To Be Loved By You

I'm so baked. No, I'm not referring to literal baking like they bake bread and cake. I'm referring to me, a female who's in the process of getting an unwanted natural tan. I mean, there's all those fake tanning sprays I can use, why will I go through the hassle of getting a natural tan? Well, see it through my lens: Hot summer, fresh out of college, ready to take the world by complete storm.

It is only right that I lounge under the sun on my balcony simply because I can. My plan for life after college simmers in my head: Simply take the world by storm. After all, they name those nasty, mass destructive hurricanes people names, why wouldn't they name a storm after me? There's this thing they say about pretty blondes. They say we're dumb. I should know better. I should say better. I should defend myself and act all smart and cool, but I don't have the strength for all that.

Everything is soft where I come from. My bed is soft. The cash is soft. Even my family is soft. Call me a dumb blonde but I've got the money to get away with being dumb and you get nothing but your bitter self to live with forever. I want to jump off my balcony and scream,

"I'm outta college, bitches."

Maybe I should jump off with my birthday suit. No. It's not that hot. I mean, I'm hot. The weather's just not that hot to resort to such extravaganza. Soon, I'll be back home with them parents and my elder brother. Don't need no headline to ruin my return.

I intend to surprise the whole lot of them by entering in incognito. Well, except my brother who I told about my return weeks ago. I cannot keep a secret from him, Lord knows. Then I remember the fucking appointment. Then I scream. And stand.

And go all high and fly and confused. My apartment is empty. I had a constant roommate once, but she went packing soon as I started the wild parties. Now, I have an on and off model who rents the room when she has a shoot holding close by.

She's not around today. She hasn't been around all through summer. She's going to miss me, I bet. I planned to do all these wild things. I planned so many things, especially today. But, as usual, they all formed and ended in my head. I can still salvage today. It's still early in the afternoon. Except, I'm supposed to be somewhere else right now and that might take up by whole day.

The rings!

I'm supposed to go pick up the rings in town. I pick up my keys, spritz my edges with water, spray my expensive perfume and run out. When I'm halfway to my car, I do a 360 and pause as I look at my feet.

Shoes.

I didn't wear shoes. I face palm and head back to the elevator. It's held up. I move towards the stairs and make a run for it. Back in my apartment, back in my room. Then down back those spiraling stairs because, somehow, I forgot to take the elevator.

This is where I pull out my phone, take a selfie, caption it: fuck my life and post on my Snapchat story. This where I do it, and get numerous comments that read: aww, you're so real. aww, you look damn pretty sweaty and all. aww, I love those dark roots. You got then highlighted again? I refrain from doing it.

Not in the mood. I need to get those rings or I'll spend my day and the next sulking that I didn't get it. The rings are more beautiful as I hold them in my hand. They fit perfectly. I just hope it fits him. I know, I know.

Who are the rings for? Pretty serious question. Pretty serious answer should be given in return. But, no, I'll go down a lane I want to go down. I own this story. I bought this ring to propose to my childhood sweetheart. Unconventional, yes.

But, I'm a woman now. I can make my own decisions, unconventional or not. And I choose to go down on one knee, or two if it's required and ask the beautiful man I have loved since I could define love to marry me. There's a lot I want to say. And there's a lot I want to do also, but I have to restrain myself.

Tomorrow, I'll be going back home. And instead of going to my family's house, I'll go to his office first. Facebook is a very effective tool. I don't know why nobody talks about it s much anymore. Instagram is more techy, more modelly.

But, Facebook is the original tracker. If you want to know what a person was like in high school, you will find a truckload of pictures to show you their life and how they navigated through drugs, not to talk of all the embarrassing pictures they took while they were small.

I make a stop at Starbucks. I have this barrister who works there. A pretty brunette guy I've talked to ever since my freshman year. He's right where he always is as I walk in and thank the heavens or the sun or the moon or even astrology, he sees me as I enter. I'm just in time for his lunch break.

He winks at me and comes over and I fine myself thinking, My God, I'll miss this guy. I'll miss his wink. I'll miss this city. I'll miss the coffee and the exams and the parties and that stupid period in freshman year when I wanted to join a girl's sorority so bad.

"Hey, my Rella."

He makes to ruffle my hair and I dodged. He tries one more time when I don't see him coming and he gets me. I pout and stare at him.

"What the heck, you douchebag."

"I'm pretty sure you've forgotten my name already. That insult cannot have come from your heart."

"My heart?" I fake gasp.

"But, I do not have a heart." I touch my chest for emphasis.

He bends over laughing. The coffee he drops in the table is instantly in my hands as I nurse the hot, addictive liquid. Another thing to miss: His coffee.

"What are you going to do without me and my coffee when you go back home?" A wry smile forms on my lips.

"I'll ask you to mail some once in two weeks." He fake gasps.

"Just once in two weeks?"

"No shitting." He clicks his tongue.

"No kidding. What's this shitting that has left that pretty mouth of yours?"

I sit still, not talking. Not replying him, just soaking in the people, the sun as it wafts in through the glass door and the window. We're silent for so long I can hear too many other things: like the discreet spraying of perfume by the lady at the booth right at the edge.

Like the sipping of her coffee right till the last drop by the other lady beside us. Like the striking of a MacBook by the man in the beanie and the glasses. And everything combusts and suddenly I want to look at Kiley appear before me.

I want to kneel as he looks lovingly at me, smirking like he deserves it all, saying, I will marry you. It's silly. It has always been silly but it has been my dream to propose to my husband since I was in Grade seven. Tomorrow, I'll be going back t-

"Rella, what's this I see peeping out of your bag?" He grabs her bag and opens it.

"Is that a ring?" He gasps. One of his endearing fake gasps.

"Are you going to propose to a guy? I knew you were a weird one!"

I bend, allowing my blond curls to cover my face. He's embarrassing. A few customers have glanced our way already and he doesn't seem to be reducing his voice.

His manager comes around to our table to remind him that his lunchtime break is over, saving me from further embarrassment. I want to hug the grumpy man and smear my lipstick on his face.

Instead, I pull the ring box from my friend and pull in him for an awkward hug over the table. He doesn't accept it. Instead, he stands and comes close to me, squeezing me tight.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Rella. Life's waiting for you. You can't wait for it. You're the storm." Our knuckles collide.

"I'm the storm."

As I walk out the door, I throw one last look at him but he's already attending to a customer. Just before I turn back, he lifts his head and winks. I smile and skip out the door to my car. My apartment is boring. It's bare and cold and lonely and I write a big note to my off and on roommate or rentee, telling her that once her rent is up, shell be vacating. Reminding her, really. I wonder if she'll miss me. Most of my things are in various boxes. But, I get to work with the rest anyway. I'm done. Finis. Now, it's time to make some money. Put it in the bag, zip it, sip it, and probably your the world, too.

I knew I'd be tired. Yet, here I am, dragging my feet and thinking to myself: Gosh, I'm so tired. My feet don't dance as I get to my hometown.

My skin doesn't sing as the less harsh sun shines on it. My sunglasses shield me from the world, creating a dark barrier and I suddenly feel like the main character of a romcom. Maybe a romance. I've never been good at comedy. I hail a taxi, getting in and muttering my house address like a zombie. After all these years of studying, it's still stuck in my head. Some of these things never go away. Like this love I feel for Kiley. When I get home, it's empty. "Hello," I greet the door. And the paint. And my big, empty room. It smells of strawberries and I can tell the housekeeper freshened it up for me.

I make a mental note to call my brother and tell him I've arrived. He'll be busy at the office. I put it off till later. He can wait. I'll see him more than normal until I start to tire, until I start to avoid him. It's normal. It's what siblings do. I open Kiley's Facebook as I lounge on my bed and scroll through. His office address is stuck to my head. I've sent numerous flowers. Anonymously, though, to him. I've done so many things to get him hyped for today.

Now, today is the day, and suddenly my heart feels like it's bursting at the seams, like it's so much that I cannot carry it in my chest, like it'll soon fall out. I must see him today. I must see him now. I stand before my full-length mirror, turn around to checkout my ass. On a scale of one to ten, it looks fine enough in this short summer body tight dress. My skin looks naturally tan. My face has minimal makeup and my shoes.

I went for comfort with them sneakers. Can't wear heels today. Maybe some other day. I'm tempted to, though. I'm seriously tempted to. I open one of my boxes and try to remember which one I put my shoes in, but I can't remember. Is it the red one or the pink one? I grab my pause and decide to head out like that, fluffing out my curls. Blonde girl bad Bitch mode activated, I'm going to get me a man for the summer.

I'm stupid, I know. I'm here at Kiley's office and I expect the secretary to know me. No appointment. Fuck, I don't have appointment with him. He's a big guy. He's a boss. He has a secretary and I can't enter without an appointment.

And what's with those fake nails she has on, though? What is she, a lion? She bends to get something under her desk and her breasts spill out. It irks me, all these for Kiley to see. Suddenly, I'm considering having that breast enlargement surgery that I've always wanted to get. To go from a cherry to a watermelon.

It'd shock the hell out of my parents, I know. But, it'd be from my Trust fund, so who cares?

"Can I speak to him?" I try one more time. Just call him and tell him it's Gabby" She shoots me a look that almost says she's seen and heard it all.

Maybe I am stupid. Other girls might have come here too, trying to see him without an appointment. I caress my phone case. Should I call my brother to get him to let this motherfucking woman get schooled? I get an idea. It's stupid, but it should work. As soon as the secretary turns away, I make a run for it, and head towards the hallway.

All the doors look identical. Which one is his door? She starts shouting at me. Trying to run, she trips and falls. Serves her right. Bitch in heels. Another bad bitch in comfortable sneakers. I was always going to win the battle of shoes going for practicality. Finally, I see a door towards the end, and taking a wild guess that it's his, I push it open. Cool air blasts my face, reminding me that I'm yet in another different territory. The only thing is that this territory is that of my Kiley. My purse is in my hand, my body is in my body. Don't ask me how or why or what.

I'm standing in front of Kiley and he looks way hotter than he looks in his Facebook pictures. I want to squeal and hug him. I feel like a little girl again, the girl he'd always called Gabby and some days, when he and my brother where being mischievous, Princess. I want to tell him I think he's hot, then go down on my knees and do the doable: ask him to spend the rest of his life with me.

"Gabby?" He beats me to it.

He speaks and stands, way taller than he looks in those damn pictures. What is he, like 6'3? I want to jump on him, but I steady myself to go through with this madness.

"I'm the anonymous woman. The one who's been sending you flowers and love notes."

"Gabby, you're-"

"Can you let me speak. I've not spoken to you in forever and I need to do this before I can breathe well in this place." I fall on one knee.

This is stupid. Then the other. So stupid. I'll regret this, I'm sure. Loud enough for him and any other person walking past his office to hear, I say,

"Kiley, I've known you since I was a toddler. I have loved you since I knew a word like love existed. I have adored you since I could speak like a regular teenager. Now, I want to take this bold step and ask you to be mine forever. Let us run away if you will. We can daily the seven seas together. Let us stay here if you will. We can rebuild an empire together. Our families joining together permanently. Let us be one. For love."

He's staring at me like I'm smoking hot. No. Like I'm going bunkers. I don't deter. I've already stooped low enough, so I continue, anyways.

"Kiley, will you take me as I am? Will you marry me?"

I deserve an applause. A standing ovation. I deserve to be told that I'd just performed a brilliant show, at least. But, all that meets me is silence. It's so thick that I'm so sure if I listen more closely I'll hear crickets singing in the distance. Two men wearing uniform bust into the room, cutting me shut, cutting my heart loose. The bitchy secretary called the security for me. And I didn't get a yes or no. Major fuck up on my part. Let the ground open and swallow me now, I'm ready to be taken by a storm instead of being the storm.