Fake It List

Two

Technically, she'd accomplished rule three by heading home for her birthday. As she walked up the path to the converted mansion where she rented an apartment, the front door opened. There were four units in the house, two on the top and two on the bottom. With only four homes, the neighbours knew each other's basic statistics, but none of them hung out together or anything.

The woman from unit 4, Darcy, and daughter, Lexi, held hands. Reysha was ready to nod and wave—her standard greeting of choice, but Darcy's gaze caught hers, and Reysha's stomach sank.

Her neighbor's eyes darted right and left, then landed back on Reysha. "Sorry about ... about your day."

Reysha smiled too brightly, trying to tell herself it was great that people listened to the show. Meanwhile, her skin started to itch. "Thanks."

She didn't want to say anything more, so she headed for the stairs, let herself through the front entrance, and took the next set of stairs up to the top-right unit.

When she made it inside, she pushed the door closed with her foot and hung her keys on the hook. Leaning against the door, she thumped her head against it and didn't even care that it hurt. She stood, staring at what she could see of her apartment, and realized she didn't want to be in it right now. She also didn't want to go out. Normally, she loved coming home, but not once, not even when she'd broken the ice cream machine at the ice cream shop where she worked, had she been sent home.

Her house was clean—not obsessive clean, just comfortable and organized. She liked living alone and had always preferred to. But right now, coming home to an empty place in the middle of the day added to its dismalness.

"Rule three," she said out loud just to fill the silence. "Stay home on birthdays. Come on, Rey. You like following the rules."

She slipped off her Converse and headed for the kitchen. She could use the day to catch up on something. Maybe make a bunch of meals that she could put in the freezer and pull out each evening. That sounded like something someone in their thirties might do.

Opening the fridge, she grabbed a can of diet soda and cracked the top. Pulling a glass from the cupboard, she poured it in, watching the bubbles with more intensity than needed. After all, they'd pop whether she watched or not.

God. Sometimes, she annoyed herself. Being inside of her own brain reminded her of a hamster on a wheel, after he'd been given too much caffeine with a side of uppers. Round and round. One thought after another like a chain-smoker who lit the next cigarette with the one they were putting out. The thoughts collided into one another in passing until she physically felt the exhaustion creep into her head and her body. She took a sip of her soda. Maybe she should do something to turn the day around.

"Ha. How about unseeing Captain Jackass and his sidekick, Flexy Girl?" Being able to do that would be a definite mood changer.

Reysha pulled her phone out of her back pocket, entertaining the idea of calling her mom or dad to see if they wanted to grab lunch. She decided against it, not sure if she was up to the whirlwind that was her parents' relationship. Theirs was a back-and-forth that rivalled the Swift–Kardashian drama. Even on her best days, and theirs, Reysha's visits with them made her feel like she leaning too far over an edge with nothing to hang on to.

No lunch. Not with her parents, anyway. Her chaos limit was maxed out for the day. Instead, she grabbed a bag of pretzels from the pantry and took them and her soda to the living room and settled on the couch. She was content with her life. Her job. Her home and friends. There was nothing wrong with any of those things, and yet ... restlessness coursed through her veins. She hated the duality of her feelings. Wanting to do something but not go anywhere, wanting to see someone but not have to entertain.