This Is Love: A Novel

By Alberto Moreno

In Seattle, Colin Halliday is an introverted, aspiring comic book writer whos sorting through his life while working at a record store. After a devastating break-up, he decides to devote all his attention to his writing career, but first, he meets with his ex for closure. He also confesses some less than stellar details of his life to his parents in an effort to clean the slate.

Also living in the city, Love Labelle is a free-spirited fitness instructor, struggling to find her place in a world of the newly engaged and bitterly single. She has a revelation one night while out with friends. In order to achieve her dreams, she needs to cut out the late night parties, mindless spending, and stupid job. She plans to keep to herself and stay close to family.

A year after Colin and Love make some massive life changes, they meet outside a theater where theyre both a minute too late. Although theyre each still following independent paths, they begin a relationship. Theyre reaching for the stars in their professional lives, so why not do the same with romance? However, this is love, and love is never easy to plan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984531469

Alberto Moreno

Alberto Moreno is a filmmaker and author who attended Colorado Film School. He lives in Denver, Colorado. When not writing, he can be found knee deep in comic books, movies, or video games.

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This Is Love

A Novel

Alberto Moreno

Copyright © 2018 by Alberto Moreno.

ISBN:      Softcover           978-1-9845-3147-6

                eBook                978-1-9845-3146-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 06/05/2018

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Contents

Chapter One

The Writing’s on The Wall

Chapter Two

How’s It Going to Be

Chapter Three

I Love You So

Chapter Four

Skeletons

Chapter Five

I Ain’t The Same

Chapter Six

Shake

Chapter Seven

Love Will Save Your Soul

Chapter Eight

One Year of Love

Chapter Nine

Victims Of Love

Chapter Ten

Everglow

To My Favorite Teacher,

Ericka Burns.

Chapter One

The Writing’s on The Wall

I think I understand you. But I don’t.

It’s been one year. One year today since I broke up with Linda. All I can think about at the moment, is how shitty love is. I know. It’s the polar opposite of what I should be thinking. I’d like to think that I’m still a believer of love. If only decisive at the moment. And decisiveness is the reason why I’m with Jason at the comic book store. It’s a calming backdrop to talk about relationships and love. It’s first and foremost, filled with super heroic distractions, that came in the form of awesome Jim Lee covers. And the musk of cigarettes and weed coming from the broken window near the front door, filled the nostrils. It’s calming. Probably the weed-but I’d like to think it’s the Lee covers. Jason, my best friend—the Harry Osborne to my Peter Parker—knew what was wrong with me. It was common knowledge around this time of year. The odd silences I’d give him, the delayed responses between texts—which sure as shit irritated him to no end—and the sudden conversations about Linda I’d force on him. I’ll be honest, Jason shouldn’t be the first person I go to for advice about these kind of things. The list of monikers he holds are long. A master nacho craftsman. The porn gatekeeper. The incomparable gamer—or, loser. Like me. But he’s a guy. And as far as I’m concerned, most guys don’t like to talk about dating or relationships. At least with other guys. Jason calls these things, icky. Yeah, he’s twenty six. Guys are also good at evading questions. We’re like really shady politicians who know how to change the subject on a whim. Jason was pulling this card on me.

"Do you peg Batman for the kind of guy who would pay for on-line dating? I mean he’s rich and all, but I’d like to think that even he has a code of honor when it comes to that stupidity." Jason said. This was the fifth hypothetical Jason threw at me. They were getting less creative by the minute. He hit his peak with the, Mario is actually autistic, conspiracy theory.

Alright. So, we’re just gonna ignore my pleads for moral support here. I said.

Colin, I’m a comic book geek, not a licensed psychologist. Jason began to search the next lawn box. He had a stack of books next to him and he was looking for a particular issue. He promised that this was the last stop before he’d go to the front counter. That was forty five minutes ago.

I’m not asking for a medical opinion. I replied.

No, but you sound like you need it. I mean, come on, Colin. You sound like a recovering alcoholic at an AA meeting. Jason said.

"Okay, fine. You may be right. But I can’t help but talk about… her."

You’re talking about Linda, right? Jason asked me as he was combing the box in front of him.

Yeah.

"Well, say that. Don’t talk about her like she’s Beetlejuice." Jason finally pulled out the issue he was looking for, and he gracefully placed it on top of the stack of comics next to him. He was giddy when he turned to me and saw the infectiously depressed look plastered on my face. His expression turned to irritation. I can’t blame him.

Oh, good lord. He said.

"I mean, it’s just one of those things. Like, when you got banned from the Dunkin Donuts for fucking with the guy behind the counter. Are we not going to talk about it every time we pass by a Dunkin Donuts?" I said.

"Okay, first off. That donut man, is Jeremy Chen. He fucked Stephanie, how could I not berate him for having a terrible job and for cheating with my girlfriend? Secondly, you can stop talking about it. By not talking about it." Jason retorted.

"Look, you can’t be bummed like this for breaking up with Linda. I mean, you did the dumping. You two seemed great together. Why you broke up with her, is still beyond me. But, it’s been done. There’s nothing that you can do about it." Jason said.

I think that I fucked up things between Linda and I. I said.

Jesus, Colin. What do you want me to say? There’s a time and place to talk about this kind of thing. Another clever tactic, shady politicians use. Time and place. As if there was such a thing.

Besides, we agreed we’d never talk about this kind of thing in a comic book store. It’s sacrilege. Read the sign. Jason pointed to the front door.

Okay, one, we never agreed on that. And secondly, you’re pointing at nothing. I said. Jason picked up his comic books and moved on. I followed. "Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick, Colin. But, you’ve been sounding like a broken record for the past few months. If you really feel like you fucked up, then talk to her. Not me." He said. Jason began picking at some of the graphic novels. Jason had strayed away from volumes. In most cases, it was cheaper, but Jason loved collecting issues. It was much more personal and satisfying that way.

I tried. Trust me, I tried. I said.

And? Did she ever respond? I looked down at my phone and checked my text messages for the umpteenth time. I wasn’t expecting anything. For quite some time now, it was all me on the right side and it was embarrassingly empty on the left. But this time, something was different. There was a text from Linda. …I mean, if I’m being honest— I motioned with my hand to shut him up. I swiped my phone open and read the text she sent me. It was both cryptic and clear cut, if that were possible. I kept reading the six words she sent like it was a puzzle I was trying to decipher. Jason kept asking me what was up. I didn’t respond for a few moments. It was beginning to irritate Jason.

Colin? What the fuck, you’re just gonna ghost me right now—? I weakly showed him the text. It simply read:

The writing’s on the wall, Colin.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Jason asked. We finally stopped at the front counter. The old man behind the counter took his sweet time getting up from his seat to meet us. He was the owner of the store and Jason and I couldn’t have been more envious. His age was in the sweet spot between prudent and ‘I really don’t give a shit’. Even his clothes screamed as such. Sweat pants. A faded Seattle Mariners shirt. He was living here, no doubt.

A year of texts, and this is all I get? It’s official. I fucked up. I noticed a crack in my voice. Jason turned to me as the owner of the store began to tap the prices into the register.

I’m sorry, Colin. I know you want some sort of closure. I do too—if only because I want you to stop ruining comic book day—but, also because you two have been friends for a really long time. If there’s anyone who wants to see things patched up between you and her. It’s me. But, look. That’s life. Sometimes the best closure, is none at all. I know I keep saying this but, you gotta let her go. It’s like they say… Don’t say it. Don’t use the antiquated, aquatic, analogy. I’ve heard it one too many times, I thought. …there’s plenty of fish in the sea. Jason imparted. Plenty of fish in the sea. Classic. I couldn’t help but hang my head in despair. The owner still sifted through the books. Jason was rapping his fingernails on the counter, a signal for the old clerk to hurry it up. Jason looked down at the comics, then back up at the old man. Issues. Old man.

It’s forty dollars and fifty eight cents. Jason told the owner. The old man looked up at Jason and he extended his hand out. He clearly didn’t have time for this and neither did Jason. Jason paid the man and took his books. I lagged behind Jason, still thinking about the six words. That’s another thing about love. When the ship sinks—and it will—the only thing left in the salvage, are the memories. The good ones. And some bad, crashing up shore. What frightens me the most, is that I’ll be the only swabber on deck. For the rest of my life. The only person I have to blame is me and my anxious mind. The push and pull dance I always seem—on cue—to perform, in front of an audience of other lonely sailors like me. And all I can think while I tap my feet is, love is a shitty thing.

Jason and I stepped outside of the comic book store and without warning, the sun punched us in the face. A sign of the times, I suppose. See, before this all (my break up) transpired, Jason and I would spend a minimum of four hours inside the comic book store to escape from the calamities that befell us in life. But, more importantly, it was a place where Jason and I could talk about… well, comics. But ever since Linda and I began going out, the time frame began to fall. Drastically. It went from four hours, to literally four minutes at times. It’d been a surprise to see the sun so high in the sky, rather than waving us goodbye in the distance. As we shuffled our way to Jason’s car, I began to think about the text Linda had sent to me. It’s a weird thing, what texting does to a person. More than a face to face interaction, a text is daunting and nerve wracking, if only for the reason that you don’t get to see the reaction the other person makes when you tell them how you feel. All you’re left with is your imagination. And my imagination is a troubled one. The thing I hate the most, is the wait time. As erratic as I can be when it comes to the response time from a girl, one thing I can be safe to assume, is what the woman is doing when they receive my pathetic attempts to get their attention. And the assumption is this. Women have a secret society, made up of their most trusted friends and shaky allies, i.e., the mothers, aunts and on desperate occasions, cousins. Within this closed society, the woman receiving the text from the man, confides in these close friends for advice on what to text and whether or not a hunk of whatever these guys are, is worthy of her time. This crazy idea is taken one step further into the realm of pure theoretical, as I think about where this secret society is held. Rather than it taking place in an underground chamber, beneath a cemetery someplace, where the gravestones of all the other rejected men lay peacefully above ground, I’d like to think that this secret society takes place somewhere conventional, like at the food court in the mall, where across from these women, a Charlotte Russe attractively sits for after-wards.

And as all these women sit around the noisy food court, all sharing food from the Mediterranean restaurant a block away from them, the leader, in all her stylish clothing she purchased from Tilly’s just a mere hour ago, would stand up, price tag still attached and hanging underneath her armpit, and she would make her formal announcements before getting into the text a poor guy sent to one of their fellow ladies, Veronica.

Ladies, let me just thank you all for making the trip down here. We have one of our Bosom Buddies in need of our help. But, before we dive into the message lady Veronica received from sir Joel, I have a few announcements to make. One, we will be needing an official head count before heading into Old Navy, so I know how many coupons I will have to pull up on my phone—that means you Lindsey! The leader would exclaim, pointing her black nailed, finger at Lindsey, a young woman, wearing a white tank and black pants.

With that said, we are also going to eat some fro yo downstairs, to celebrate Jenny’s graduation from Little Miss to an official Bosom Buddy. She flaked out on Steven last weekend and she hasn’t gotten a text from him since. The leader would clap, and everyone else would join in, raising their Styrofoam cups in elation. The leader would then sit down and commence to the topic of the day. The text. I won’t get into it, seeing that I’m already going into a bit of a spiral in my mind—a common occurrence—but you get the point.

Colin! Jason yells.

Huh?

Put the comics in the back, would ya? Jason asks. We arrived at Jason’s car and I complied, opening the back door and carefully setting the books down on the seat inside. It was embarrassingly childish. Us comic book geeks always treated our super-heroic pieces of literature like it was a kid. If I wasn’t so lost in my mind, I would have fasten the seat belts on the comics. For safe measure. Once I closed the door, I climbed inside the passenger seat and as I plopped down, the familiar scent of cigarettes and expired open packets of honey mustard begin to concoct into the smell I’ve come to know and loathe. Jason hops inside, closes the door and begins to drive off. It’s at this point, I should probably fill you in on the details of my life. Well, the details worth sharing at least. Seeing that we have some time to kill, I figure I might as well tell you just how I ended up in such a routine life. One that was already mundane before Linda came along—don’t worry, the Linda back story is coming—and a life that was even more so after she was gone.

I came from a hard working, middle class family. I don’t usually like to label my family as such, seeing that we seemed to dip in and out of this class several times in my life, but that’s what we were, for the majority of my teenage life. This is important to note, because I was taught to follow in the shoes of my father and mother. A tradition of keeping your head low, and getting a certificate in a major that would honor the family heritage. Get a good job and live out the rest of your days in a home that you’d eventually be able to pay off once you’re fifty eight and at the most, have three kids. Cause one of them can’t turn out to be a fuck up. And also, three is the magic number. And from the age of fourteen through eighteen, I carried this belief to heart. A boy from Denver, Colorado moving to Jet city, Seattle. For the majority of my time here, I did what I had been asked by my parents. I kept my head low and I focused on school, scraping up any money I could from the financial well that was my mom and dad. That, or I’d manage to pick up a few side jobs during my summer vacation. The money of course, would go to supporting myself, whether that meant paying my bills or buying groceries. It had gotten to the point where the bulk of my body mass was supported by Ritz and Ramen noodles. It was tiresome and on top of that, school was becoming a mistake. It was like the fog clearing up after an endless run of rain. But I had gotten too invested that it was a risk to dropout. Soon after such revelations, the family heritage I once held in high regards, was rapidly becoming a lost cause.

The summer vacations became dreadful and with every passing year, I was becoming more afraid of what I owed the world, rather than it owing me. I found reprieve in the form of books about middle aged men, running around rooftops, in tights. There was another world I could explore outside of my own. And boy, was this world worth exploring. Every arc and obscure hero, I ate it up. Every contrived villain monologue, I read with a Cheshire grin. The side jobs, had a meaning. The waiting during school, worth waiting for. Knowing, that when I got home, I could bury myself in Earth One, where Wonder Woman was fighting a group of soldiers and Batman was… well, Batman. It was bliss. In the midst of all the confusion, one thing made sense. I was meant for this. So I made it my pledge, to become a comic book writer. Whereas a lot of aspiring writers, prayed to follow in the footsteps of the Morrison’s, John’s and Snyders of the world, I knew I was a different kind of player, not in step with everyone else. And it was this originality that would help set me apart from the rest of the crowd. For one day, I’ll cement my name next to the greats. It was ambitious, sure, but it was enough to keep me going. So, I dropped out. I knew it was a risk, but I know now, it was a risk worth taking.

So, I stayed at the job I was working at during my time in school, and shifted from part time to full time. It would’ve been unpleasant, if it weren’t such a laid back place to work at. The place being, Easy Street Records & Cafe. A relatively small record store that Jason and I lazily work at for the majority of the day, during the week. So, yeah. I would say that this was the first best decision I made in my life. The second being, having met my ex-girlfriend, Linda during my first year in college. Linda and I had been friends for the longest. But, it’s common fact that men and women cannot be friends. Feelings will always get in the way. This was no different between Linda and I. Which is why, when I graduated from high school, we both sighed in relief when we realized that we were gonna go our separate ways from that point on. Linda and I knew that if we were to continue in the trajectory we were headed, it was an inevitability that the two of us would fall for each other. Then, our eyes met once again, during my first year in school. I dare not to go into too much detail, but we both agreed. It was the best thing to happen to us, meeting after all that time. But, I should have known that, when you’ve fallen for your best friend, it’s easy to lose that moniker and have it replaced with girlfriend. Needless to say, I didn’t want that to happen.

I’m getting sidetracked here. After all these decisions, I know for a fact, that leaving college for the doctors and lawyers, is still the best decision of my life. And in time, I suppose that Linda and I being apart, will be a good thing, too. But, for the time being, I know one thing’s for sure. There a few loose ends that are in desperate need of tying up. The first one being… telling my parents, after four years of being on my own, that I dropped out of college.

Jason and I made a few other stops before ending the day at a Carl’s Jr just a few blocks down from his place. I say his place, despite the fact that I’m actually living with him. Seeing that the previous apartment I was living in was part of the, ‘all paid’ expenses trip to Universityland, I had to make due with either living like a Baker Street Irregular or moving in with Jason. As attractive as the first one would’ve been, I knew I had to be realistic. And try as I might, there’s only one Sherlock Holmes. It was uncomfortable, living with Jason. Jason offered a helping hand, but I was always one for solitude. When I told him this, he immediately interpreted isolation with an excessive obsession of Internet porn and Netflix. He was halfway right. I didn’t have money to afford Netflix. Regardless, here we were. The greasy cherry on top of a depressingly slow Sunday. I picked at my food, while Jason was devouring his. A decision he would later regret I’m sure, with a cup of Alka-Seltzer and a groaning chant of, why god, why?. I occasionally looked up from my tray to shoot Jason a look of dread. I knew what I was doing. I could tell, by the reactive look of befuddlement Jason would shoot back at me. He wiped his mouth with his napkin before crumpling it in his hand.

Do you have epilepsy, what are you doing—?

I haven’t told my parents. I said.

That you have epilepsy? He said.

No. I exhaled. I haven’t told them that I dropped out of school.

Are you serious? Dude, it’s been a year and a half now. Why haven’t you told them?

It just… slipped through the cracks—

Bullshit! Jason said, throwing the crumpled napkin onto the tray. Something like that, doesn’t just slip through the cracks, Colin.

Okay, okay. I just, haven’t had the heart to tell them. With the exceptions of a few student loans I pulled out, they’ve mostly been paying for my education. They’re gonna loose their shit when they find out they’ve been wasting their yacht money on me. I said.

Your mom and dad have been saving money for a yacht? Jason asked.

Yeah. I replied.

Are they working for the mob?

No, why? I asked.

The only people who would buy a yacht, are individuals who work for the mob and need to deal drugs in the fucking ocean. Jason said.

My parents aren’t working for the mob. The only mob they’ve been a part of is a black Friday mob. I said.

Oh, your parents are those kind of people? Jason frowns.

No. They’re so up in the clouds when it comes to the 21st century, they didn’t know what black Friday was. They thought Y2k was happening. I said. Jason slurped from his cup before setting it down once more.

What made them think that?

They kept hearing people shout 4K to employees.

4K? Like 4K T.V.’s?

Yeah, I don’t know how they got it in their heads, that that meant Y2K was happening—must’ve thought it was some sort of sequel—point is, they’re old fashioned. God I love them to death, but they won’t understand. I know that for sure. I pulled my shirt forward and began to tap my feet as if I was waiting for some big thing to happen. I kept looking at the double doors, watching people come and go. This only perpetuated my anxiety. Jason knew what was going on with me. Whenever he noticed me pulling my shirt forward, he always made a subtle roll with his eyes, as if to say, here we go again.

"Alright, who does know?" Jason asked. He was being rational now, I could tell. If only because he’d about had enough of my worrying that he would do anything to keep this day from becoming a nightmare. But deep down, behind his irked exterior, I knew he had good intentions at heart. At least, I hoped so.

You. My teachers—

Obviously.

Linda. I uttered in dismay.

Linda knows? Jason asked.

"Yeah. She was just my girlfriend for the past three years." I said.

Isn’t she going back to Colorado to finish her Bachelor’s at DU?

Yeah?

Okay, and you don’t see the potential dilemma here? Jason asked.

Why would she tell my parents? It’s none of her business. I retorted.

"Yeah, that may be true. But, she doesn’t know that you haven’t told your parents. So, beeswax or not, if she’s asked by your mom and dad, she will most likely spill the beans. And the first thing you should do, is contain the situation. Text her and tell her not to say anything to your mom and dad." Jason concluded.

I don’t think she’s going to tell her—

Why is that?

Because, you’re talking about a probable chance of Linda running into my parents. It’s a blue moon.

Colin. No offense. But, your mom and dad love… loved Linda. Probably more so than you, at times.

That’s fucked up, thanks for saying that. I said.

They’re going to find out eventually, and they’re gonna ask how you’re doing. And when she tells them… Jason suddenly clapped his hands together, making me jump, disrupting my anxious feet tapping.

What the fuck was that? I gritted.

There goes the rest of your life. And if your parents aren’t in the mob now? They will most certainly hire the help of one, to kidnap you and bring you to them, in their gleaming white yacht, where they’re gonna… Jason made a slitting throat motion with his index finger, giving me an ominous look while doing it.

You’re an idiot. I cursed at him.

It may not be as severe, but it’s not going to bode well for you, either way. Jason said.

I’m so fucked. I let my head fall into my arms and into the comfort of the darkness and the sticky, cold table surface.

That I won’t argue with. Jason added.

You’re not helping. I muffled. I shot up and looked at Jason, as he gnawed on a French fry.

I don’t know why I come to you for advice. You never say anything of value. I said. I didn’t mean it of course. Jason took it nonchalantly, as he continued to eat his fries.

That I will agree with. He said. The two of us sat in silence for a few moments before I let out a desperate sigh, turning back to the tray of untouched food. The burger looked like the ones in all the pictures that are otherwise falsely advertised in commercials. But, even the attractive sight of a juicy burger couldn’t pull me out of the storm I brewed for myself.

Look, all you have to do is call your parents and tell them the truth. Jason said. As sensible as that sounded, I ignored his suggestion. It stung me to even hear those words. The truth. Is there another option? I asked.

I’m sure there is. But, this is the only cost effective one I can think of. Jason said.

What does that supposed to mean? Is there some financial way to get rid of the problem? I asked.

Fifteen of them. Jason plainly said.

I paused for a moment, looking