Kissing Is the Easy Part

Chapter 49 The nail polish

Flora

Sean Sean Sean Sean Sean Sean.

This was what went through my head every morning upon waking up. I wished I could wear him like the embroidery on my shirt collar or attach him to my hair like a bobby pin, so that he was with me at all times.

The first time we were together, we gave each other space. This time we neither needed it nor wanted it.

Sean had been ticking off all the boxes in good boyfriend material checklist. If it was a job, he would've been promoted to the top already. The only complaint I used to have was that he was too reserved about his feelings, but once he uttered the L word, nothing held him back. I could feel his love for me rapidly sprouting, and it was like snapping a fiber in a pair of pantyhose. You know how pantyhoses are. They are relatively sturdy to start with, but once they're torn, the rips grow and the holes expand until it becomes impossible to mend them.

I did a bit of self-evaluation and decided that I needed more practice in becoming a better girlfriend. I knew I loved him but it only made me insane and needy, and the weird part was the more I was with him the more I wanted him. Despite all the good in Sean, he was like a really bad habit that kept me demanding for more, like drugs. After the initial high wears off, next time the dose needs to be doubled.

An obsession was beginning to form. It was still vague now, but given enough time, water can cut through a rock and, as Sean said, mineral drips can build into a stalactite.

Sandra was the one who pointed it out first. We were hanging out one late afternoon when she piped up.

"Let's play a game," she said. "The person who mentions the name Sean first loses and has to buy everyone caramel macchiatos."

Carmen and Janet didn't comment, but they had this look on their faces that said, finally someone spoke up.

"I don't talk about him that much." I pouted. "Besides, I've been buying everyone drinks for the past three years."

"You talk about him more than a religious fanatic talks about God," Sandra said, and as if thinking that wasn't harsh enough, she added, "You're starting to get on my nerves."

I shut up but I fumed inside. What were best friends for if they couldn't be there when I felt the need to gush? Fine, lately this need was consuming me as a whole, but I had been very supportive whenever my friends talked about their significant others (or in Carmen's case, the lack thereof).

I sat in my room one night going through my shoe collection as Sandra's words attacked again. Now that I took a moment to consider it, perhaps they hadn't been gushing nonstop like I did. Then again, that's the rule of life. Less coverage time was warranted for less fabulous boyfriends.

Sean was gone for a basketball game after successfully peeling himself away from me, and as cheerleaders we only attended the home games. It was a week night, and as usual most of my girlfriends weren't allowed to stay out late. When a situation like this arose I usually called up someone like Raymond, who was as free as a cheetah in the savannah since his parents didn't care about his whereabouts.

But that was before Sean, of course.

I rearranged my closet and tried on a few items. Posted a new entry in my style blog. Learned a few new tricks about styling my hair off YouTube and did a braid crown that made me look like a medieval bride, then I loosen it and redid a side fishtail braid.

Better.

The phone rang just when I was about to shrivel up and die with boredom.

"Whatcha doin'?" Raymond sang into the phone.