“Their eyes locked, and the sun shone through the clouds...”

The best part about having a physical book to read would’ve been slamming it shut with the force it deserved.

Liv settled for retching dramatically, shoving her finger down her throat for extra effect as she switched off her phone. She smirked to the empty spot on the bench next to her, as if there were anyone around to witness her review. Still, it made her feel better that her point had been made, if only to herself.

Things don’t work that way! How do people read this stuff?

Pulling her hood strings tighter, she got up with a sigh, fully aware of the irony while she loped out from under the bench’s covering and through the empty park. It was almost always empty at this time of day, probably because it was almost always raining and everyone was almost always at work now anyway.

Her tele-therapist had suggested taking her lunches somewhere outside of her living room. If she was tired of being alone, wouldn’t the odds of remedying that situation increase just a tiny bit if she went somewhere that had more people than just her?

Liv had reluctantly agreed that made a certain amount of sense. So she’d been trying it. Well, not the lunch part. Nobody she wanted to meet would want to see her shotgun a sandwich.

Instead, she’d been making the short trek from her apartment to the park, spending her “lunch break” reading ridiculous romance stories where everyone was just a victim of circumstance or a vengeful ex and ended up happily ever after.

Because that’s toootally how it works. Hardened ice queens are thawed out by sensitive hotties and lonely, broken boys are healed by prostitutes with hearts of gold alllll the time.

Where were the romances for people who just...

What? Have given up? Yeah, weird nobody writes stories about middle-aged lesbians who wear old hoodies and have a messy living room because there’s no danger of anyone ever seeing it. Well, okay, NEARING middle age. Hey, who said it had to be about me anyway??

She snorted, opening the door to her apartment and logging in for the afternoon Teams meeting. Everybody else on her team, scattered across the globe, had better-looking studies or bedrooms or living rooms — whatever professional-looking environments were in back of them. They all even looked like they showered every day.

Who are you trying to impress, huh? Your friends and family?

She snorted again. Her therapist said her sense of humor was a good coping mechanism ... but the fact she recognized exactly what she was doing wrong and hadn’t done anything about it ... well, if she were perfect, she wouldn’t need therapy, right?

The rest of the team dinged in, seemingly chipper and eager to discuss the riveting assignments that made them all glad to have gotten into editing technical documents for appliance manufacturers. It was a tough job, but...

Okay, no, it’s not a tough job and actually no, literally no one has to do it.

But it was a job that existed, paid well enough, offered health insurance, and let her work from home with flexible hours that accommodated her inconsistent sleep schedule.

Michel held up his cat, Louis Pasteur, to the camera. She wasn’t allowed to have pets at her apartment, so easily the best part of every day was getting to see her coworkers’ furry friends. Almost good enough to make it worth having to interact with her coworkers.

Liv had no interest in pretending to be friendly with the other members of her team. But their pets? Ugh. She did always have a smile for Louis Pasteur.

Who wouldn’t??

It was frequently the only smile she’d have all day.

“Their eyes locked, and the sun shone through the clouds...”

Okay, fine, that wasn’t what it said this time. But at this point, all these stories seemed the same, so it might as well have.

Oh no, girl is lonely. Oh no, boy needs someone to fix him. Oh no, they’re both really good looking, at least to each other. What EVER shall they do??

They always had interesting jobs in those stories. A cowboy. A high-powered corporate executive. A nightclub DJ.

How come nobody’s ever like, a Walmart greeter? I see them with wives and husbands. How the fuck does that happen? THAT I’d like to read about. I feel like somebody who can fall in love with a Walmart greeter could fall in love with me.

She knew that probably wasn’t even true, though.

People who fall in love with Walmart greeters aren’t that snooty. Even in their heads. As soon as I opened my mouth they’d start running the other direction.

Where was she supposed to meet someone who wouldn’t feel weighed down by how dull and unexciting she was — by what a general bummer she was? Where could she find someone like her?

If she’s like me, she’s probably in her living room, wondering the same thing and doing nothing about it.

Liv sighed, putting her phone down. Across the little park, passers-by occasionally flashed past on the sidewalk outside, under their umbrellas.

There was always a light rain here, so an umbrella got plenty of opportunities to say something about the person holding it. The blonde with the pastel polka-dot one was probably more fun than Liv had ever been. Didn’t matter she was on the chubby side. Liv could see from here the woman had more confidence in one ample ankle than Liv had in her whole bony body.