Page 4 of Lovetown, USA

Lane

My stitches sting, especially when I type.

Dr. Fine as Hell didn’t mention that part.

Right now, I have a baggie full of ice sitting in my palm. When the concierge brought it to me, there was a small white card with hearts on it stapled to the outside. He held it out to me proudly and said, “Enjoy the love affirmation card,” like I was supposed to jump for joy.

I tossed that shit right in the garbage.

“So…the whole town is like this?”

I shake my head at my best friend Nadia. “Girl. It’s insane.”

“Wait. Okay. Back up.” My beautiful friend smiles into the camera as she flips her locs over her shoulder. “So, you sliced your hand open doing what, exactly?”

I blow out a sigh. “I tried to break into the mini bar.”

She bursts out laughing. “And you were already drunk? Bitch, why?”

“How many times do I have to tell you people that I HATE IT HERE!?!?!”

She laughs harder. “So, your first night there, you went full Coyote Ugly in them people’s jazz bar and you want me to believe you hate it?”

I shoot her a look I hope is clear through the phone screen. “I’ma gonna always be me no matter where I go,” I defend.

“And that’s why I love you, you hot ass mess.”

“Whatever.”

There’s movement as Nadia props her phone.

“Are you in the kitchen?” I say, squinting at the screen.

“Mm hm. Making a snack.”

I squint harder, then nod in recognition when I see an unfamiliar item in the background.

“Uh huh…whose wallet is that?”

She glances behind her, then laughs. “Miguel.”

“Okay, how many men are you juggling right now? You know I can’t keep up.”

“Three,” she answers. “But I’m trying to phase Amir out.”

“Amir…” I tap my chin, deep in thought. “Is he the one who said 9/11 was fake?”

“Mm hm. And the moon landing. And that hurricanes are man-made.”

“Dump him immediately, if not sooner.”

She laughs. “I’m not with him for his intellect.”

“Trust me, I know.”

Nadia dates like men do, and I’m not even mad at it. I aspire to it, actually. She’s part of the reason I’m so savage now, which makes what she says next even more shocking.

“Maybe I should move to Lovetown.”

I scrunch my face up. “You can’t be serious.”

“Maybe I am.”

“This place is unhinged. It’s…the gas station sells heart-shaped pizza, for fuck’s sake.”

She smiles whimsically, staring off into space like she’s picturing it. “That actually sounds adorable.”

“Bitch, it’s not! I’m stuck in a fucking Hallmark movie.”

She shrugs. “Maybe that’s exactly where you need to be.”

I narrow my eyes at my best friend. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe the universe dropped you into Cupid’s butt hole on purpose.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t need love, Nadia. I need to get my damn life back.”

“Well, I think you need therapy, but we’ve talked about that.”

I hold up my middle finger.

“You’re stubborn. You’re emotionally unavailable—“

“Wouldn’t you be?” I challenge.

“You’re independent,” she continues. “And you’re a little crazy.

But you’re also smart, and beautiful, and fine as fuck.

And I feel like you deserve love, even if you’re pretending you don’t want it.

So, I’m choosing to believe this is a karmic intervention.

Girl, even the universe is sick of your shit. ”

I chuckle at that. “I’m not joining the love cult. It would be different if I just happened to meet a man in the wild. This shit here is too choreographed. That’s not how love works.”

“Whatever.” She lifts a spoon of something to her mouth to taste. “Needs salt. Alright, let me go feed this negro and get him the hell out my house. But I need one thing from you.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll keep an open mind out there. I really want you to enjoy the full experience no matter what happens.”

I twist my lips in irritation. “And what does that look like to you?”

“Don’t fight it. Just go with it. Say yes to things. Live in every corny moment. Don’t be…you know… you .”

“Ugh. You’re annoying.”

She smiles. “Say it.”

“Fine. I promise I’ll keep an open mind.”

“Good. Love you bestie!”

“Mm hm, love you too.”

We sign off, and I close my laptop and flop backwards on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

Of course my best friend, the eternal optimist, would force me into a deal like this. Of course she’d make the erroneous, unsupported assumption that there’s any fun to be had in this place.

There’s nothing here but fraud.

I just have to prove it.

My hand stings, which makes me think about the doctor.

Dr. Montgomery.

I wonder if I should call the office, then I remind myself there’s nothing actually wrong with me. Nothing he can fix, anyway. I just have to wait it out. Healing occurs on its own schedule.

I know that better than anybody.

He looked so good in that white coat, though. Goodness. So confident. Those broad shoulders. That clean fade. A voice like warm caramel drizzling all over me.

But fuck him. I gave his ass an opening and he didn’t bother to pass Go. Just dismissed me from the office like I was nothing to him.

Whatever.

It’s not like I want to date a sexy, intelligent doctor anyway.

My phone buzzes, and I hope it’s him.

Which, I know, makes zero sense.

Oh.

Great.

It’s Britt.

“Hi, Britt. How are you?” I say with the enthusiasm of a woman who's walking into an exam room to get a pap smear.

“Hey!” she says brightly. “I just finished reading your notes and draft.”

I brace myself.

“I talked to the team. We all love it.”

I sit up. “Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I mean…” I trail off, not ready to admit I’ve gone rogue on the theme of the piece.

“You’re capturing the town’s vibe perfectly. It’s quirky and offbeat and very clickable.”

I nod even though she can’t see me.

Then she clears her throat.

And I brace myself.

“We were thinking…we’d like to make it a series. Weekly. Serialized. Real-time.”

I close my eyes. “You mean like a running column?”

“Exactly. A first-person account. A jaded, almost forty-year-old single woman embedded and dating in America’s most romantic town.”

I stare at the melting ice in my hand like it might have a better idea.

“You want me to date?”

“Well, when in Rome,” she breezes. “Lean in. Look for love. Maybe even find it.”

“Britt, when you were using all those adjectives…and thanks for the almost forty, by the way.”

“Sorry.”

“Mm hm. When you were listing all those adjectives, you forgot Black .”

“What does that have to do with—“

“Everything,” I say. “Do you not remember the trend a few years ago? When the media was obsessed with black women’s marriage rates?”

“I do…” she says slowly.

I wait a beat. “Do you not see where I’m going with this?”

She blows out a sigh. “I’m not saying you have to get married. All I’m saying is we want you to treat this like an ethnography. Get your ass in there! Get off the bench!”

I’m quiet for a long time. Like, Sunday at church long.

“Got it,” I finally say. “I will get out there and do as the Romans do.”

Britt squeals. “This is going to be so good. I’m scheduling a photographer for headshots and a few snaps of you out and about. We’ll launch next week and go from there.”

“Cool.”

“In the meantime, keep sending your notes.”

“Britt…be honest with me, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Will this…” I shake my head, closing my eyes as I ready myself to hear the answer I know is coming. “Will this help?”

Now, she’s quiet.

My heart pounds. My breathing turns shallow. Even though I know what she’s gonna say, because she says it every time, I still get anxious.

“I don’t know.”

Once again, I bristle at her honesty.

“But it definitely can’t hurt.”