“For the love of God, people, stop it,” Jordan snapped, stepping between us. “You’re grown adults. Allegedly.”
I collapsed onto the couch, breathless and laughing and still somewhat nauseous. Dig flopped down beside me, completely unfazed.
“God, I missed you,” Dig said, brushing a crumb off my shoulder like I was a Renaissance painting and not someone who’d spent her morning yakking into a bag. “Even though I saw you two days ago, my life is truly not complete until I am by your side, watching you make the next poor decision in what will likely be a string of even more poor decisions.”
Then he slid closer to the spot beside me, gently placed a hand on my knee, and in his most solemn, theater-kid tone said, “It would be my absolute honor to help escort you to Savannah.”
I stared at him and blinked, tilting my head. Had I had a stroke on top of everything else that had gone wrong this morning?
“I’m sorry—what?”
Dig nodded, sincere and wildly unhelpful. “We’ll pack up what matters most, hop in a rental, and head south. You’ll start fresh. Like a glamorous pioneer. But with A/C and better eyebrows.”
“No,” I blurted, flinging my arms toward the disaster around me. “No, no, no. I can’t just go to Savannah! Mylifeis here!”
Jordan made a quiet noise in the back of his throat. Not a laugh. Not a cough. A noise nestled somewhere between pity and a sigh of spiritual defeat.
“Your brother’s worried,” he said, setting his coffee down. “He thinks being somewhere calmer might help you figure out your next move. Somewhere with… family.”
Dig gasped. “Wow. Just gonna erase me like that?”
“I’m not moving to Savannah,” I snapped. “That’s where Doyle ran off to when he ditched me and our plans to travel the world together. To marry you!” I pointed at Jordan and furrowed my brow. “You stole him.”
Jordan didn’t flinch. “He offered himself freely.”
“I can’t abandon my life—”
His eyes swept the apartment—the futon Dig refused to fold the last time he stayed the night, the prints taped to walls because I couldn’t afford frames, the camera gear scattered like evidence of a crime scene. He didn’t need to say more. But he sure as hell did.
“What life, hun?”
Ouch.
“You don’t have to say it like that,” I muttered.
“You’re currently working at a thrift store, and your dreams of becoming the next Annie Leibovitz crashed into reality three unpaid gigs ago. Also, need I remind you, you’re likely six weeks pregnant with a guy who ghosted you after giving you a fake number.”
I crossed my arms. “Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you,” Jordan said, sitting beside me with a sigh. “I just don’t understand you. But I love you anyway. And Doyle and I wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves if we didn’t try to help.Come to Savannah. Stay with us for a little bit while you figure out your next move. It’s not a trap.”
It’s not a trap. Meaning, they hadn’t yet, and wouldn’t be telling my mother at this moment in time. Meaning that I was safe from the wrath I knew was eventually hurtling my way. But at least this bought me some time to try and figure it all out.
The panic in my chest didn’t vanish, but it started to shift and morph into something else entirely—something resembling surrender.
“What would I even do in Savannah?”
Dig grinned. “I don’t know. Start over. Take pictures of Spanish moss and strangers in love. You’re always chasing that next moment anyway—might as well do it somewhere the backdrop doesn’t smell like hot garbage.”
I opened my mouth to argue. To list all the reasons this was my home, my life, my choice. But the words stuck in my throat like a day-old bagel. Because he wasn’t wrong. I had nothing here except a dog, a hangover, and a positive pregnancy test from a man who gave me the wrong goddamn number.
“Fine,” I muttered.
Dig threw his legs over mine. “I’ll be able to stay for the first few days. That gives us enough time to get you settled and then ruin your new life.”
Nancy whimpered.
And just like that, it was settled. One night with the wrong guy, one catastrophic voicemail, and I was trading my big-city burnout for Southern comfort.
