Then there's you. (Joshua Radin, Someone Else's Life)

Gloria and I would lie beside the pool and work on our tan or go down to the beach and do the same. Every afternoon we would go to our room: Gloria would crank up the air conditioning and I would draw the curtains (though it didn’t defer the light of the stupid ceiling windows aka skylights) and our overheated, over-sunned bodies would crawl under heavy down duvets. We would nap for an hour, give or take.

Our lives consisted of eating, sleeping, tanning, and complaining. It was delightful. I enjoyed Gloria and was learning to enjoy doing nothing.

Christian came by every Sunday afternoon. Gloria told me she hated me when she saw him for the first time. We walked down the promenade together and waited in the tea garden beside the welcome house for him to arrive. Gloria was waiting for her mother, who rarely showed up but always promised that she would – I’ll elaborate on that situation in a second, first let me finish this story.

So Christian strolls in wearing his stonewashed jeans that fit well in all the right places and a royal blue shirt that made his lackluster blond hair look blonder and his lackluster blue eyes look bluer. He tipped his aviators up into his hair and searched the garden for me. When he spotted me, his smile ignited. I know ignited sounds exaggerated and overemotional but that’s just how it happened. I didn’t feel bad for meeting him and making him mine. I made him happy; it was written all over his face.