Eternal Ephemerals

Calendar friends

When Izabelle first moved in with Natalie, she thought her new roommate was absolutely insane. The good kind of insane, maybe—the kind you watch from a distance with a mix of fascination and bewilderment. Natalie was always busy, always buzzing with something, her laughter echoing down the hallway at odd hours, her phone seemingly glued to her ear.

At first, Izabelle assumed Natalie had a boyfriend. It was the easiest explanation. She'd overhear her talking softly late at night through the thin walls of their shared apartment—teasing sometimes, comforting at other times, or rambling on about something from her day. It sounded like the kind of conversations someone would have with a partner.

But then Izabelle noticed something odd.

Natalie had a massive calendar on her desk—a sprawling, color-coded monstrosity of sticky notes and scribbles. Monday was green, Tuesday was blue, Wednesday was red. Each day of the week had a different name written in Natalie's rounded handwriting. And each night, without fail, Natalie would settle on the couch or curl up in bed, headphones in, talking to whoever was on the schedule for that day.

Izabelle couldn't help but think it was strange. And the curiosity gnawed at her until one night, she couldn't hold it in anymore.

Natalie was sprawled on the floor, her back leaning against the coffee table, flipping through a magazine while her phone rested beside her. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, and there was a half-empty cup of tea cooling nearby. Izabelle hesitated at first, but then she crossed her arms and decided to just ask.

"Hey, Nat," Izabelle began, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Are you... like, in an open relationship or something?"

Natalie blinked, glancing up from her magazine, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"You know," Izabelle gestured at the phone, and then toward the calendar on Natalie's desk. "Are you seeing multiple people? You've got this... whole rotation going on. I mean, you spend hours talking to all these people. I thought it was one guy, but it's clearly more than that. What's going on?"

For a second, Natalie just stared at her. Then, she burst into laughter—full-bodied, can't-catch-your-breath kind of laughter. Izabelle stood there awkwardly, watching her roommate nearly double over, tears of amusement in her eyes.

When Natalie finally calmed down, she wiped her face with the back of her hand and shook her head, still chuckling softly. "Oh my God, no," she said, grinning. "I'm not, like, multi-dating people. Those are just my friends. Some of them are even girls, for God's sake."

Izabelle frowned, still confused. "Okay... but why the calendar? And why every single night?"

Natalie shrugged, her smile softening a little. "I don't really know how it started, honestly. People just... talk to me. I don't know why, but I always end up becoming the go-to for everyone I meet. It's like I'm a magnet for their problems or something."

Izabelle didn't understand it, and she wasn't sure she ever would. But she couldn't shake the thought, so she pressed on. "Yeah, but... don't you think you should ask them if they expect more? I mean, if I think it's a rotation of lovers, maybe they're thinking the same thing? Like, maybe they're getting the wrong idea."

Natalie smiled again, but this time it was softer, almost wistful. She set her magazine down and straightened up, looking more thoughtful than amused now. "I think about that sometimes," she admitted. "But honestly? I think they know. I'm not leading anyone on. I care about them—deeply, but not romantically. They come to me with their problems, and I'm just... there. I think they understand that."

Izabelle still wasn't convinced. "Doesn't it get exhausting?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Don't you ever need a break from everyone's problems?"

Natalie let out a long breath, her laughter fading into something softer, almost a sigh. "Of course it does," she said quietly. "There are days when I want to turn my phone off and disappear into a cave somewhere. But these are my friends. And it's not one-sided. When I need them, they're there for me, too. It's just... how I maintain my friendships. I don't like losing people. And if a few hours on the phone each week keeps them in my life, I'm okay with that."

Izabelle nodded slowly, though she still didn't fully understand. Natalie lived in a way that felt foreign to her. Izabelle had friends, of course, but she didn't schedule time for them like Natalie did. Weeks, even months, could go by without her checking in on anyone, and she figured that was just fine. But Natalie was different. She seemed to nurture her relationships like they were living things, constantly tending to them, watering them, making sure nothing was left to wither.

Over time, Izabelle started to see it differently. It wasn't that Natalie was leading anyone on, and it wasn't that her friends expected something more from her. Natalie just... loved people. Fiercely. She was the kind of person who understood that people needed to feel connected, and she wasn't afraid to be the one they turned to when they needed someone to listen. It was like she had accepted that role, and in a way, it seemed like she thrived on it.

There was something scary about that, Izabelle thought. How open Natalie was, how willing she was to carry other people's weight.

But there was also something enviable about it.

Natalie had built a kind of network around herself, a web of people who all knew, without a doubt, that she was there for them. And because of that, they'd be there for her too. It was messy, sure. Chaotic, even. But it worked for her. There was something undeniably beautiful about how Natalie poured herself into these relationships, how she kept them alive through the small, consistent effort of checking in, listening, being present.

Izabelle knew she couldn't live that way. It wasn't in her nature to schedule phone calls and keep up with everyone all the time. She didn't need to hear from her friends every week, didn't need to be the sounding board for everyone's problems. And yet... there was a part of her that admired Natalie for it. Maybe even envied her for it.

So now, when Izabelle heard Natalie's laughter echoing through the apartment late at night, or caught snippets of conversations through the walls—teasing, comforting, debating something philosophical—she didn't feel the need to ask about it anymore. She didn't roll her eyes the way she used to. She just accepted it as part of who Natalie was.

Natalie, who would give just a little more of herself than most people ever would.

And maybe, Izabelle thought, there was something wonderful in that.