“I’m only on the brink of liking someone right now, and it already feels overwhelming. It feels like it takes so much to reach the point of loving someone. And if you get there — if you find a person worthy of the magnitude of the word love — how are you supposed to give that up?”
Uncle Wendell loved to make up strange and frightening stories. So when he told my sister Betty and me about the scariest book ever written, we didn’t believe him.
We knew he was trying to scare us. We were onto him. We only pretended to shiver and shudder.
Of course, we should have believed him about the Scariest Book Ever.
Because that story about the book was true.
My name is Lila Macapagal and my life has become a rom-com cliché.
Not many romantic comedies feature an Asian-American lead (or dead bodies, but more on that later, but all the hallmarks are there.
Girl from an improbably named small town in the Midwest moves to the big city to make a name for herself and find love. Check.
Girl achieves these things only for the world to come crashing down when she walks in on her fiancé getting down and dirty with their next-door neighbours (yes, plural)? Double check.
Girls then moves back home in disgrace and finds works reinvigorating her aunt’s failing business. Well now we’re up to a hat trick of clichés.
And to put the cherry on top, in the trope of all tropes, I even reconnected with my high school sweetheart after moving back to town and discovered the true meaning of Christmas.
OK, that last part is a joke, but I really did run into my high school sweetheart. Derek Winter, my first love.