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Playlist: “Everybody’s Lonely,” Jukebox The Ghost
Oh starting off chapter one with a BANGER
Because—and I’m sorry, this will sound arrogant, but—everyone likes me.
“What’s with all the questions?” “Making up for lost time. I’ve got you talking. Can’t quit now.”
Well, well, well, we have a gentleman on our hands.
“Someone’s bossy.” A twinkle settles in his eyes. He grins. “I can be. But generally, I much prefer when it’s the other way around.”
VIGGO
“You didn’t think it was weird that I’ve named all my plants.” I shrug. “You have strong plant-daddy energy; I’m not surprised.”
And she’s right. He does
When I read it, I just knew it was your writing. You have a very vivid style.” “You recognized my style from one semester of college, seven years ago, being peer partners twice.”
“Are you seriously talking to your car?” Tallulah calls. “Would you mind?” I call back. “We’re having a moment here. A heart-to-heart.”
“Stop smiling,” she growls. “How do you know I’m smiling?” I’m definitely smiling. How could I help it?
“You ever done talk therapy?” Her eyebrows lift. “No.” “Highly recommend.”
Generally, I’m not a fan of quiet. It makes me uneasy. It leaves me with my noisy, chaotic thoughts and an overwhelming sense of loneliness. But right now, I don’t mind it so much.
I recognize someone hiding when they’re hurting. I’ve been doing it for years.
Owie
“We’re doing a skills swap, of sorts. He’s going to help me iron out the kinks in my book—” “ ‘Iron out the kinks,’ eh? Is he going to help ‘fill your plot holes,’ too?”
“Seb, you’re in way too deep now. It’s called honorary Bergman status.” “It’s too early for earnest feelings, Ren,” Seb pleads. “I can’t choke up before noon; it’s a policy I have.” “Come here, you big secret softie,”
Bergman Brother movements make me want to sob every time
“Lu, I’m half-Swedish. I cannot allow for a single piece of IKEA furniture in my home to be assembled by some . . . some stranger, when these two hands are perfectly fit, when my genetics are designed to do this.”
“Viggo.” She nudges my knees with hers. “Do what you do best. Talk.”
The tiny, sober part of my brain is screaming at me that this is not what I should be doing with my platonic roommate, but the vast majority of me is not sober and does not give a single shit.
We sit on the floor, laptop on the coffee table, legs crisscrossed, knees touching. I am unnaturally aware of a kneecap touching mine. Because it’s hers.
He 100 percent crocheted those cushion covers. I’m concerned for that man’s joints. And sleep habits. When does he do all of this?
“I need to put on makeup. Fix my hair.” “No, you don’t. I mean, you can, of course, it’s your body—” “Glad we cleared that up.”
Viggo’s smile broadens and brightens. My mouth lifts reflexively, because that’s what happens now, like there’s a glowing, golden string connecting the corner of his mouth to mine. When he smiles, I smile.
Stop
I settle in beside the man I love, a story he loves in my hands.
STOP
“But first, could I just have a—” Gavin throws his arms around me. “Hug,” I whisper.
Why is the final Bergman Brothers Summit making me want to scream sob
“My heart has been, and always will be, only and forever yours.”
This is not going to last long. “Who the hell cares?” she pants. Seems I said that out loud.
I love thoughts that actually were said out loud
“In Sweden, the cows, they’re kept inside all winter, and it’s a whole day, everyone gathers to see it, when they let them out in spring. Much like my rather speedy performance, those happy fuckers sprint out of the barn, leaping and bounding—as well as cows can—across the grass.”
An interesting take on pillowtalk
We laugh into each other’s mouths. Our kiss turns into wide twin smiles.
