Freya’s face softened.
“So what changed?” Eleanor asked and I can’t actually decide how I feel about Eleanor being on girls night. Perfect Eleanor and her snide comments but she’s… different somehow.
I swirled my drink, thinking about the kitchen counter. The dancing. The way Dan had looked at me like he hadn’t seen me in years.
“He started flirting again,” I said quietly. “Not grabbing my bum while I was holding a bin bag. Actually flirting.”
Clara raised her glass. “To the death of chore-play.”
We clinked.
Freya stared into her tequila for a second.
“Must be nice,” she muttered.
And that’s when the energy shifted. Because Freya wasn’t glowing. She was vibrating.
The tequila did the rest.
And suddenly she was standing, waving a lime wedge like a courtroom exhibit.
“I just don’t understand why he didn’t say it back!”
We all leaned in.
And as she unravelled, Rory, the city, the history, the fifteen-year ache, I felt two things at once.
First: fury on her behalf.
Second: relief.
Relief that I wasn’t the woman crying over a man who hadn’t chosen her.
Not tonight.
When Clara dragged Freya onto the stage for Kelly Clarkson, I stayed back for a second.
Lou nudged me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, watching Freya belt like her life depended on it. “Just… remembering.”
“Good remembering or bad remembering?”
“Both.”
Because watching Freya sing “Since U Been Gone” like she was exorcising a demon reminded me of the years Dan and I had nearly lost.
The quiet resentment. The roommate phase.
The wondering. And the fact that, somehow, we hadn’t let it swallow us whole.
Clara shrieked the high note. Hannah nearly fell off the stage. The pub roared. Freya came back glowing.
And then she froze.
The girls’ faces changed instantly.
I followed her line of sight.
