The Stand-In

by Lily Chu

I admit it. I love lists. I crave them. I draw visceral pleasure from anything I can put a line through, a check beside, or delete as a declaration that I have Completed a Task and am therefore a worthy, functioning human.

Fuck-you money is the money you save for whenever you need to tell your boss or your partner where to go as you blow out the door.

“There are enough people in the world ready to put you down. Do you need to join them?”

if there’s one thing I’ve been taught, it’s that you find meaning and value from life through yourself, not a man or anyone. Independence is the pinnacle, and while a man can be a companion, it’s a grave mistake to think he can be your center. You should never be a satellite orbiting your own life.

Kissing Sam is like nothing I’ve experienced. When Riley kissed me, it was always as if it was preparation for the main event. Sam kisses me as if it’s the destination, not the journey.

What a wonderfully fluid word that is, depending on the tone. Give it an emphasis at the end and you have joyful triumph (o-KAY!). Draw out the beginning for a nice dose of doubtful hesitation (ooo-kay?). Then there’s the way Sam says it now, hushed and vulnerable as if the O is a window through which he can see a road he never knew existed. “Okay,” I say back. Used to ease this time. “Okay.” Firm and decisive. End of conversation.

I worry about taking too much space, too much time, too much attention. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s possible to take up the perfect amount. A Gracie-sized amount.