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It feels like pushing glue through a straw to get the words out: “You’re not gonna lose me, Melly.” And it’s so easy to fall back into this role; it’s as easy as breathing. “Right now life is moving faster than a knife fight in a phone booth. Of course you’re stressed.”
She reaches for my arms and pulls me down on the small couch. Her eyes are glassy. “That’s no excuse for losing my temper with you, for not trusting you. I know that.” She gives my hands a squeeze. “We’ve worked so hard for this, Carey.” I nod. “You’ve worked so hard.”
My heart pounces on this tiny crumb. “Thank you.”
“I can’t do this without you.”
“I’m right here,” I tell her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Melly wipes her eyes, her smile brighter than I’ve seen in a long time. “It’s us against the world, hon. The two of us, just you and me.”
I nod again, my smile not quite as bright as hers. “You and me.”
Ella @1967_Disney_bound • July 9
I KNEW IT. Remember when I said my spidey senses were tingling?
Variety @Variety • July 9
Fresh off the runaway success of New Spaces, @Netflix nabs home decorating duo Melissa and Rusty Tripp and their new show, Home Sweet Home. Exclusive: www.variety.com/2L6Kz8l
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booksnbangtan @booksnbangtan
@1967_Disney_bound omgggg. I saw a tweet the other day that said they barely talk anymore. If they hated each other with an entire cast of costars to share the load wtf will happen now
Vic @aCurlieee_doll
@booksnbangtan @1967_Disney_bound is it bad that knowing they hate each other makes me want to watch the show like ten times more?
Piddy @broken_box_mmusik
@1967_Disney_bound still say this is wild speculation. ITS LIKE WE CAN’T JUST LET
PEOPLE BE HAPPY
Samira @_Samira_benty
@broken_box_mmusik @1967_Disney_bound idk if it’s really /just/ speculation. I’ve seen three separate posts suggesting that Rusty is playing around and the mood was weird at their signing. That Melissa is on EDGE lately. Something up
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I realize I’m a somewhat socially awkward guy and will occasionally misread a romantic situation, but I’m usually misreading it in the wrong direction—a phenomenon that my older sister calls my “flypaper tendency.” Jenn says I’m unlikely to think a girl is interested in me until she’s literally plastered to my side. She’s not wrong—and the strategy has generally worked.
Last night with Carey, for example. She was pretty clear about what she wanted, and that she wanted it from me, specifically. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been with a woman who was more precise in her instruction. This morning she seemed to want more of the same—and I was happy to oblige.
So when I come upstairs with coffee and bagels to find my room completely empty—no clothes, no condom wrappers anywhere, even the bed has been hastily made—the only conclusion I can draw is that Carey flipped out, and I misread everything.
I sit at the edge of the mattress, balancing a cardboard tray of coffees on my lap and cycling through what we said and did, trying to find where it fell apart. It doesn’t take a lot of emotional intelligence to figure out that Carey needed an outlet last night … and that outlet was me.
Am I okay being used for sex? Generally, yes. In this case, though, it’s complicated by the reality of our future forced proximity, and the genuine feelings I’ve developed for her. I like her. I like her laugh, and how competent she is. I like her teasing humor that doesn’t mask how much she’s always taking care of everyone else. I like her mouth, her body, and her skin, too. I like her vulnerability—as much as I know I shouldn’t be drawn to it, I am—and I like what I realize is her complete creative genius.
I put her coffee on the desk and step out onto the balcony to drink mine. Am I really that surprised that she vanished? More easily than imagining her waiting for me, I can picture her in my bed, the stress of ignoring her phone mounting until she finally got up and dressed, heading to her room to shower and wipe the slate clean for the day. We’ve been friendly for only a matter of days, and yesterday’s meltdown aside, I doubt she’s ever shirked responsibility for an hour.
In truth, we barely know each other, and what we do know tells me we don’t have much in common. She might want to stay in Jackson forever; I live in a tiny studio that I’ve barely furnished because I don’t expect to be there for more than a year or two. Relatedly, I don’t let Melissa and Rusty hit me anywhere emotional, because it’s just a job. But Carey’s life is all tied up in theirs; their circus is her entire world.
And yet, despite these problems, I can’t immediately shake the way being with her felt totally right, even if it was for only twelve hours.
