I laugh, too loud and too quick. “No. No, no. This isn’t that. I’m not—I’m not doingthat.”
She raises a perfectly shaped brow. “Doing what?”
I sigh. “Catching feelings for the most decent guy I’ve met in like five years… because we’re roommates and I don’t know him, not really.”
I say it like a joke. Like I’m rolling my eyes at myself. But my throat tightens right after, and I have to look away. Because I’mnot catching feelings. I’m just… grateful. For the space. For the fact that when I told my friends I needed somewhere safe, he didn’t ask questions. He just handed me his bed. It’s not feelings. It’s basic human appreciation. Right?
Right.
“I just needed a reset,” I mumble. “A break from all the bullshit. That’s all this is. A pit stop. Not a—whatever.”
Marley nods, like she gets it, like she’s also done the whole burn-your-life-down-and-try-again thing. “Still. Sounds like he gives a shit.”
“Yeah,” I say, finishing my drink and hiccupping. “That’s kind of the problem, Maya.”
“My name is Katie.”
“Oh.”
Daphne bounds over to me with a big smile. “Hi, Katie. Liv, looks like you’re having a great time.”
“I am,” I shout. “I had lots of vodka gummy bears in my drink.”
Katie—formerly known as many other names—laughs politely and slips away, probably to find someone who won’t rename her mid-conversation.
Daphne raises a perfectly sculpted brow. “How many gummy bears are we talking?”
I hold up my cup. “Enough to make me feel some pesky feelings I don’t want to process.”
“Ah,” she says, linking her arm through mine. “So we’ve entered the emotional phase of the night.”
“No,” I whisper dramatically. “We passed that phase fifteen minutes ago. I’m in the radical honesty phase now.”
“Shit,” she mutters. “Okay. Bathroom, water, maybe a carb. Come on.”
“I’mfine,” I say, but I follow her anyway as she steers me down the hallway lined with coats and people.
We end up in the kitchen, where someone’s made a sad attempt at a charcuterie board on a baking tray. I grab a piece of cheese and eat it whole while Daphne pours water into a cup, hands it to me, and waits until I drink all of it.
“You good?”
I nod. “I’mgreat.I just had a minor identity crisis on a floral beanbag while misnaming someone for half an hour. But it’s cool. I’m thriving.”
Daphne tilts her head, giving me that best friend face I hate. The one that sees way too much.
“Liv.”
I groan. “Don’t ‘Liv’me.”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I’m partying, there’s a difference.”
“Are you sure?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, wobbling slightly as I lean against the counter. “One involves sparkly eyeliner and the other involves accidentally crying in public. So far, I’m still glittery.”
She softens. “I get it. I do. But if you’re going to drink like a sailor, you need to eat.”
