The Hopeless Romantic's Guide to Loveless Life

I'm shaking martinis while Camellia swivels childishly on the barstool. She's extra bubbly today, I notice, probably because of whatever it is she thinks she told me. While I'm occupied taking a hundred orders, I have to ignore her, but I desperately want to know who this potential new roommate is.

It's strange to see her here. My place of work isn't exactly "high class", nor is it appropriate for a person with as innocent a personality as Cam's. She's just so sweet, and neat. Hooters isn't really a suitable environment for her to be in. I mean, I shouldn't be here either, being the nun I am, but I need money. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Cam watches as I serve the 'roid driven UFC fans, grinning at my misfortune while they ogle my chest in intervals. Really I shouldn't be subjected to act as an animal in the zoo, caged behind this bar in the sluttiest thing I have ever worn in public, but my boss is a perv and told me that I had to dress like the waitresses or else I'd be fired. Usually when someone says something like that I'll tell the person to suck it, but I need this job and the tips are ridiculous. It's like being a stripper, only I don't have to get naked or touch skeevy men.

When the fight's over the jocks are driven back out to their natural habitat. While I'm wiping down the bar, I spot Cam's glowing grin and glare at her. Her happiness is distracting.

"What is it?" I sigh, relenting to her excitement. She giggles and bounces in the stool again.

"I just can't wait for you to move!" she squeals. "It's going to be great, you're going to love it. And you can leave this place, you'll be too far away to work here anymore."

Hold up. What?

"What?" I hiss.

I can't just quit my job. This is probably the last job I would want to quit, anyway. Every night I work here, I earn more in tips than I do on my weekly paycheck. Working here pays for what little college loans I have. The grocery store basically pays rent, the bakery buys cat supplies, and arranging flowers brings in enough to by food and, on occasion, new clothes. I need this job.

Confounded by my anger, Cam's face falls and her shoulders shrug. She scrunches her face and just stares at me. "You fell asleep last night, didn't you?" she states more than asks.

"I worked at least eighteen hours yesterday, of course I fell asleep," I snap.

"So you didn't hear anything that I told you?" she tests, a small smile growing.

"No," I bark.

A full-fledged grin now graces her face.

"Would you stop fucking smiling?" I growl, but Cam just laughs and shakes her head.

"No way. This is perfect. You're going to move. With your cats."

"I doubt it, Cam," I grunt. "No one in their right mind would let me move in with twelve cats. Therefore I have to find my own place, which means I need to get another job. And you're pissing me off with that smug smile, so stop."

"Never," she still laughs. "I'll put in your notices for you if I have to. You are leaving… Well, not really, but from here you are. And the other three hundred jobs you have. Your new roommate is ideal, I promise. You just have to watch the dog, kind of like a governess type deal. And you'll be able to get a job at a gallery or something, there are hundreds of them around. And it won't be as expensive because you're really going to have a housemate who already owns the house…"

This sounds way too good to be true.

"What's the catch, Cam?"

"There isn't one!" she blurts, too quickly.

"Who is this friend of yours?" I press on.

She folds her lips into her mouth and avoids eye contact. This leaves only a few options: a) she wants me to move in with Ben's parents (too weird), b) she found a sketchy ad on Craigslist (too un-Cam) c) Cam found a desperate friend (not unlikely, but a lot of her friends are snobby and would never let a fish in the house) d) Cam and Ben's apartment miraculously got bigger and they bought a puppy (implausible) …e) …NO SHE DID NOT…

"Is it NOLAN!" I shout, throwing down the cloth from my hand and clenching my jaw.

"Maybe," she peeps, like a tiny baby mouse with little more to say than eep.

"Camellia Maxine Webster, you cannot be serious." I glare expectantly at her shrunken form.

"Nol has been busy travelling a lot and he needs someone to watch his dog. Ben and I did it last time, remember, and it was awful. We're too busy to care for a dog and my brother doesn't trust the kennels. Besides, he's hardly ever home, so you wouldn't have to see him too much."

I have no words. She's lost her mind. LOST IT. Would I rather disembody myself than live with my own asshole of a brother? Absofuckinglutely, but I would rather sit in a tub of acid and suffer through hours of agonizing pain as my body slowly disintegrated than have to be in the same room as Nolan Orpheus Webster. His sister, my best friend, is well aware of this. I've been watching yoga videos to mentally prepare myself for our inevitable meeting at Cam's wedding. (My deep breathing technique is phenomenal.)

"You've lost the bloody plot," I say in a condescending fake accent.

"Come on, Ronnie, my brother isn't some monster, I promise," she whines.

"Uh, yes, he is. He's king of the douchebags, God of the assholes. I'm still waiting for a DNA test to prove your relation," I tell her. "Your brother is a tool, Cam, and you're delusional if you think I'm going to live with him. I'll honestly call Grayling and ask to move in with him. I'll call Mavis before I relocate to the Devil's lair."

"Nolan is not that bad," she defends her older brother. Not that bad, pfft. "He was going through a rough patch when you met him, that's all. He's really a great guy. He's my brother. I love him."

There is something to say about Cam's praise. She doesn't go around saying nice things about everyone. You might think she would, 'cause she's all sweet and caring and empathetic, but when Cam says someone's a good person, you should believe it. I really want to see Nolan the way his sister does, but I can't. And I never will. He is a jackass.

"A rough patch is a few drinks too many. Nolan crossed that line and entered D-bag territory when he shoved me into your birthday cake and then called me a fat cow."

The actual phrase was: No wonder you're a vegetarian, it would be cannibalism otherwise.

Like I said, DOUCHEBAG.

"I still don't believe that he said what you say he did. He would never," she denies.

"Even if he was so drunk he fell down three flights of stairs?" I ask evenly.

She has nothing to say about that.

"Come on Ronan, it will be fine. He's never there anyway. Nolan travels a lot, and when he is home, he isn't likely to spend his time with you," Cam assures me.

"Why does he have a dog if he's never home?" I wonder aloud. "What does he even do?"

A thoughtful look appears in Cam's eyes as she ponders my question. Obviously she has no idea either, but that just makes Nolan seem more suspicious. If his sister doesn't know what he does, something is clearly fishy.

"Nolan…doesn't like to talk about his life," she tells me softly. With a sad half-smile, she admits, "I don't even know where he went to university."

"Cam," I begin evenly, "that is sick and twisted. Evidently your brother is a psycho. He probably studied forensic science and murders people every weekend in new, innovative ways each time so that they won't be connected together. He travels to foreign countries and kills random strangers. If I were you I would stage an intervention and get him the help he needs."

She laughs; a hearty, obnoxious laugh.

"Nolan—my brother a—Nol a—" she chokes, still consumed with giggles.

"How do you not see this as a serious possibility. He's an asshole with far too many secrets to remain off my creeper radar."

"Ronnie, Nolan hasn't told me these things because he's trying to keep me safe," she finally settles down. "Our father had a plan for Nol and Nol didn't like it. So whatever he's doing is not what was expected and by keeping it from me, he's protecting me. Whether father loves me or not, my brother is a difficult subject. The two of them don't speak, I'm like a middleman, so imagine if I were to tell our father what Nolan was really doing. Father would become enraged; probably lash out, so my not knowing—because you know that if I did I wouldn't be able to keep it to myself—prevents that from happening. Nolan doesn't keep secrets because he's a serial killer, he does it for me."

Aw. Not. I still don't like him. He might not be a murderer, but he's still a royal douchebag.

"He's still an asshole," I grumble. Too proud to admit defeat, I busy myself with cleaning up.

"No he's not," Cam groans. "When you met him he'd just broken up with his girlfriend. He'd caught her sleeping with his best mate. They were in Nolan's flat, in his bed. That's why he moved here, to escape them both…among others…" She whispered the last part, but not soft enough for me to miss. Something about it holds my attention, like I know it means something but I have no idea what.

"I get the feeling you're neglecting to tell me something," I announce. Cam blushes and I know it's true, but I don't ask what. She's my best friend, when she's ready she'll let me know. After a few moments of silence I sigh in defeat. "So—hypothetically—if I were to agree to this…"

It's not that I want to live with Nolan. NOT AT ALL, but I'm desperate. Being around Liz and Hal makes me sick. They're too lovey-dovey and I just…feel guilty all of the time for being such a grumpy bitch. And because Hal's face is always red and the shape of his nose is a mystery because it's always covered by tissues. My cats cause him pain—inadvertently inflicting pain and stress on my pregnant friend—and I barely even get to spend time with them.

Camellia has hardly ever looked happier. (Revealing her engagement is an isolated incident, which I must exclude from this comparison of previous events.)

"Well," she grins, "you could work one, single job to sustain a living for yourself and your cats. You'll be much closer to all of the art action in town, that's for sure. Basically you'd be living by yourself because, I'm telling you, he's never home. It's just that, on top of caring for the cats, you'd have to take care of Blaidd."

"Where is it?" I ask simply. She's purposely neglected this detail, I know it.

"It's not important," she dodges.

Judging by Nolan's pretentious attitude, I would say that his sister is protecting me from intimidation. That jackass would never live in a normal apartment, and Cam's already said he lives in a townhouse, so I have to wonder where… No doubt it's West End, I just couldn't say where.

"If by a single job you're referring to an escort service, I'll have you committed," I warn her.

"God no," she scoffs. "This is as close to prostitution as you will ever come."

"Hooters prostitution? Lies," I hiss, buffing the finishing touches on the bar.

"Whatever," she giggles. "You're moving Ronan Zoelie Sexton, whether you want to or not. So I suggest you pack your bags."



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