Attached at the Hip

by Christine Riccio

I thought I would fall madly in love with my best friend and get married straight out of high school.

I thought by this point I’d be … living happily ever after.

I’ve always pictured Happily Ever After as a linear spectrum, and somehow, I’d deluded myself into thinking I was feet away from the finish line.

The films I grew up on make weaving a happy life look so much easier than it actually is.

The random person the protagonist bumps into within the first twenty minutes is always their perfect match, and within two hours, all their problems are solved, and would you look at that, they’re also getting married.

I consciously placed myself in a romance trope. I followed the be...

Mom smiles, chucks an old bottle of conditioner into the trash, and stands up.

Oh, Mom. Recycling is so important.

Mom and Dad are soul mates—real-life proof that romance books are accurate.

“Okay, sorry, correction, you depend on me and everyone else for everything. You’re a codependent person,

“You can’t do anything yourself!

Must remain chill so I can speak like an intelligent member of the human race.

You’re already passive in every other aspect of your life!”

I’ll think of the perfect response in an hour,

“Mom and Dad like having me here. I’m saving money for the future.” She drops the phone from her face. “How long do you think they want you to stay here?”

My self-esteem is bleeding.

right now, I need to go have a cry in my room.

I am an independent person! I will now cry without anyone around to watch it happen. Look at me go.

We’re going to have an epic romance. The kind they make movies about. The kind with quotes you remember for the rest of your life

I told him I loved him, too, even though I wasn’t sure what loving someone felt like. I wasn’t sure what I felt qualified as romantic.

So enthusiastic about our future family.

the prospect of breaking up with him terrifies me.

every time Wes and I make out now, his tongue feels like a probe, and I feel like an alien, completely foreign to the earthly act of kissing.

Cutting comments are supposed to fade, not gain traction over time.

I’ve always clung to the idea that our love story is legendary. Adorable!

I’ve come to the gross realization that our story was never cute.

Our love story is that situation when you hear someone call you by the wrong name, and in the moment you think, Whatever, no biggie, I’ll let it slide. And then the next time they say it wrong, you’re mid-important thought, and you don’t want to break the flow of conversation, so you let it slide again. And then, before you know it, you’ve known them for five years and now it’s too late.

You can’t tell them you never actually loved them—because ...

You’ve built an entire fake reality upon this tiny neg...

Survivor’s all about relationships. It’s a chess game on an island. You have to forge strong bonds with as many people in the game as possible

I’m … going to be on Survivor. Alone.

book quotes, lyrics. And movies, and fairy-tale love.”

I love reading about it and watching people fall in love in movies, and I hope I get … to experience it, too.”

“I mean, I do know I single. I mean, I single. I mean, I am.” I cycle through a coughing fit. “I am single. I’m single.”

I’m great. It’s just—I’ve never been single in my adult life, so. It’s. Uh, it’s … an adjustment. It’s an adjustment.”

“I’m open to love,” I blurt. “And flirting.”

hypothetically, I should be a master of flirting.”

There’s a strong chance I’ve looked like a petrified dramatically blinking ostrich this entire time.

I’ve never been on real, adult, get-to-know-you dates.

I think I’m having a hot flash.

My anxiety is so obnoxious. It can’t just torture me silently; it has to turn me into a wet carrot.

I feel a little like I thought I was being sent to the moon, got on the rocket, and was told mid-launch I’m actually on an uncharted speed-dating-themed mission to Pluto.

I have absolutely no idea what’s about to happen. No clue what this game entails. I’m off to Pluto alone.

I never had to worry about being cool or flirty. I didn’t care.

When I finally muster the courage to meet his gaze, my eyes basically flop out of my head.

I think one time I said “LOL” when I couldn’t get my locker open three times

lol? Out loud?

I have no business entertaining a crush.

Take me now, hot mystery boy who doesn’t post anything on Instagram

my heart spasms.

We’re both in the front of our desk columns in this class. He meets my eyes, smiles at me, and I just know: this is it. This is our real-life Bella and Edward moment! It’s happening!

My brain refreshes back into strawberry Jell-O.