Page 15 of Lovebug
“Sorry, no.”
“Damn, we gotta get you watching better movies, girlfriend.Anymovies really. You do realize you’re twenty-four, and your parents’ restricted movie list no longer holds now that you’re an adult, yeah? You can watch anything you want. I suggest you start with some porn.”
“Calliope!” I scold. “Can we stay on the subject, please?”
“Of course. Yes. Remind me what the subject was?”
“You said I am ‘relentlessly positive,’ which freaked you out when we first met. And that I prance. I do not prance.”
“Yes, you do. But don’t worry. It’s endearing.”
“Do I still freak you out with my positivity?”
“A bit, yeah. But I know you better now, so I see more of your colors. And I think I’ve changed a lot since we first met too. I’ve eased up a bit on my inner bitch, don’t you think?”
“You were never a bitch, Calliope. You just know what you want, you go after it with the force of a Fukuiraptor, and for the most part, you don’t give a flying duck about what others think of you.”
“See? The most positive person on the planet. And props for your use of Fukuiraptor, but… ‘duck’? Come on, Mabel.”
“Sorry. You know I’m not comfortable with… language.”
I’m used to assessments like the one she just made.
The ones that say “Mabel is the nicest girl I’ve ever met.”
Or “Oh that Mabel. She has a kind word for everyone.”
“Having a bad day? Talk to Mabel. She’ll help you see the bright side of things.”
And my personal favorite, “Mabel is such a sweet girl. She’d never hurt a fly.”
That one is usually followed by raucous laughter because the person assumes they are the first clever one to ever make that pun. But I’ve heard it more times than I can count.
I used to take pride in assessments like these. But now—for some reason—I’m suddenly finding them inaccurate. And irritating.
“Mabes? You okay?”
“Why?”
“Well, you got a weird look on your face, you started breathing funny, and then you loosened your grip on the phone so much that I’ve been gifted with a direct view up your nose for the past fifteen seconds.”
“Sorry.” I grip the phone and lift it back up in line with my face. “I’m fine. Yeah.” I’m just realizing something. “Hey… how did you hear I got engaged?”
“Read about it in the newspaper.”
“In thenewspaper?” I screech.
“Yeah, it’s in yesterday’sIntelligencer. I have an online subscription.”
How was it in yesterday’s paper? He didn’t even propose until last night.
“Weird, I know.” Calliope continues, seeming embarrassed. “Sue me. I have a sick fascination with our hometown. I like to see who’s graduating, who got arrested, who’s getting married, who’s selling their house, who died. That sort of thing. Plus, it gives me story ideas.”
“But you write dinosaur romances,” I say.
“You bet your ass I do, but they’re set in modern times, and I always base them on bits of real life. So snooping on people helps! I’ve learned that dinosaur romances are more relatable to readers if I give the animals people personalities and human hobbies. Anthropomorphize them if you will.”
“Oh!” I say, a light bulb coming on. “The dinosaurs fall in love witheach other?”
