The Ten Best Days of My Life by Adena Halpern

so discounted. Even my dog thinks I’m a failure.
    â€œAlex?” I hear from downstairs.
    It’s Adam. Ugh. This is all I need.
    I throw the essay into my desk and look at myself in the mirror before heading downstairs and then remember, why bother? I’m perfect, though not in a vain way of course. I’m in heaven, I always look perfect.
    â€œHey, Adam,” I shout to him. “I’ll be right down.” Before I can do that, Adam’s in my bedroom, and if he doesn’t look more adorable than he did the day before, I don’t know what. He’s dressed in distressed Levi’s and a black T-shirt, and if I wasn’t so beyond being in the mood, I would have jumped him already.
    â€œHey,” he says before giving me a prolonged kiss on the lips. “I haven’t seen you all day, what have you been doing?
    â€œOh, I was just configuring this bedroom,” I lie. “I’m thinking about moving the bed under the window.”
    â€œThat might look nice,” he says. “You want me to help you move it?”
    â€œMove it?” I ask him. “Do you forget where we are?” I state the words, “Move bed under window.”
    Suddenly, the furniture in the room starts to move. The bed situates itself under the window.
    â€œAnd while I’m at it,” I say aloud, “turn the mattress.”
    The sheets lift in the air as the mattress flips over. The sheets and comforter set themselves back onto the bed, perfectly made.
    â€œI feel like I’m stuck in an old episode of Bewitched ,” Adam laughs. “All you need to learn now is how to wiggle your nose.”
    I chuckle at his joke, but, as you know, I’m in no mood for laughing.
    Adam plops himself on the bed.
    â€œHey, I was thinking, maybe tomorrow we should take my new Ferrari out for a test drive. I’m dying, no pun intended of course,” he chuckles then pantomimes a rim shot, “to see more of this place. I was thinking that we could pack some lunch or something and see where the road takes us.”
    â€œYou got a Ferrari?” I balk as I start to become even more miserable. In fourth heaven you probably get a Yugo.
    â€œI didn’t get it,” he says, recoiling. “It was sitting in my garage. Why, do you hate Ferraris or something?”
    â€œYes, I do,” I lie, though it’s not so much that I like or don’t like them. I’m indifferent on that matter. I’m just so stressed and glum that even the thought of taking an afternoon with a gorgeous guy and a Ferrari is not enough to make me feel better.
    â€œHey,” he says, putting his arm around me and sensing the glumness, “are you okay?”
    â€œI’m fine,” I tell him, even though I don’t want to lie. I want to tell him all that’s happened to me. I want to tell him that I’ll probably get demoted to fourth heaven because I didn’t live a fulfilling life on earth. I want him to read my essays and tell me if they suck. I want him to tell me that everything’s going to be okay and that even if I get sent to fourth heaven he’ll visit me and bring me some of the new fashions. I want to cry in his arms and tell him that even though I’ve only known him a very short time, I think he could be the love of my death. I want to tell him everything, but I just can’t. He’ll think less of me. He’ll think I’m a loser, a failure.
    So I pick a fight with him.
    â€œLook,” I say, “it’s not that I don’t think you’re great or anything, because I do. I just feel like this is all too fast. You know, us.”
    He looks at me like I’m crazy, which I very well might be.
    â€œOkay,” he sort of sings, and I just know he’s gotten the point and is ready to leave and never come back, much to my deep chagrin.
    â€œLook, I need some time to think about things,” I say, trying to let him off easy.