The Stand-In

by Lily Chu

I think I’ve tried every system available to humanity that’s supposed to get your life under control, but none of them have helped.

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. But until I download a new, shinier list maker, it looks like I’m on my own.

An older woman walks out and I step out of her way with a quick apology, immediately regretting it because I did nothing to be sorry for. It’s a bad habit that has become an automatic reflex.

How dare he look so good? Someone that attractive should have a little horn they toot to prepare normals like me for their arrival.

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.

Then, God help me, he runs his thumb across his lower lip. In the hierarchy of unconsciously sizzling things hot men do, that has to be tops. The incomplete list, as compiled by me on behalf of all people who find men attractive, is: 1. Thumb on lower lip (mentioned). 2. Look up from beneath eyelashes; only for some men. 3. Hold a kitten. Bonus points if face is buried in fur and he smiles/addresses the kitten directly as if the kitten cares. Puppies will do. 4. That sideways glance over the shoulder. 5. Loosen tie. 6. Run hand through hair. 7. Look in your eyes as he takes his thumb off his lip and asks what you’re staring at.

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

“You do that a lot,” he says. “Say you’re sorry when you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m Canadian. We’re raised on apologies and maple syrup.”

“Energy. I had to decide on the show, get the tickets… I was so overwhelmed that it was too much.” I shake my head. “That sounds dumb when I say it out loud, that it was too hard for me to buy a ticket off a website.” But Fangli is beside me, nodding. “It happens to me,” she says. “There’s too much choice, and since all of them have merit, it’s exhausting to choose. At least I have Mei to help me whittle them down.”

When he tugs on the bottom of the vest, I add it immediately to the hot-things-hot-men-do list, which I fully recognize is a hot-things-Sam-does list.

Normally, Chris Evans being within a kilometer radius of me would have been enough to trigger a DEFCON level status change in my hormones but I didn’t know until I checked the celebrity gossip pages this morning. This is Captain America we’re talking about, the best Chris.

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.

“No one else can be you. No one else can tell your story like you. You are unique, so write the movie you want to see.”

Like always, I’m on my own. I turn over and hit the pillow with an impotent fist. I’m always on my own. In movies and books, women seem to have a “you go, girl” squad-posse of personal cheerleaders but that’s not how my life turned out.

“Gracie?” “Fangli was fine.” “I’m more concerned about you.”

“Gracie, you are perfect as you are. It’s not a bad thing to want to keep peace in your life and care for the people in it. That a bad person can manipulate it doesn’t mean it’s wrong. To be kind and generous is a gift.”

“You’re beautiful inside and out. Don’t let a person like him extinguish any of you. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Did you want the entire thought process or shall I summarize the highlights? I can probably manage a quick slide deck on my phone if you give me a few minutes. There’s a template I like.”

“It’s like everything I thought was serious becomes less so when you’re around.” “Am I offended at that? I think I might be.” “I’m saying, obviously poorly, that you give me perspective. I’m grateful. I like it.”

When I hand over his paper cup, I notice his right arm is soaked. “What happened?” He gives me a look over the top of his cup. “It’s raining.” “I’m dry, though.” I shake my arms at him and immediately spill a bit of my drink. “Good,” he says, glancing up.

“I changed my mind,” he says. “About my perfect day.” “No park?” He shakes his head. “I’d do this again.”

Help isn’t anything to be ashamed of and it doesn’t take away from my independence.

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.

Hi, Sam. A ping comes from inside Mom’s room.

“Plus, I like that you’re a CEO.” He puffs out his chest. “A good ego boost for me.” He catches my eyes. “Don’t say it,” he warns. “Not like you need it.” “You said it.” He shakes his head.