“Later. Tonight’s about you.”
Serena tells me about Caleb’s niece, who sounds more like a college professor than a little girl. I tell them about the very attractive Swedish postdoc who asked me to coffee. How I panicked and told him I was ‘emotionally unavailable due to a recent interpersonal data corruption.’ He asked if I needed tech support. I said the damage was irreparable and walked away.
“You did not say that.” Layla’s eyes go wide.
“I did. To his face. He looked at me like I was speaking in code.”
“You were speaking in code.”
“Engineer brain. Can’t turn it off.”
We’re laughing—real laughs, not performative ones—and the tension in my chest starts to ease. But underneath, somethingtwists. That’s the version of me that got rejected, isn’t it? The one who can’t just say ‘I’m not over someone’ like a normal human being.
Then I yawn.
It sneaks up on me—a full-body, jaw-cracking yawn that I can’t stifle. Jet lag, finally catching up.
“OK.” Layla sets down her wineglass. “That’s our cue. You need to rest before tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Dinner.” Serena’s already gathering her things. “Welcome home celebration, part two. Just us and the guys?—”
I freeze.
The guys.The guyscould mean?—
“Just Bennett and Caleb,” Layla says quickly. Too quickly. She’s watching my face like she’s waiting for it to crack. “That’s it. Promise.”
I make myself breathe.
“But if you’re not up to it,” she continues, “it can just be us girls. Or we can skip dinner completely. You just got back. No one expects you to?—”
“No.” The word comes out steadier than I feel. “No, I’d love to see Bennett and Caleb. It’ll be good to catch up.”
Serena and Layla exchange another look.
“Besides,” I add, defaulting to professional mode, “I want to hear how they’ve been handling NeuraTech in my absence. That project was my baby. I need a full debrief on whatever chaos I’m walking back into.”
It’s a reasonable excuse. A professional excuse. The kind of thing the old Audrey—the pre-Sweden, pre-blonde, pre-heartbreak Audrey—would absolutely say.
Layla nods slowly. “We’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Seven works.”
They hug me goodbye, longer than necessary. I can feel them wanting to say more. To ask if I’m really OK. To push past the armor and the deflection and the ‘I’m fine’ I’ve been performing all day.
They don’t.
I close the door behind them and lean against it.
The apartment is quiet now. The banner sags a little in the middle. The flowers are beautiful. I can’t stop staring at them, because if I look away, I might have to think about what tonight actually means.
Dinner with Bennett and Caleb.
Who are Logan’s best friends.
Who will definitely have seen him in the last three months.
