Better Than Fiction

by Alexa Martin

“You do know you own a bookstore now,” she reminds me, as if I’ve thought of anything else since the lawyers read Gran’s will all those months ago. “You have to read books. You can’t keep this place running if you don’t know the products.”

Another dream forgotten. And that’s okay. Not everyone can live their biggest dreams. Not everyone can feel at ease.

Five years my junior, Daisy couldn’t be more different than me. And not only because of the blue eyes, blond hair, verging on six feet tall, physical stuff either. She’s rainbows, sunshine, glitter, and green juice.

All I have is the disappointed look on my dad’s face when he’d open the front door for me. And the way his entire face would light up with joy when he saw Daisy.

I was surprised he came at all, you know he hates leaving his mountain retreat.” “Yeah, you’re right about that.” Unfortunately, thanks to years of him missing every milestone in my life, I do know that.

I was always on the receiving end of their pity. I was the poor girl growing up without her dad. I’m pretty sure Dad convinced everyone my heartbroken mom was batshit crazy.

Honestly, until this very moment, I thought Daisy had everything. But now I realize that she missed out on one of the absolute best things life had to offer. A relationship with Alice Young.

and I’d spend hours there, doing homework, helping organize, and, at the end of the day, just reveling in time spent with my favorite person, who never made me doubt that I was her favorite person too.

But mostly, I’ll never forget the look of pure hatred and disgust in his green eyes as he gave me one last look before he walked out of the room.

Money can turn even the best person into a monster, and Andrew Young already sucked, so this has brought out an entirely new level of vile.

“I could really use a Denver boyfriend—where can I find one?” “Even though I’m intrigued by the idea of you having boyfriends in multiple cities and really wish I could help, my dating history is troubled at best.”

And you know what helps you ignore the death of your beloved grandmother? Painting walls, assembling shelves, and constantly bothering your best friend about the latest and greatest in children’s entertainment.

Brandon has been working like crazy and it would be nice to spend time with him again without having to separate toddlers, whip out my boob, or clean butts.”

Motherhood.

I just don’t think she realized her uterus was the baby-making equivalent of Pringles, because once that thing popped, it did not stop.

You call me no less than once a week about some new scheme your dad’s concocting to take the store.”

Father Dearest hasn’t shown up yet. If he did, it would’ve been anything but pleasant.” My dad’s special like that. He has the distinct ability to ruin my entire day without even trying.

Discretion has never been my strong point. I blame it on my photographer’s heart. I can’t help but envision the perfect shot when I’m met with beauty.

All I know is that Elsie better have bought that book from here. If she ordered the e-book, we might have to fight.

I haven’t been able to grieve. And I don’t want to. The sheer magnitude of what I lost is too big to be felt. If I even begin to let it in, I know I won’t ever recover.

This must be why hot people get away with so much. They say something stupid, hit you with a smile, all is forgotten. Repeat.

Sports are not my thing. Where my talent lies is in taking normal situations and making them as awkward as possible.

Even though I am what some could consider a hot-ass mess, I’m a pretty organized person. I thrive with structure. Saturdays are my day to go over the previous week and prepare for the next one.

Me in a nutshell.

What can I say? Eating my feelings is one of my favorite coping mechanisms.

Tucked in the back of her scraps, I found a business card from an executive at Prose and Fable, the online source to buy books and a perpetual pain in my ass.

Etsy meets amazon.

Before Jasper started talking, I went through the audience, giving out different sticker colors for people who already had books and people who needed to buy them.

That seems like a lot of work.

There are many times when I take Collette’s curtness super personally. I convinced myself years ago that she hates me. It’s only in moments like these when I’m reminded it’s not just me—it’s everyone.

I’ve been dodging their attempts since the last one ended with me listening to their mutual friend’s grandson drone on and on and on about Bitcoin and the trading market.

“But I’m pretty sure I got swindled by the Dirty Birds.” “Oh, so nothing new?”

“Are you talking about Jasper Williams, author of Rescue Me? Creator of Jaxon Montgomery, my favorite book boyfriend of all time, who has ruined me for all actual, living men?”

Herein lies the problem with dating in the time of the internet and apps and texting. Basically existing in the twenty-first century. Our standards are so low that when someone is average, they jut above the crowd. Common courtesy should be the bare minimum, yet here we are, offering endless praise for being a decent human being.

Unlike the wholesome author with glasses and an affinity for tweed blazers, tonight he’s wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit. Fitted close to his body, it showcases the lines of a man who dedicates time to take care of himself. His hair—I can’t decide if it needs a haircut yesterday or to never be touched—is slicked back. He looks like a movie villain you shouldn’t root for, but do anyway.

My expectations are in an elevator that crashed through the floor and is now taking the direct route to hell.

His thick eyebrows touch his hairline and I make a quick mental note to add mentioning serial killer fascination to the list of topics to avoid while at dinner.

Gran always told me there were three types of people we should avoid at all costs: Someone who doesn’t return their grocery cart to the cart corral. A person whose voice doesn’t change when talking to dogs or babies. Anybody who is rude to the waitstaff at restaurants.

I just let my phone die and haven’t charged it since. Is there a chance I will be stranded on the highway because of my nearing-on-ancient Jeep? Sure. Is that worth plugging in my phone and having to rehash the night in great detail with my sister or best friend? Nope. I’d rather hitchhike and try my hand at avoiding a serial killer.

I’m not sure either of my reinforcements knows what they’re doing either, but strength in numbers. Right? Maybe. Probably not at all.

She knows I’m not a pretty crier. I’m the poor version of Kim Kardashian, ugly crier.

Because herein lies my issue with books: escapism leads to denial and denial leads to heartbreak.

Escapism! is! Good!

The format is different; it’s like someone put the transcript from a documentary into book format.

Sadie by Courtney Summers.

Plus, the concept is really cool. It’s about a band from the seventies and the characters are all messy, messy, messy.

DAISY JONES AND THE SIX!!!!!!!

She’s unable to rip her eyes off Jasper Williams, Author, and apparently hero of teenage girls who hate their jobs.

Imagine being so hot that over-the-top reactions to your physical perfection are so common, you don’t even notice when they happen.

“This is between you, me, and anybody who happens to walk past us on our descent.”

Numbers are stressful and I need some vitamin D to balance me out.

He’s cute in a boy-band way where Jasper’s hot in a superhero way.

“Knew your mom since I moved here from Chicago. Knew your dad too. Both of them good people. Solid. Always willing to help me when I needed it. And to this day, it’s a fucking mystery how they got a crap kid like you outta the deal. Guess that’s why Alice loved Drew so much; our Drew here gave her everything you couldn’t.”

Burn!

Nothing about Jasper is right for me and yet I can’t find it in myself to care.

All I can do is indulge in the now and appreciate every beautiful second it lasts.

I’m sure this doesn’t sound like a big deal to the average human, but for me—a person who has actively avoided reading a book since I was forced to in school—it was huge. It was such an accomplishment that I had an adrenaline rush when I closed the book.

But as I got into it, I realized I didn’t only like the story—I enjoyed the act of reading. It encouraged me to turn off my phone rather than endlessly scrolling before bed. Instead, I began to settle beneath my comforter and read until my eyes were too heavy to leave open. Even my sleep has gotten better. My Apple Watch is no longer shaming me with my sleep quality.