"Do you ever think about what we could be?"

She asks the question as she unsnaps her clutch. Reaching in, she pulls out a single menthol cigarette and an electronic one-touch lighter. I watch as she concentrates on setting fire to tobacco, clicking three times before the spark catches.

"My mom had a phase where she went through those lighters. Smoked the same menthols, too."

She rolls her eyes and closes her clutch. Subconsciously, I notice she crosses her legs, closing off herself, as well.

I can't help but chuckle.

"What's so funny, guy?" Her words are sharp daggers of smoke, and she's trying to cut me.

"You don't like being compared to my mother."

"I don't think any woman wants those dots connected by the man in her bed."

"To be fair, I'm in a chair."

"Don't be a smartass."

"Sorry, it's the default setting."

"Answer my question."

Instead, I watch her dump ashes into a nearly empty can of Tab. I hear the sizzle, and I can't help a grin that sneaks back across my face. "I didn't think they still made that shit," I gesture to her improvised ashtray.

"It is hard to find."

"I remember the first time I had that stuff."

"Is this where you tell me again how I remind you of your mom?"

I laugh out loud. "No, this time it's the grandmother. She bought some in an effort to get me to switch from sugary colas. My grandfather always had real Coke in the bottles. He bought it that way up until he died. Claimed it tasted better that way. I never had much of an opinion on that subject, but the bottles did actually stay colder longer than the cans."

"Cute story. Why are you ignoring my question?"

"I'm not ignoring it, I just haven't yet answered it."

I look around her room. It's tastefully decorated, in an almost whimsical combination of vintage and modern. Her artwork is a mix of thrift-store finds and some of the furniture is Ikea; there's a framed movie poster for a classic Hepburn film next to a signed Broadway playbill for a show I've never seen. A waterfall dresser, complete with mirror and bench, takes me back to the Kennedy administration while I sit in a sleek Swedish chair that barely holds me. At least her bed is sturdy.

One thing I like about this bungalow: the ship-lap walls and hardwood floors are all pre-war original, and they make for very, very nice echoes when things get exciting.

I sigh. Her eyes narrow at me through another exhaled cloud, and I'm reminded of a cartoon dragon regarding an intruding knight in shining. Before she can decide to burn me to ash, I speak.

"The only moments we really have are the ones we live now. Yesterdays fade and tomorrow is never a guarantee."

It's her turn to laugh, and it's a bitter, dry sound. "Cliché much, douchebag?"

"I think we should accept whatever comes our way, and enjoy the present."

"So you don't consider the future. Our future."

"If we pick the present every day, we live in the moment, and we avoid expectation. Disappointment. Sadness."

There's a more pronounced hiss as she drops the butt of her menthol into the soda can. She takes a deep breath, smooths her hair behind her ears, and stands.

My eyes roam and we're both standing, but I don't leave the chair.

Seeing my reaction, she smirks.

"I would say let's live in the moment again, but my kid will be back from her dad's house in an hour. I feel like that short of a future may lead to disappointment."

I can't help but laugh as she gets dressed and tosses my clothes at me.

"Why I'm not in love with you?" I sigh and drop my head in my hand.

He comes closer. So close that I can feel the air he's exhaling.

"Because", He whispers in my ear."If you were in love with me, It would have been perfect. And this life can't bear perfect things."

He pulls himself away from me. I look up into his eyes his eyes are shining in love. Glowing and telling me that he's the only one who'll love me always. Like the moon always orbits the earth. But here I am, even after knowing

everything, feeling every bit of love he has for me, I couldn't make myself fall in love with him. I didn't choose him. I just couldn't. My love is so stubborn that it makes me do everything it wants. It made me fall for a person for whom I'm too much. The person who only loves a version of me who isn't alive anymore. Who only loves daytime when I only exist in dark? And even though I've a person who loves me unconditionally, loves every version of me whether it's the happy one or the dead one... Who can turn the whole world around just for me, I can't love him. Love didn't allow me to choose him. Love made me wait for the person who's going further and further without turning to me once. Look at me I'm the dumb girl who's controlled by love. I'm too intoxicated with the sweet poison. My sweet poison Nyle.

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A sweet love turning into poison.

"I taught you how to pick locks and this is how you use that skill!?"

Under my breath, I seethed.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not practical with my skills, oh wise teacher," I spat through grit teeth. "What do you want me to do? Break into the Louvre to steal the Mona Lisa?"

I was met with an eye roll.

"Still, for a candy box?"

"Hey, I'm curious! What's the point of candy if you don't share it," I point out, "Or eat it." Cynthia shrugged and watched me work.

"Still, the boss doesn't like it when we look through his things. I don't know why you haven't learned this by now. Sometimes I think you want an early grave."

"I'll just take a quick peek—or bite," I said, "and he won't even know the difference."

"I won't know the difference about what?" Cynthia and I froze in our tracks. We're completely screwed for this one.