Chapter 6

Nina sat cross-legged on her bed, a large volume propped open in front of her. She had been sitting this way for a while now, but her eyes had stayed fixed on one spot.

She did not particularly like living alone. The absence of other people was somehow a distraction. When you lived with someone else, you could always feel the presence of a person in the house, and any little noise was easily explained as a predictable thing, such as taking out the trash or blowing one's nose.

With no one else in her apartment, Nina's brain reached out around the place, searching for someone to be there. These days she went so far as to search for the sound of an approaching owl. She had taken to talking to herself to prevent these odd habits.

She scoffed at herself when she realized that again she was again staring out the window, waiting for an owl. "Don't be stupid, just read your wonderful book," she said out loud.

Adjusting herself slightly, she looked back down at the book. It was a wonderful book, no doubt, but she knew it was useless trying to get anything out of it.

It had been two weeks since Bernie's birthday party. A very long, drawn-out two weeks.

"Damn it, fine."

She slammed the book with unnecessary force, furiously pulled out a piece of parchment, and dipped her quill into some ink.

Her writing was just as furious. At least, at first. She calmed down after puncturing a hole when she dotted the second "i." Sipping her tea, she proofread the letter. It made her feel better just looking at it.

Dear Josh,

I hope your stupid self is doing marvelously in Singapore. I'm calling you stupid because it really is stupid that I can't see you for another month. Sorry. I guess you're not stupid. The rules of being in the Peace Corps are stupid. I just used the word "stupid" five times. Or six, if you count the quotations.

Anyway. That was a negative opening. I just wish I could see you! You know? And actually talk to you! Because there is so much to tell.

You might be wondering why this is being delivered to you on parchment paper, by an owl, and yeah, I would wonder, too. But no joke – this is how they do it here in the UK! I mean, people like us are absolutely rampant. They refer to non-magical people as "Muggles." It's so cute.

Side note: have you done any drugs? I met someone a while back who told me she was on ecstasy, like, the entire time she was in the Corps. I won't judge you (duh), but as your sister I feel like I have the right to know.

Also: have you been with any hot (or not-so-hot) chicks? Last one I heard about was that slutty girl Chelsea you told me about. I'm just saying, don't get any STDs. Actually, it would be really nice if you actually settled down again. I mean, at least attempted.

Well I know you're so interested to hear about my love life. I haven't been with any hot dudes (not since that crazy guy Todd I told you about – the one a few weeks before I left for London). But there is a supremely hot dude – wait, no, he's a man – that I've been pining for.

This is going to sound insane, but I think I actually really like him. Like-like him. He's older (five years), handsome, smart, and FROM WHAT I CAN TELL, genuine*. And I think he like-likes me, too.

See, this is why I need you here. I need to bounce my ideas off of you, and hear your ridiculous, though much-appreciated, input. Because right now I feel so conflicted. I want to throw myself at him, but I don't. And I want to scream at him: "I'm so jaded, you don't even know what you're dealing with!" but I don't. I'm cool as a cucumber.

But, ah, here's where the asterisk comes in from above.

* FROM WHAT I CAN TELL, genuine: I really do think Remus (that's his name) is the real deal. However! my spidey senses are tingling a little. I get the feeling that he's hiding something immense from me. Here are my guesses (you're going to freak out): 1. He's married, or 2. He's a werewolf. Told you you'd freak! You're probably hitting yourself on the head, yelling at this letter, "Then why the FUCK are you in love with him, you idiot sister!"

If he's married, then obviously I'm going to flush him down the toilet. Maybe even literally. But if he's a werewolf…well, that opens up a different can of worms. But worms I'm willing to eat. Or something. That sounded gross.

No, but really, I've been researching the werewolf thing. There's a potion that makes werewolves completely harmless during the full moon. It's a really tough potion, but I pretty much rock at potions, so that's cool. The only other issue is that werewolves have this huge stigma against them, held obviously, by the stupidest people in the world. Seriously. If Remus is a werewolf (and I think he is), he is still the kindest, smartest person I've ever met.

Anyway, this letter is already as big as a phone book, and I don't want to take up any more of your time that could be used saving the world, or taking ecstasy, or getting it on with hot chicks. I really want for you to come see my beautiful new living arrangement in this brand new world called England. Except the weather is shit right now. Next spring?

Ta soeur,

Nina

PS: I can still come visit you for Christmas, right?

Josh was probably the only person in the world who understood Nina. He was two years younger than her, and this was the first time in their lives (since he was born) that they were more than just a few miles away from each other. She could literally say anything, or in some cases, not say anything, and he would know exactly what she meant. It wasn't just that they had an amazing ability to read people, but they had been through all the same bullshit that was the last fifteen or so years.

As Nina sat gazing out the window, watching her owl (named Margaret Thatcher) fly into the clouds, Remus's visage floated into her mind's eye. She let it linger there for a moment, indulging herself in thoughts akin to, "It would be really nice if we randomly ran into each other while walking down the street," and "I bet he's read a ton of great books," and lastly, "He's the best kisser I've been with in a long time. And if he's that good of a kisser, he must be good in bed."

Motionless, eyes glazed over, she continued to ponder. What if I just sent him a little tiny, itty-bitty letter? But no, no, no. If Nina had one regret in her life, it was being in a relationship in which the affections were not equal.

In this situation, being the first one to send a letter would be like admitting that she liked him more. There was no way in hell that she would let that happen again.

She sighed heavily and collapsed onto her heap of pillows. This was another problem of living alone: now she was trapped inside of her own head and had no reason, no other person to coax her to get out of it. Dimly, she was aware that she could lay like that forever, staring at the ceiling. But she was really still thinking about Remus.

It would be admitting defeat if she made the first move. In fact, she had already broken her golden rule when she asked him to get a drink after Bernie's party. Now he definitely had to be the one to act.

Sitting up abruptly, she began talking to herself again:

"So! If he doesn't make a move, then he either doesn't like me, or he's too womanly to be with, anyway."

But she crashed backwards onto the pillows and frowned. Her conclusion wasn't true, and she knew it. She knew there was obviously a lot more to it. But what? Was he really a werewolf? Or was he involved in a relationship that Bernie and Hestia neglected to mention?

Did it matter, though? All she knew was that the longer she sat there thinking, following those familiar spirals, the more her heart fell into desolation.

"I thought I was done with this!" she yelled to no one.