"I feel so stupid. All those plans, the games, moments together at Mickey's Pub with you guys and our other friends... it all feels tainted now."
"Hey, you're not stupid, okay? You're one of the smartest, most amazing people I know. Taylor's the stupid one for letting you go."
"I just wish it made sense."
"Nothing about heartbreak ever does. But you've got me, always. You wanna come over to 'THE COUCH'? I've got Rocky Road ice cream with your name on it."
A tiny, genuine smile breaks through the storm. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I need that."
"Then get over here. I got you."
"Thank you, Jordan. I’m on my way."
I hang up before the tears can start anew. Jordan's right; we will get through this. With her by my side, maybe I'll even find my way back to laughter. But first, I need to face this ache, this hollow feeling where happiness used to bloom.
The car ride is a blur, and stepping outside, the chill of the evening bites at my cheeks. I walk briskly, hands buried deep in the pockets of my hoodie, and let the rhythm of my footsteps try to soothe the chaos inside.
Jordan's home is like a lighthouse amidst my stormy thoughts as I approach her front door.
I knock once, twice, and then the door swings open. Jordan looks at me, no words needed, and suddenly I'm wrapped up in the kind of hug that feels like coming home. Her embrace grounds me when I feel like I might just float away on a cloud of grief.
"Hey you," she murmurs.
"Hey," I whisper back, voice muffled against her shoulder.
She steps back, keeping an arm around me as we walk into the living room. The air is warm, smelling faintly of cinnamon from some forgotten candle, and the low hum of a TV show left on pause fills the background.
"Sit," she instructs gently, guiding me toward 'THE COUCH.'
I sink into the cushions, reminding me that some things don't change, even when it feels like my entire whole world has.
Jordan disappears into the kitchen, and she soon reemerges with a tub of Rocky Road ice cream.
"Thought this might help," she says, handing it over.
"God, yes," I breathe out, curling my fingers around the container. I flash her a small smile, a silent thank you for understanding that sometimes chocolate and marshmallows are better than words.
She sits next to me, and we cuddle into fluffy blankets. As she fiddles with the remote, the TV flickers to life, and the opening credits of Edward Scissorhands start rolling across the screen.
"Classic Johnny Depp," I mumble, scooping a generous amount of ice cream and watching as Edward's scissor fingers dance awkwardly on screen.
"Never gets old," Jordan agrees. There's something about Tim Burton's peculiar fairytale world that feels so far removed from my own mess of a life. We both laugh at the movie, lessening the weight on my chest for a brief moment.
We watch in companionable silence, our chuckles and sniffles punctuating the air as Edward navigates through his bittersweet journey. With each bite of Rocky Road, I let myself sink deeper into the cushions, into the friendship that's been my lifeline more times than I can count.
"Thanks, Jordan," I say during a quiet scene. "For… all of this."
"Anytime, Harper." She nudges me with her shoulder.
The ice cream tub sits discarded on the coffee table, a testament to our venture into comfort food territory. I pick at the last remnants of the Rocky Road with my spoon, the chocolate and marshmallow no longer sweet enough to mask the bitterness that lingers on my tongue.
"Jordan…" I start but stop, trying to find the right words.
She mutes the TV instantly, turning her body to face me. Her eyes are all concern and no judgment. "What's up?"
"Eighty-Five," I say, the name coming out more like a sigh than an actual word. The corners of her mouth twitch in recognition of my little toy.
"Ah," she says, nodding knowingly. "What about it?"
