Page 25 of The Romance Rivalry

Twelve otp—one true pairing

I stand frozen in front of my roommate as I watch her wriggle and writhe back and forth, stomping her feet in some kind of

marching-band procession on her bed all while singsonging “It’s about time, it’s about time.” This has been going for the

past, oh, four minutes, ever since I spilled the beans that Aiden and I kissed. I’m sure it’ll end eventually, right? She

can’t go on like this forever, can she?

“And now Charles owes me twenty bucks because I told him it would happen before Parents Day. Hey—” She sits up and stares

at me as if only just now realizing I’m standing in the room with her. “Do you think you can have your dad tousle Aiden’s

hair and pat him on the back a few times and say ‘good man, good man’ to him? That’s our side bet, and Charles will have to

cough up fifty more.”

“Great, my roommate and her boyfriend are making bets on my love life,” I groan. I collapse onto my own bed.

“Well, the initial bet was to see who would win the trope competition. But when it became clear to both me and Charles that

you two were on a collision course to falling in love with each other and the competition would obviously end in a tie, we

had to come up with other things to bet on,” she admits.

“You two have an odd relationship,” I tease.

“No kidding. But it works for us.” Jeannette shrugs.

“I’d love to win you some extra cash, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to introduce Aiden to my parents, to be honest.”

“Why not? He’s great. They’ll love him.”

Will they? Yeah, I’m pretty sure they will. My mom would be gaga over his dimples and how cute he is. And the fact that he’s

a reader and a writer? Done deal. My dad would be impressed by his height and stature. And that he’s a “Brighton man.” Win-win. But I’m

not sure how Aiden would feel about meeting them, what with his strained relationship with his own parents. Maybe it would

be too raw.

And what if he doesn’t think we’re that serious? Are we serious enough? We’ve shared one kiss. And absolutely have not defined

the relationship. Without a DTR discussion, I don’t want to make any assumptions.

He could still think this is all fake.

While I’m here under the assumption that it’s turned very real.

“Isn’t it too soon?” I ask. “What if I try and introduce them and he thinks I’m totally overstepping and says, ‘It’s not like we’re getting married,’ and storms off??”

“Wow, you really just let yourself go to the ends of the spectrum of despair, don’t you? What other panicked thoughts are

going through that head of yours?” Jeannette throws her pillow in my direction, but I dodge it easily, then pick it up and

hug it to my chest.

“I don’t have experience with these kinds of things,” I admit, as if that weren’t obvious. “And I don’t trust it, for some

reason.”

“Why don’t you trust it? Do you not trust Aiden? Or do you not trust yourself??”

Why does she always ask the questions I don’t have answers for?

“You’re worthy to be loved, you know. You don’t have to impress anyone or worry that Aiden is gonna see the real you and not

want you anymore. He seems to like you for exactly who you are. He’s seen you with the biggest zit on your nose, doesn’t that

count for something?”

I try to laugh at that reminder of the most embarrassing moment of my life to date. But my head is still swirling with so

many thoughts and doubts.

“When you think about it, it’s weird, right? Aiden and I?” I ask.

“You want to know what I think?” Jeannette asks. “I think it couldn’t be any less weird, to be honest. It’s kind of a romance novel come to life. And isn’t that exactly what you wanted for yourself??”

“I don’t know. Now that I’m faced with the possibility and I actually have feelings involved, I’m not sure what I’m doing.

And what trope are we, even? I should figure that out so I can really make a plan on how to move forward. Are we enemies-to-lovers?

You know how much I hate that trope.”

I’ve always believed that anything I needed to know about life, I could find in a romance novel. And now, when the one thing

I really want to know about is a real romance itself, I can’t seem to find the answers at all.

Jeannette walks over to her desk, opens the top drawer, and pulls out one of her notebooks. She flips a couple pages and brings

it over to show me. She takes a seat next to me and wraps her arm around my shoulder.

Written in her perfect handwriting is a list. Of tropes. But not the tropes I chose for my challenge with Aiden.

Rivals-to-lovers.

Mutual pining.

Fated mates.

Friends-to-lovers.

The list has at least twenty different tropes.

“What is this list?” I ask her.

Her smile is wide, her entire body buzzing with an energy I don’t understand. I’m missing something.

“I’ve been keeping a list of tropes that you and Aiden do fall under. It keeps getting longer and longer, just so you know. I guess when you start experiencing real love, the entire

thing opens up to lots of possibilities. But you know what I was thinking, Irene? Even if you two didn’t fit any tropes, you

fit each other. And that’s what’s most important. Don’t overthink it. Forget the plan. Forget the romance rule book. Just...

go for it.”

I think about Aiden and how he makes me laugh, makes me see things and think about them differently, makes me feel things

I’ve never felt for anyone before. I’m someone in his eyes. I’ve got main-character energy when I’m around him.

I pat my adorable fae queen roommate on the top of her glorious red hair.

“You know what, bestie? You’re right. I might not have seen this coming, but I’m not gonna let it pass me by,” I say. “I’m

allowing myself to see where this leads with Aiden.”

I let out an errant squeal, unable to hold in my excitement laced with confusing emotions and a tiny sprinkle of abject horror.

Jeannette wraps her arms around me and squeezes tight. “It’s really happening. It’s what you’ve always wanted. You’re falling

in love,” she says.

It’s really happening, I tell myself. It’s what I’ve always wanted. I guess I’m finally falling in love.

And everything about it scares me shitless.

My phone buzzes on my desk and I run to pick it up. On the screen, half of two faces pop up, my mom’s on the left side and my dad’s on the right side.

“Irene, can you see us? Irene?”

“Yes, I’m here. Hi, I can see you. Can you see me? Can you hear me?”

Jeannette giggles from her side of the room. “I’m gonna go down to the deli to get some snacks. Be back in a few,” she whispers.

I appreciate her giving me some privacy to FaceTime with my folks. But knowing my parents, they’ll be screaming so loud into

the phone, she’ll still be able to hear us from two floors down.

“You look tired, honey. Are you not sleeping enough?” my mom asks. “I’ll bring you some eye cream when I come. You need to

wear eye cream, even when you’re young.”

“Yeobo, it’s college. She’s probably up late studying. That’s a good thing,” my dad says. He looks back into the screen at

me. “Yes, Irene, you stay up as long as you need to for studying. But use your mom’s eye cream, too.”

I appreciate that he suspects I’d be up studying instead of partying. Sadly, I haven’t been doing much of either. In fact,

I was going to spend the night trying to finish the new book I’ve been reading so I’ll have a quick video to post tomorrow.

Once that’s off my plate, I can focus on getting some much needed studying in.

“Don’t worry. Everything’s going well over here. How are you guys? How’s Cyb and Eug?”

“Good, good, everyone is the same here. Eugene won a big tournament in Ojai last weekend so he should be ranked in the top

two by end of year. If he wins in Sedona, he’ll be number one for sure,” Dad tells me.

“That’s amazing. I’ll send him a text later to congratulate him.”

“Don’t forget. He loves getting your messages,” Mom says.

My heartstrings tug a bit thinking of my little brother at home without me. He’s a good kid. I need to remember to reach out

more just to check in.

“And we also got some great news for Cybil, too. She landed a new campaign for the Innisfree green tea sunscreen. It’s supposed

to be a virus, so you’ll probably see her when you’re on the internet,” Mom says.

“Viral, Mom. The campaign will be viral, not a virus. Those are two different things,” I explain. Though the thought of Cybil

with a virus is hilarious.

She waves her hand, shooing off the details. She thinks everything that happens behind my computer screen is all one thing

called “The Internet” and that I am the one who dabbles in it. It’s good news hearing wins for my siblings. My parents beam

with pride.

And now they wait. Wait for something, anything, from my end.

But I don’t have anything, not yet, and possibly not at all. At least not from SKCupid like I’d hoped. And whenever I try to explain to them the things that occupy my time, they just don’t get it.

“Are your classes going well? Tell us everything. Are you enjoying the college experience?” Dad waits for me to pepper in

as much Brighton lore as I can so he can jump in and add his own memories to the mix.

“Are you cold at night?” Mom asks. “Should I bring you an extra blanket, an electric one, maybe, when we come up this weekend

for Parents Day?”

“Mom, it’s next weekend. Please make sure you have it right on the calendar. Next weekend. And no need for an extra blanket.

I’m fine, I promise.”

They wait. They smile. They worry behind their eyes.

“Well.” I take the plunge off the deep end. No going back. “My Intro to Lit class is incredible. You were right, Mom. Once

I got into the mindset of editing, reading books really changed for me. And Dad, I can hardly believe how talented the staff

is here at Brighton. I feel like my professors make it so easy to learn and expand my mind.” Okay, so I’m laying it on a little

thick, but I panicked.

I also feel a bit nauseous from the lies. Because if anything, my classes are possibly the worst part about this whole experience

to date. But I’m their first and only kid in college. I’m certainly smart enough to master it all, right?

I had one job, in their minds, one role to play in this family, and I’m blowing it.

“So, I should get back to studying. Thanks for calling. I’ll see you next weekend. Remember, next weekend! I can’t wait.”

“Irene, wait, there’s one more thing we want to talk to you about.”

I freeze in place, my goodbye smile already plastered on my face.

“Mrs. Kim from the H Mart told us at church last week that her daughter has been watching your videos on the internet. She

said some very nice things. But I was confused because her daughter mentioned how it’s fun seeing you filming now from your

college dorm room,” Mom says. No accusation yet, but the facts have been laid out there.

I swallow and try to think of how to respond.

“I thought we agreed that you’d stop spending so much time posting videos and book stuff once you got to school and had more

important responsibilities and pressure for your time.” Dad, coming in with the knockout punch.

I want to tell them that we did not agree to that. I want to remind them that this was something they said to me and not something I said back to them.

They still don’t get it. They still don’t see what I do as something valuable or worth prioritizing. As something to celebrate

and brag about to others. And it’s not only frustrating, it also hurts.

But I don’t say any of that. Because they won’t understand. And I don’t want to disappoint them.

“You guys don’t need to worry. I know what’s important and how to prioritize my time and efforts. I’m your first kid in college,

remember? No way I’m gonna mess up this opportunity to study and become an editor.” It’s like I’m reciting words I’ve memorized

for occasions such as this. In fact, I’m certain I’ve used those exact lines in some form before.

“We’re not worried, honey. We know you’ll be responsible and do well,” my mom says. Her voice is kind and assured. My insides

turn.

“Good, good. Well, Irene, we are so excited for Parents Day and coming up to see you, to meet your professors, to interact

with other parents. We’ll leave extra early to avoid traffic. And don’t forget that we want to buy Brighton hoodies for everyone

in the family,” Dad says.

“I won’t. Call me when you guys get close next weekend. I’ll see you then.” I wave at the screen and cut off my parents who

are both trying to figure out which button to press to end the call. Their faces disappear, just the afterimage left in my

brain. Happy. Proud. Totally deceived.

I fall back on my bed, playing back all the life choices that have led me to this impossible situation. Why can’t I just talk

to my parents and be honest with them?

Just thinking it silently in my brain makes me shiver. If I can’t handle trying to imagine it, how will I ever really do it?

I jump as my phone buzzes with a new message.

Aiden: wanna make out? ?

I didn’t know it, but he’s exactly who I need right now. Someone to bring me back to my happy place. Someone who I don’t even

need to discuss this with, but who understands how important what I do online is to me. His message just saved me from the

rabbit hole of despair I was about to go down.

I hug my phone and let out a squeal before typing my reply. Because, duh, I absolutely want to make out.

Irene: sorry, I’m currently busy playing hard to get with my biology textbook. But who are we kidding, I have it bad for digestive

systems.

Aiden: Ooh... talk dirty to me. Can I watch?

I laugh, and my insides tingle at our easy banter.

Irene: I love an audience.

I don’t get an immediate response. I don’t even see three dots. I wait. My mind does not like this. I was too forward. Too

flirty. I turned him off. He’s disgusted. He changed his mind.

I pull my pillow over my head and scream.

Do I keep waiting? Or can I send him another text? Maybe I just message him but remove the innuendo. I start. I stop. I backspace.

I start again.

Irene: Jeannette and I are both studying. She’s getting snacks. Wanna come by?

It’s a tiny lie, but I could and should be studying. Maybe Aiden will be just the inspiration I need to start.

Aiden: On my way... do I need to put on pants? j/k.

Aiden: I was actually overeager. I’m already downstairs.

I hold my phone to my heart, smiling wide. A memory of soft but firm lips, harsh breaths, tongues clashing crosses my mind.

Inspiration? More like a very fun distraction.

And I don’t let myself think about how another distraction is the last thing I need right now.