How to be Forever Alone [#Wattys2020]

1.

What if I told you that I have a secret. A big freaking secret, I might add. At least it is to me...

...I've never been in love.

Now I know what you're saying, "What do you mean you've never been in love?!". Really, I've never even had the courage to feel that way about someone.

The one time I thought I might give it a try, I ran out of the classroom door before I even opened my mouth. It was a total disaster.

But you have to understand, I want to be. Everyone around me has felt this magical feeling they all describe. That warm light glow that rises from the bottom of your stomach all the way to the top of your head. To me, it sounds more like they just went over a small hill too fast in their car. But,  yeah, I want to experience that.

My senior year at Westwood high came and went, and all the opportunities sort of just vanished. Everyone moved away over the summer and I was kind of just all alone.

My friend Karmen left for Toronto. Chase, my best friend, went to Sudbury. And I'm stuck here in Ottawa. Gloomy old Ottawa.

"Claire Popper Paisley, get your pouting bottom down here!" I hear my mom call from downstairs.

"Coming!" I respond back.

I close my laptop and rush out of my room and down the stairs to see what my mom's complaining about.

She's got the front door wide open and I see her out in the driveway, opening the trunk of our unexciting mini-van. I take a few steps outside.

"What are you doing?" I ask her, confused.

She looks up at me and scrunches her eyebrows, "What do you think? I need your help getting this new armchair out of the trunk."

"Can't you get help from Rick, from across the road? I feel that he would be more qualified for this job." I tell her.

Her hand drops to her thigh, she's clearly frustrated with me, "No! Now get over here."

"Fine." I roll my eyes.

I quickly run back inside and slip on a pair of shoes, before running back outside to help her.

Slowly and unconventionally, we get the chair out from the back. My mom carried the front and I the back. The whole way up the three steps of our small front porch, my mom is pretty much a backseat driver more concerned with the well being of the chair than mine.

"Be careful, it's an antique," she says as we make our way through the front door.

I huff and continue as she says.

Finally, we drop it in the corner of our cream coloured living room. It blended in with every other cream coloured thing that you could find in the room, which was almost everything.

My mom isn't bold and never has been. If you took a look around our house, you would understand. Every single room has its own monochromatic theme. The kitchen is green, the bathroom blue and her bedroom brown. My room is almost a rainbow compared to my mother's muted tones.

"What do you think Flint is going to think of this?" I ask.

"He's going to love it, sweetheart," she says.

Of course, he will, and secretly he won't tell her that he doesn't.

Flint is my older brother. He moved out when he decided to go to Ottawa U. Said that we were cramping his style. I'm not surprised. I would do the same, but I haven't gotten enough hours at the bakery to be able to save up for an apartment.