Page 4 of Aperture

But Millie is different. She is captivating and wholesome. I found myself drawn to her. Her laughter and seraphic nature call to my sadness and darkness. I gave up a long time ago on finding any connection in this world with anyone besides my family, but I can’t help but feel that meeting her is significant in some way. I should probably stay away from her, but I don’t know if I can.

Chapter 3

After having spent all week editing photos, I decide I need to get out of the house. My sweats could definitely use a laundry break. The thing about being self-employed is that I have to actively force myself to be social or I actually will end up with fourteen cats. That is a sobering thought at 26 years old.

Gwen and I have made a plan to meet up for brunch and then go to a local farmers market.

I spot her immediately when I walk in. Gwen is impossible to miss. She’s gorgeous- tall and curvy, with a mane of brown hair, deep, brown eyes, and full lips. She stands as I approach and wraps me in a big hug. Since I’m short my cheek always smashes against her large, soft chest and it’s oddly comforting.

I’ve never told her this, but I think I could fall asleep enveloped in her buxom embrace. It must be a side effect of not having a mother in my life. I’m like a cat who weaned too early and now makes biscuits on every soft surface, but in this case, the soft surface is my best friend’s boobs.

My parents died in an accident when I was too young to remember, and I was raised by my grandfather. Sadly, I lost him to cancer about two years ago.

He was the best, and his hugs were also pretty awesome, obviously not in a buxomy way. Now it’s just me, Gwen, and my camera.

“Hey Mouse,” she says as she kisses my cheek and shakes me out of my thoughts.

“Hi, Gwennie.”

Gwen calls me Mouse because my name sounds like Minnie, and I’m small. She accidentally called me that once when we were drunk and thought it was hilarious. It stuck after that. I call her Gwennie because she lets me. It’s been that way for eight years, ever since we became roommates in our first year of college.

I see she’s already ordered our mimosas.

“How was your week?” she asks as I take my seat.

“Just the usual. Lots of editing.” Then I remember my photo shoot with the Carson family.

“Wait? Did I tell you about the guy I met last week?” I query nonchalantly.

“No, what guy?!” Her eyes grow wide with surprise like I just told her I solved world hunger.

“He was the brother of the client who booked the shoot. She wanted him in some of the photos. I guess they will give some to their parents as a gift. He was incredibly handsome and SO cute with the kids,” I feel color tinge my easily blushing cheeks.

“So… did he ask you out?” she asks as she takes a sip of her drink.

“No, and I thought he might. I guess I could've asked him, but it seemed unprofessional, you know?” I laugh. “I try not to hit on my clients.”

“Probably a good policy, boring policy, but good policy,” she offers.

Our conversation is light and easy, just like always. We eat too much food during brunch, banana pancakes for her and eggs benedict for me, and catch up on the past week.

Gwen is doing well modeling clothes and accessories and growing her social media. She’s up to 147,000 followers on Instagram and getting quite a few paid promotions. I’m happy for her, and she’s putting her marketing degree to use for herself instead of using an affiliate that would be taking most of the cut.

Both of us have made our careers a priority, and most days, I think that’s good, but loneliness, like a cold draft, creeps in every once in a while. It would be nice to share my life with someone, and I’m sure she feels the same way, though we don’t dwell on it.

After we pay the check, we link arms and head to the local farmers market. Sunday farmers markets in our small city are my favorite. They always have the best produce, live local bands, and beer and wine vendors.

We live in Sierra Falls, a city of about 30,000 people. We are located on the coast of California, about three hours north of Los Angeles. It’s big enough to escape the suffocation of a really small town, but not so big that you lose yourself in a vast metropolis. This place suits me just fine.

Gwen stops before we get to my favorite produce stand.

“Mouse, I can’t walk around anymore. I have a banana pancake baby.” She lifts up her shirt and sticks out her belly. “Look at this thing. I look five months pregnant.”

“You’re ditching me?” I tease. “Not cool, Dude.”

“I can totally stay,” she replies, “but I may actually puke on you.”

“Gross. Get out of here,” I say as I pull her in for a hug. “Text me later. Love you.”