Big Fan: A Modern Romance

by Alexandra Romanoff

Because I think it’s a good reminder that the passions of young girls are worth nurturing no matter how frivolous they may seem . . .

Kate and I met our freshman year of high school, but we didn’t truly bond until we discovered our mutual love of Mischief as sophomores. She’s a born cheerleader who had always felt out of place at our uptight, too-cool private high school; my tendency toward bossiness wasn’t winning me many friends either. But it turned out we were perfectly matched. She has the kind of enthusiasm and vision that inspire people; I have the detail orientation and pain-in-the-ass-ness required to get them to actually follow through. In a sense, Kate was my first candidate, and I’ve been campaigning for her ever since.

“And I don’t think you should have to be lucky to have a roof over your head and three meals a day.

Fuck it, I think. I’ve already survived one end of the world. Don’t I get to have a little fun in the afterlife?

“You really like weddings, huh?” “Sure,” he says. “That’s what I like.”

starts. “It’s easy to be happy for you,” I tell her.

Using this for hal wedding omgg

“And then you said you wanted to love me for the rest of your life. And you said it enough times that I realized that it didn’t matter if I understood why. You knew exactly who you were getting, and you always wanted more. You had chosen me. And I had to start choosing me too. So, Kate, I promise that I will try to love myself the way you love me. And I will try to be worthy of the gift of your love, and your confidence, and your light, and your warmth, every day of our lives.”

Charlie steps back, and I can’t help it: I panic. He saw the lust I didn’t even try to hide, and it was too much, and now he’s freaking out. He thought maybe this would be easy and fun, but I took it too far. And now he’ll be warm but distant. He’ll make an excuse to leave early. And I’ll be in this beautiful dress at a perfect party, kicking myself for not managing to keep myself under control.

Damn. Why is she me??

I lose track of where I end and he begins. I let myself be empty, except for him. I stop thinking about what this means or if we’ll ever do it again. I have no strategy. I have no thoughts.

“This book about buying things—big things. And what we’re trying to own when we do,” he says. “It’s by Eula Biss? I’ll give it to you when I finish.” The intimacy of touching his dog-eared pages—I have to switch gears.

I remember exactly what it was like to be that young, and to need someone to tell me who and what I was.