I’m giving you access to my full profile, which I updated just for you. I’m not trying to meet anyone else. I’ve already found the love of my life and I didn’t even need this website to do it. But I thought maybe this would be a good way to start getting to know each other again, if you’ll let me.

Love,

Mills

I stare at the green and red button options at the bottom.

Allow or deny?

With my hand on the mouse, I slide to the left, clicking ALLOW.

Her new profile opens in front of me. There’s a photo I took of her standing in Chris’s yard, wearing a lobster oven mitt on one hand, holding a tray of salmon aloft with the other, and grinning like an idiot. She once told me it’s the only photo taken of her that she absolutely adores. “Most of the time I look like either a bitch or a stoner,” she said.

I remember that day like it happened a week ago. Ed thought he would make us all dinner, and decided to grill duck, which resulted in Chris’s grill catching fire and Ed nearly losing his eyebrows. Millie saved the day by running to the store and grabbing some salmon, which she barbecued to perfection. I snapped the photo just as she turned to present it to us, proudly.

Beneath the photo are a few new paragraphs where her old profile used to be.

Hi. We both know the generals: Born in Bellingham, always a quirky kid. Mother died too young, sister needed too much, dad was a quiet mess. The sad specifics aren’t a secret—they’re just sad. It’s the quiet specifics that are hard to explain, the years and years where it feels like nothing of interest happened to me.

I realize I’m a late bloomer, socially. If I went home, I’d run into people who would be perfectly pleasant to me, but would never say, “Oh, Millie and I were super close in high school.” I was easygoing, upbeat, nice to everyone. Maybe I got sick of being nice. Maybe that’s why I’m so mean to Ed.

That’s my only joke, I promise.

Did I become fascinated with murder because, in comparison, female psychopaths make me look well-adjusted? Maybe. I don’t know if it’s because of my mother dying, or just the way my life would have unfolded regardless, but I think I managed to roam through life until my late twenties not really knowing how to take care of people. I want to do better.

That’s it. That’s all there is, and I’m not sure what to do with it. I sit back and stare at my screen. Millie’s new profile feels like a beginning, a warning maybe, that what comes next might be messy, but at least it’ll be intentional.

There’s a brightness in me, something blooming warm and tight. I worry that it’s hope.

Putting my phone facedown, I turn back to my computer and find where I’ve left off in my article.

From: Millie M.

Sent: 1:39 am, May 1

You haven’t written me back, but you did let me write you, so I’m going to limit myself to one a day. If I’m bugging you, at least you can be comforted knowing that the Block button is really simple. Trust me, I used it a few times in the early days with Mr. Dick Profile Pic and Mr. Show Me Your Rack.

Anyway, here’s something I don’t think you knew: I lost my virginity to a guy named Phil. PHIL! I know, right! It’s the least sexy name I can imagine. Sometimes when I’m alone and feeling glum, I think of the name and say it in sort of a breathless sexy voice, and I can’t stop laughing. Maybe it’s slightly sexier than Ernest or Norman. But only slightly. Philip? Now that’s sexy. But Philllll.

Bottom line, I was fifteen, he was seventeen, and we had no idea what we were doing. I remember it being messy and being more embarrassed about that than anything. I ruined my sheets, and Dad found me trying to shove them in the washer, and I’m sure he was furious but per usual, he didn’t say anything and so I didn’t either.

It’s always sort of been that way, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.

Love,

Mills

From: Millie M.

Sent: 3:14 pm, May 2

I’m afraid of the following things: vans with no windows, confined spaces, moths on my front porch, crows, dust bunnies, and giant boats like cruise ships.

Love,

Mills

From: Millie M.

Sent: 9:23 am, May 3

I never said “I love you” to Dustin. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever said it to anyone except you, and my mom. Looking back, I realize I probably should have said it to Elly every day. For someone who grew up the way she did—with two people mourning a ghost, and who never figured out how to say the right words—she’s pretty amazing. You should meet her sometime.

Love,

Mills

From: Millie M.

Sent: 11:59 am, May 4

We had a faculty meeting today and I so badly wanted to tell every man in there to shut the hell up for fifteen minutes and let the TWO WOMEN OUT OF THE SIXTEEN FACULTY speak.

I wish that I’d had lunch with you afterwards, but I’m sure you’re relieved you didn’t have to listen to me rail about the patriarchy for an hour over a shitty Cobb salad. (It’s Friday, and Friday always feel like Reid days—Mondays/Wednesdays too—but we always seemed to make Friday nights happen. It’s probably why I’m a little blue.) Anyway, late in the meeting, Dustin said something too asinine for me to let slide, and I just blew up at him in front of everyone. He approached me afterward and suggested that I was bringing our past into the faculty meetings.

I actually laughed. I mean, I laughed for like ten solid minutes in his office, and once I got myself together I reminded him that he and I broke up over two years ago, that I’m in love with you (though it’s most likely unreciprocated), and that my frustration was primarily about his inability to hire women and people of color. Of course, being Dustin, he focused on the thing I’d said about you.

So, apologies in advance if it’s awkward the next time you see him on campus.

Love,

Mills

From: Millie M.

Sent: 4:34 pm, May 5

I watched Rudy today and fuck that movie! I’m not even that invested in college football but was still crying like a baby at the end. Then I ate that pint of Cherry Garcia I found in my freezer that you left here probably a decade ago, and felt gross. Why do you like that stuff? Chunky Monkey 4 lyfe.

Love,

Mills

From: Millie M.

Sent: 11:11 am, May 6

It’s 11:11, Reid. Make a wish.

I miss you.

Mills.

From: Millie M.

Sent: 10:41 am, May 7

I swear to god, Reid, I’m trying to make these interesting but today was probably the most uneventful day on record. I worked all day, went to Cajé about seventeen times because I kept nodding off at my desk, and then left early and got measured for all new bras. Turns out I’m a 34C, and I don’t know why that makes me so proud but my whole life I thought I was a B cup and I’m not! I wanted to gloat to someone, but Elly and I don’t really have that relationship and turns out, I don’t have that relationship with anyone else who has boobs! So, working on that. But for now, I’m gloating to you, Reid. My boobs are bigger than yours! And they’re in a nice, new, silky red bra.

Love,

Millie

From: Millie M.

Sent: 7:57 pm, May 8

I barely slept last night. I’ve been working on the book, and it’s going really well, but I miss you, and you know how things always feel worse at night? Last night was one of those where I just lay in bed, thinking over every shitty thing I’ve done, and feeling terrible. I’m so sorry about Catherine, and not telling you. I wish I’d been strong enough to do the right thing from the very beginning, but I wasn’t. I feel like such a cliché even saying this, but the reason I lied wasn’t at all about you or anything you did. The secrecy was about me, and how terrifying and exhilarating it was to be so open with you in a way that felt safe. Unfortunately, that safety came from the fact that you weren’t aware it was me, and that’s shitty. You’re honestly too good for me, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t want you anyway.

I’ve seen so many movies where one person in a couple says, “I was fine before you came along!” and is that supposed to mean that they were fine before and will be fine again, but don’t want to be fine alone?




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024