Page 11 of Sweeter Than Fiction

“I’m glad. Look, I grew up with my mom and sister. I know that women just sometimes need someone to vent to.”

This man and I have been neighbors for over two years now, yet I’ve gotten to know more about him in the past ten minutes than in that entire time.

To look at Don, you’d never think he’s such a sweetheart. He’s too dark and broody to make that assumption.

“Sounds like your mom raised you right,” I say.

“Yeah, she was always great.”

We sit quietly again for a moment before he points to the TV. “So, Gilmore Girls, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s my comfort show.”

“Well, let’s watch.”

Don’t have to tell me twice.

Within the first five minutes, he gives the following commentary.

“Man, they talk fast. That’s the mom, right? Why are they so close? Don’t teenage girls usually hate their moms? Where’s the dad? Is that diner guy the dad because there seems to be some sexual tension there.”

I grab the remote and hit the pause button. “Have you ever seen this before?”

“Nope.”

“Your mom or sister didn’t watch?”

“If they did, I didn’t pay any attention.”

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning,” I tell him as I navigate the menu to go back to episode one.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, yes, I do. It’ll save me from answering a bunch of questions.” I shoot him a smile so he knows I’m just joking.

He’s quieter during the first episode but does ask the occasional question. I don’t mind, though.

As much as I hate to admit it, it’s nice having someone to talk to that isn’t a cat. At least Don talks back.

When we finish the episode, I pause it again and ask, “What do you think?”

“I think they talk extremely fast, but I get the appeal. It’s fun.”

“Do you want to watch another? Or do you have some hot date?”

“No. No hot date. I’d love to watch another—as long as I’m not cramping your style.”

A knock on the door makes me jump a foot off the couch.

“Think your food finally showed up?” He asks.

Damn. Totally forgot I ordered stuff.

As I head to the door, I joke, “Either that or another neighbor is worried about my well-being.”

I bring the Chinese food and a couple of plates to the living room and set everything down on the coffee table.

“Do you like Chinese?” I ask.

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