Well, Actually

by Mazey Eddings

While there are few traits more toxic than a corporation referring to its culture as family-like, I tamp down my revulsion,

He walks toward me with the confidence of a man who … Honestly, a metaphor is kind of superfluous. He walks forward with the confidence of a man,

“I’m thoroughly pleased with all the wrongs I’ve committed.”

“You’re the human equivalent of Comic Sans,” I respond, working to check my own twitching lips as they try to mirror his.

Being an angry crier is the world’s greatest curse.

“Good god, twins?” I say because, honestly, in this economy, how?

I fucking hate being a grown-up, if I can even claim the moniker.

But, eventually, I realized I couldn’t hate myself into someone I liked. So I decided to give accepting myself a try.”

“I give off lactose-intolerant energy?”

“I don’t know, man, you just have the energy of someone who tweeted about being a tummy ache survivor long after it stopped being funny. Probably pinned it as your last one as that ship sank. It seems reasonable that milk could take you down.”

“I mean this with all the love, light, and peace in my heart: What the hell is wrong with you?”

I’m a tall girl, and I’ve often been denied the soft luxury of being made to feel dainty by a partner, but Rylie cradles me against his body like I’m something delicate he’s so glad to hold.

“A jomforter,” Rylie repeats, dragging a hand along the back of his neck. “A jean comforter.” “Why in god’s name is it on your bed?” “I … I think it’s pretty hilarious, to be honest with you,” he says, wrinkling his nose, his chest heaving. “I can see how maybe it’s not the most, uh, alluring of bedding in this moment, though.”

“I wanted an obvious signal to visitors that I’m a freak in the jeets,” he whispers,

“I picked you up here on our first date, you headstrong fruit loop.

You can call me any name you want, as long as I can call you mine.”

“You’ll only ever have to ask me to leave.”

I could weep and/or gobble his dick like Kirby right here

“You’re an enemy of the state,” he says against my mouth. “What state?” “The state of my mental health.”

“Sexy you is number six because she’s often rendered speechless by my superb lovemaking.” “I just threw up in my mouth.” “Our pillow talk always does wonders for my self-esteem.”

“I’m not having a lot of feelings!” he says in a pitch that leads me to believe he’s having a tremendous amount of feelings.

“I hate to ruin your pity party, but none of what you just said is special.” He delivers the line so gently, I laugh. “Seriously, though. Feeling useless and directionless and like you aren’t keeping up is kind of the entire point of your twenties. Everything is ass all the time and all we can do is lean on each other

through it, not compare ourselves moment to moment.”

I slap a hand over my mouth to hide my scream as a link comes through for a playlist titled “M0n$teR FuqKing.” The only song is “Monster Mash” … added sixty-nine times.

“I love you, you little demon.”

“You are the sharpest, fiercest person I know. I have never been more off-kilter than when you let me into your life. I can’t even begin to predict what godless thing you’ll say or do next, and I have a very healthy fear of your bad side. And, fuck, I love you. I want to spend every day listening to you be an absolute shithead to me. If at the end of my life someone asked me what I’d do with one more hour, one more minute, I would fight with you. Argue with you. Kiss you and hug you and hold you. Anything for one more second with you. I’d choose

this every single time. Because I know you love me too.”

“Eva, my love. I’ve had six years to let you go and decide you’re not worth it. Give me six hundred more and it still wouldn’t matter. I’m yours. It’s okay to be afraid. I’ll be brave for us both until you learn to trust it. Trust me.”

I am a woman in STEM only in the sexy, tenacious, emotionally malicious sense.

“I try to give things a few hours’ worth of thought and fact-finding before sinking into the useless depths of self-pity.” “That might be the most unrelatable thing you’ve ever said to me.”