Does she love you? by Pasha Malla

Question: How do I know if a girl loves me or not?

Answer: If she knows what song is coming next on the mix CD you made her: She loves you.

If she hides your shoes when you’re late for work, and from a supine position on the couch plays “Hot/Cold,” and, finally, after 15 minutes of you ignoring her screaming, “Boiling! Burning up!” every time you stalk angrily by the dishwasher, gets up, flips it open to reveal the shoes, sitting there among the plates, and hands them over with a kiss and a giggle, and then laughs some more as you tie your laces in a silent rage: She loves you.

If she calls you at work that day to ask, “How are those shoes working out?”: She loves you.

If when you get home you try to hide something of hers, she finds it immediately, shaking her head, and when she pulls whatever it is—oven mitts or stretch pants—from behind the couch, she looks at you and without any attempt to hide her pity, says, “I love you”: She loves you.

If she puts up with an entire Stars of the Lid album on a long-distance road trip: She loves you.

If she dances with your friends: She loves you.

If she’s a zombie: She loves you, but only for your brains.

If she says, “I love you” on the roller coaster, right after you’ve puked down your shirt: She loves you.

If you go to a karaoke bar with friends and do a duet of “Endless Love,” and she insists on doing the Lionel Richie part if only so she can really belt out a big “Ooh whoa” near the end, and when you’re done she announces you to the crowd as “Miss Diana Ross, everybody,” and then gives you a high-five: She loves you.

If she plays pointedly with strangers’ babies at the park, intermittently looking over to you with an expression that says, “See?”: She loves you.

If her parents love you: She loves you, probably.

If her parents hate you: She might love you, too.

If she ever says the words, “I hate you”: She loves you. Or she did at one point, anyway.

If she loves you, if she really loves you, you’ll know it. If you can wake up to her staring at you and it’s not even mildly creepy, if you catch her smelling the shoulder of the hooded sweatshirt you lent her for an autumn walk at the beach, if she makes you a pancake in the shape of a shark, if she calls you drunkenly at four in the morning “to talk,” if she laughs at your jokes when they’re funny and makes fun of you when they’re not, if she keeps her fridge stocked with Guinness tallboys for when you come over, if she tells you how she wishes she were closer to her sister and that her dad makes her sad: She loves you, of course she loves you.