Saudade

I didn’t think anyone would message me or talk to me at all, which was why I really didn’t keep up on my profile at all. The problem was that I got too many messages, all eager and needy, from desperate guys who were okay looking but still not really what I wanted. And the few I did talk to ended up freaking me out in about 5 minutes flat, so I decided to just step away for a day to clear my head. When I went back on Friday - it was my day off, so I was spending the day lounging in bed - there were a lot of messages and friend requests.

I deleted most of the outright weird or gross messages, ignored requests from people I simply wasn’t interested in, and then started sorting through what was left. Most of the messages weren’t that bad, but I was getting tired of it all and was half tempted to just get rid of the whole thing. It was too much.

And then, before I closed my laptop for good to make myself some lunch, I saw one last request.

And jeez, was it worth the wait or what?

His name is Harry.

He’s cute and his smile is sweet and his hair is curly and wow are those eyes green or what? I smile as I scroll through his pictures, biting my lip. It won’t hurt to say yes. And he probably gets hundreds of messages every day from desperate girls who are probably a lot prettier than me so he probably won’t pay any attention at all to me. Which I guess was fine. There was nothing wrong with admiring someone from afar, was there?

I spend the rest of my day watching movies and films and waiting for him to message me back. But he hasn’t. Not yet. Maybe he’s busy working. I bet he has a really interesting job, I think passingly as I get out of bed. I’m going to take Frieda for a walk.

I throw on an old sweater and some jeans, pulling my hair into two messy pony tails before I grab Frieda’s leash. She’s barking and nudging me as I put her leash on, sticking my tongue out at her. We circle our block two or three times. It’s sunny today, but it’s still a little cold, so I’m going to cut it short today. I’m whistling under my breath as I play with my phone at a corner, wrapping the purple leash around my hand as Frieda attempts to run into traffic. (She’s so playful.) I’m crossing the street when I hear it.

I want to start jogging or pretend to be busy on my phone or something, but I can’t, because Luke has already caught up to me.

And for the love all of things holy, he really does look a lot better than I remembered. I bite my lip as I look down at the sidewalk, trying not to look at him. Because I know him and I know his type. He’s really handsome and charming and he thinks that his charm is going to get him out of every sticky situation he finds himself in.

And I’m not falling for it. Not this time.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, stuffing his hands in his corduroys that look too good to be real. Jeez.

“I’m fine,” I say blankly, trying to speed up my walking a little. I really don’t have anything to say to him anymore. Everything that needs to be said has already been said. He’s a tool and I don’t have time to play his little games. End of story. “Are you good? Good. Great. I have to go,” I say, walking away because I just can’t do it - can’t look at him without being embarrassed, even though I really didn’t do anything wrong. Not really.

“Maisie, wait - ” he protests, grabbing my wrist in an attempt to stop me. “Wait, just listen to me, please - ”

“What? What can you possibly say to make this okay, Luke? Please. I’m dying to know.” I stop in front of my building, glancing down at Frieda as she pants, tugging towards the door. “You don’t like me. I get it. Can you just - ”

“It wasn’t what it looked like, honest. I was just - ”

“Just what?” I shake my head, running a hand through my hair. “I mean, that other girl was really pretty anyway. I’m sure she’s funny and witty and a lot more interesting and less awkward and you know, not like me. Your type, most definitely. And she’s, like, got really huge knockers too, so I mean - ” I stop short, shrugging. “I don’t care what you do, or who you do it with. Can’t you just leave me alone already? Please?”

“That girl was my sister, Maisie. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Luke laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What?”

“That girl was my little sister, Annie. She came up for a surprise visit, and I couldn’t just let her stay by herself because she’s been going through a bit of a rough patch and I don’t want to leave her alone so I told her to tag along. And she wanted to meet you anyway. Ryan and Quincy sing your praises and she was really looking forward to seeing you. But you left before I could even introduce you to her.” He shrugs. “And I mean, if you don’t want to see me again, then that’s fine and I respect that. I’ll just go, if you want me to.” He bites his lip and I smile, a little.

He’s got me again. Damn it.

“Maybe, um, maybe we can get coffee or something later. Just as friends.” He smiles and nods, biting his lip.

“I’d like that, yeah. And maybe we could go to the bar and finally get that drink... maybe. If you want, I mean.”

“Maybe.” Frieda barks impatiently at me and I laugh, glancing down at her. “I should probably get going,” I say, feeling a little awkward - I don’t know why.

“I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.”

I walk into my building, heading towards the elevator. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out as I unclip the leash from Frieda’s collar.

Harry: Hey (:

This is going to prove to be interesting.



It’s sunny today. Sunny and bright and the sky is as blue as it’s ever been, deep and rich like the ocean without a cloud in the sky. I’m in a field, a big field with seas of rolling green and wildflowers and bright red poppies scattered about in thickets. I feel the warm breeze on my skin and I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt - do I even own a pair of shorts? - but it’s okay, because it’s so nice outside. I’m smiling, I can feel my lips stretching as my dimples press into my cheeks, and then -

“Marcel!”

It’s Maisie. She’s running and laughing and her dress is yellow and it’s short but it’s okay because she’s so damn pretty and she’s got a basket and she’s running and laughing and tugging my hand and it’s soft and warm and she’s letting go -

“Catch me! C’mon, catch me if you can!” she teases, turning around before taking off. And she’s running again, hair flowing in the wind behind her as she hops over rocks and brushes, leaving the scent of mint and lavender and something sweet behind in her wake. “Marcel, c’mon!”

And she won’t stop running, giggling and glancing back at me.

“Are you letting me win?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

And then she’s gone.

I come to a stop, trying to catch my breath. I can’t see her anywhere, and I’m pretty sure you can’t just disappear like that. Or maybe Maisie can, because she’s pretty damn special and -

“I’m down here, silly,” she says, wrapping her thin fingers around my ankle. I glance down and there she is, hair fanning out as she catches her breath. I sit and she sits up, flipping her hair over her shoulder as her eyelashes cast a small shadow on her face. She’s quiet for a second, chest heaving a little as her fingers tug at a forget-me-not stem. (My mom’s a florist, so I kind of grew up knowing about flowers, a little.)

“I’m happy I met you,” she says, smiling a little as she looks up at me. “Really happy.” And she’s leaning forward a little and this can’t be happening but it is and I’m smiling and then -

“Marcel! For the love of God!” Harry exclaims, slapping my forehead harshly. I almost fall off the couch, startled. It was a dream. It was all a dream. How could it have been a dream? This is getting out of hand. Way, way too out of hand. Harry frowns at me, hands on his hips as he stares me down. He's dressed to impress, the way he always is. His hair is messy, pants are as tight as ever, new boots, a white button down and a blazer that looks suspiciously like one he bought me for Christmas last year. And even if I'm never going to wear it, I'd still like to have the option and not have him just take it back. But that's Harry for you. I sit up, adjusting my glasses and sweater shakily. “What’s up with you lately? Are you okay?”

“W-What?” I ask nervously, blushing a little because jeez, I was dreaming about Maisie and it was actually really nice in its’ innocent little way. “I’m, um - I just - ”

“Maybe you should stop working so hard. You’re napping at five on a Friday night, man. If that’s not depressing, then I don’t know what is. Lou and Zayn are in town and they invited me out tonight. You wanna come?”

“I’m good, thanks,” I say, rubbing my face in an attempt to fully wake up. I have spreadsheets that need looking at. “Have fun with your friends, though.” I smile a little, pushing my hair out of my face.

“Marcel, c’mon. Seriously. You need to get out of the house,” he coaxes, tugging me off the couch. I dig my free hand into the arm rest, trying to take my hand out of his strong grip. (How did he get so strong? How? All he did was lounge about all day and eat and sleep and party with his friends. That was literally it. I didn’t see how working out fit into his strict sloth routine.) “It’s a Friday night!”

“It’s okay, really. I have some work to do for tomorrow morning anyway. But thanks though.”

Harry frowns, scowling at me.

“Fine. Don’t come. Stay home all day. I’m taking the car.”

“But what if I need - ”

“Need what? You don’t ever go anywhere. And you can always take the train or the subway or something.” He grabs my keys from the bowl near the door, grinning cheekily as he leaves before I can protest any further. “Later, loser.”

I lean against the couch, trying to breathe and figure out what just happened. It was a fluke. Just a tiny little fluke that I don’t ever need to talk about with anyone ever, that I need to lock up somewhere deep inside of me. Because normal people don’t dream about people they like, right?

But Maisie’s different. I don’t know how, not yet. I just know that she is. And I know that I don’t stand a chance, not a chance in hell, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try anyway.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes lightly on the floor, screen lighting up. I squint at it, unsure if I’m reading it properly. Because I can’t be. This isn’t happening. This just isn’t happening, is it?

Maisie W. : Hi! How are you?

I don’t know if it’s possible to go into shock because of a message, but if it is, I know that I am, because Maisie is actually talking to me. And yes, she doesn’t know that it’s me but that doesn’t take away from the fact that she is anyway.

Because she’s Maisie and I’m just Marcel. And maybe this could be the start of something beautiful. Maybe.