He shouldn’t be on dating apps that are really just an
excuse to have casual sex. Natalie attributes my proclivities to a cycle of extended adolescent rebellion that has now become a habit, and I let her. It’s easier that way.

  “No shock that your parents are perfect.” Her voice is dreamy, and she doesn’t notice me flinch at the word perfect. I hate that word. “Are you going there for Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes. Are you doing the turkey day shuffle?” Poor Natalie. Her Thanksgiving is never about giving thanks. Mostly it’s about Natalie splitting her time between two different houses and trying to have some semblance of a relaxing, enjoyable holiday. An enjoyable holiday can only be had if the company is enjoyable, and Natalie’s parents are not. Her mom drinks too much wine and complains that her life hasn’t turned out the way she envisioned. To be fair, it hasn’t. The problem is that she places the blame for this on everybody else. Natalie’s dad has a new wife and a five-year-old son. As hard as Natalie tries, she hasn’t been able to feel comfortable in his new home.

  Natalie groans, but the sound is mostly lost in the noise from the passing cars. “Yes, of course. Mom will attempt to stain the inside of her body with copious amounts of wine, and Dad will proudly present the Upgrades.”

  Even though it’s fucking freezing outside, I remove my hand from my pocket and wrap it around Natalie’s shoulders. She might say Upgrade like it doesn’t bother her, but her dad’s new family gutted her twice. Once when he remarried, and then again when his new wife announced her pregnancy. And they are definitely not upgrades. I can’t speak for Natalie’s mother, but Natalie is pinnacle. Paramount. Summit. Apex. Every synonym for highest point. The best friend in me rises to her defense, automatic and strong.

  We maintain our pace down the street, but I lean in and tell her the words she so desperately needs to hear. “Your dad created a new family to fulfill something inside of him. He was not making up for a deficit with you.”

  She looks up at me, and in the lights from the oncoming cars I see the hint of moisture, the tears she refuses to shed. “Thank you,” she whispers and leans her head on my shoulder. The embrace does not last longer than a few seconds. We are careful, so careful, not to touch for too long. Other than that stunt I pulled at brunch this morning, which probably only lasted about fifteen seconds, our touches do not linger. A thousand times we’ve heard the opinions of those who don’t believe a guy and a girl can be best friends.

  We have a thousand people to prove wrong.

  7

  Natalie

  The wine pools in my mouth, warm and spicy, and I let it stay there a moment longer before swallowing.

  I hate talking about my dad. A divorce is one thing, but a whole new family? Hey wound, it looks like you could use some salt.

  Aidan leans against my kitchen counter and reaches into his pockets, emptying them of his keys and wallet. The metal scrapes the counter as he pushes them away and hops up.

  “You ready for that profile?” He sips his wine and raises one eyebrow.

  I don’t know how he makes that face. If I try to raise one eyebrow, I end up squinting one eye.

  I make a sound, a cross between a grumble and a whine, and grab my laptop off the couch. Sitting down, I place my wine on the coffee table and open up the computer. Aidan settles next to me, sitting back against the couch and spreading his legs wide until his left knee bumps my right leg.

  I offer him the laptop. I have no idea what website to type in. I know some are used for sex, but I think those might be apps. Feeling stupid, I grab my wine and feel the movement of my computer being taken from me.

  Aidan types and a website pops up. He keys in a username and password and a new screen appears.

  The screen has my name.

  The screen has information about me.

  The screen has my picture.

  “Aidan, what the hell?” I look to Aidan, back to the computer, and back to Aidan again. He’s watching me, waiting to see if he’s in trouble. “You already created an account for me?”

  “I had some free time today.” His voice is even, but he’s holding back a smile.

  “Aidan…”

  “What?”

  A small sigh slips through my lips. “I don’t know. It’s not a big deal. I don’t know why I’m making it one.”

  “Because you’re uncomfortable and I’ve just taken you by surprise.”

  Settling back onto the couch, I prop my feet on the coffee table and lean over to get a closer look at my profile.

  “Do you like it?” Aidan asks.

  “Horseback riding?” I laugh as I say the words.

  Aidan shrugs. “Good visual.”

  “Aidan!” My voice is part shock, part indignation.

  “It’s true, Nat.”

  “I’m not doing this to attract a guy who only wants to meet me because he likes the visual of me bouncing up and down on a horse.” I almost cross my arms but catch myself. It’s a habit leftover from my surly teenage years, and I don’t care for it. Instead, I tuck one section of hair behind my ear and turn to face Aidan.

  He looks at me, his expression challenging. “Don’t give me the same look I’m giving you. If one of us doesn’t cave, this becomes a stalemate. And that won’t work, because I’ve already watched the worlds longest movie. Which means you” —he points at me with one finger— “have to cave.”

  My hair tickles my shoulders as my head shakes. “No to the horseback riding. It’s ridiculous and not at all true.”

  “Fine. Perhaps you have a love of mechanical bull-riding.”

  “No riding anything.” Does this man need to see an ear doctor?

  Aidan navigates to the edit box and deletes the words. “I only put that in there to push your buttons.”

  Reaching out, I grasp the skin beneath his upper arm in two fingers. He yelps and pushes my hand away.

  “Do you want me to say that you’re a romance author? Do you want a real profile?”

  This isn’t the way I pictured meeting someone, so I haven’t put too much thought into the amount of honesty in my profile. Don’t people usually lie on these things? Put your best foot forward and hide the baggage until you’re actually dating, right? Get them hooked and then unpack the bags.

  “What are you thinking about?” Aidan asks. His head is tipped to the side as he watches me.

  “How honest I should be.”

  “Mostly honest, I think, if you’re not only using this for hook-ups.”

  “I’m not.”

  Aidan starts typing. Leaning over, I read as he writes. Author. Loves spicy Mexican food, beach vacations, and the Yankees.

  “I don’t watch basketball.” I point needlessly at the word Yankees.

  Aidan grimaces and opens his mouth, but I speak first. “I’m kidding. Of course I know the Yankees are a football team.”

  I smirk as he levels me with a dirty look and leans forward, setting the computer down on the table and picking up his glass of wine. “Your profile doesn’t need to be completely true.” He taps his glass against mine and sips from it. “What do you want to do now?”

  I’m only half-listening. I’ve just realized I’ve never seen that picture of me.

  “Where did you get that?” I nod my head at the open laptop.

  “I took it last year in the park.”

  “I thought you were just pretending.” My voice is a murmur.

  “I was, mostly. And then you did that smirky thing you do, and I took a picture.”

  Looking back at the computer, I study my picture. Both corners of my mouth are turned up, but one much more so than the other. My eyes hold laughter, but not the loud kind.

  I point at the computer. “Do I do that often?”

  “Only to me.”

  Warmth spreads over my chest. I like that we have this. I like that he knows something like that about me, that he has noticed. It’s nice to be seen.

  Burrowing deeper into the couch cushions, I lean against him. The heat from his arm seeps into me. I’ve always loved how warm Aidan feels. His
heat is comforting, like a sweater. It’s a reminder of who I’m with, and that makes me happy.

  “I’m going to use that in my next book.” I tip my head, leaning it against his shoulder.

  “Use what?” Aidan asks, his deep voice drifting down to me.

  “The picture thing. It’s sweet. Swoon-worthy, in fact.”

  “Don’t thank me for that idea in your acknowledgments. It’ll ruin my image.” As he speaks, he makes his voice even deeper, a rich baritone.

  “Surely you would drop dead if that happened.”

  “I might.”

  Aidan wiggles the arm I’m leaning on, so I sit up. Shifting, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me in close.

  Not only is he warm like always, but he smells like he has since the day I met him. My college roommate said he smelled like sex, which was something I never understood. When I think of the scent of sex, I think of salty sweat and something that reminds me vaguely of bleach. Aidan smells like neither.

  “What do you want to be when you’re grown-up?” Aidan’s question takes me off-guard.

  “We’re twenty-eight. Don’t you think that qualifies as grown-up?”

  “I live in a shoebox with two other guys. I think that excludes me from being an adult.”

  I sip my wine, then say “There’s a difference between being an adult and being a grown-up. Turn eighteen, bam, adult. No questions asked. You can die for your country and be sent to prison. But grown-up… that’s an obscure term.”

  “Does getting married make you an adult?”

  I twist my lips as I think. “Maybe. Maybe not.” I certainly thought I was an adult when I accepted Henry’s proposal. We were twenty-two and in love. At the time, love seemed like all we would need.

  “You’re an adult as defined by the constructs of the world.” Aidan’s voice trickles down around us. “You have a career, you’ve been divorced, you don’t eat Cheetos for dinner.” He taps my forearm with one finger. “Adult.”

  By that definition, I guess I am an adult. But I certainly don’t feel like a grown-up. I feel like an unfinished thought, floating between good intentions and choices that were right at that moment. This isn’t where I thought I would be by twenty-eight.