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Now there’s Lu, who makes me forget what it was like before her.
I’ve been neglecting my online course lately. Roey and I plan on going to Thailand when we finish the Reznik job. It will be a nice vacation. Roey’s agenda is to investigate a run-away bounty in Bangkok. Mine is to search for plots of land for my dream project. I’d never been interested in construction until I watched a video of an indigenous woman building a villa out of bamboo and jungle materials by hand. I want to try it, hence me taking online courses in carpentry.
I should be studying but my mood is more mischievous.
I’ve read all of Lu’s stories multiple times. So, out of curiosity, I roam through other authors on SD.
Roey calls, and I can’t say a word because I’m laughing.
“Your pirate dog is causing a scene?” he muses.
“No. Just hanging out on Story Den. These authors have creativity, I tell you. Listen to this—Practical Cock-Tease,a step-brother romance.”
Roey chuckles. “Our Lucy wrote that?”
“No, a random title.My Sweet Widow: A Mafia Romance,”I continue. “I assume, she’s a widow after she’s his wife and before she’s his mistress.”
“You sound like you know all the genres.”
I do.“My Vicious Yoga Instructor,”I name another one.
“And how he ruined my upward-facing dog,” Roey adds, and we both start cackling.
“Wait, wait. There.Midnight Cocks, a reverse harem small ranch romance.”
Roey roars with laughter, then pauses. “Wait, what the hell is reverse harem?”
“That’s, well, like a harem, but one girl and… Yeah, it’s a thing.”
“And two guys?”
“Well, no, that’s technically menage, which is three people. Reverse harem is one girl and at least three guys.”
“Atleast? How the fuck is that fair to the guys?”
“Men are not the target reading audience.”
“You sound like an expert.”
“Well, I’ve been researching.”
When he hangs up, I lie in my bed and think about Lu.
She left for the rest of the night, and it makes me melancholic, makes me wanna go out on the terrace and smoke out the loneliness that lodges inside me in her absence.
The next morning, I walk out of my room and see Lu standing by the window, staring at the Manhattan skyline in the distance, with a coffee mug in her hand, in rainbow socks and a long T-shirt, Pushkin by her feet.
He lifts his head at me, but I press my forefinger to my lips in a silent “shh,” pull my phone out of my jeans, and quietly snap a quick picture of her. I have several by now, the stolen shots that I stare at when I feel like seeing her but she’s not around.
I recently learned that Lu is not always sunshine and smiles. There are days when she’s quiet. Too quiet. No music, no singing, no cooing to Pushkin. Her phone beeps in her room but remains unanswered.
Like today.
“Morning,” I say, uneasy at the silence.
Lu turns around with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Morning.”
“What’s wrong?”
