Gloria squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” I say woodenly.
But my stomach feels hollow. Like something’s been scooped out.
Joey came to my mom’s house for Thanksgiving last year.
I brought him because he didn’t have anywhere to go, and my mom made him her famous pumpkin pie, and my brother taught him our family’s stupid card game that we’ve played since we were kids. He met my grandmother.
How do you know who to trust when everyone around you has something to gain from your secrets? When your vulnerability is just another commodity? I’m so fucking tired of wondering which smiles are genuine and which ones are calculating how much TMZ would pay for our conversation.
My thumb hovers over Nick’s messages. He’s the only person in my life who doesn’t want anything from me except bad jokes and opinions on stupid stuff. Ironically, he’s the only person I can be honest with because he doesn’t believe I’m telling the truth about who I am.
Fuck it. I need to talk to someone real.
AntD
Sorry for leaving you on read. Just got some shit news.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
What happened?
AntD
Just discovered someone I thought was a friend is, in fact, a backstabbing dickhead.
NickKnackPaddyWhack
I’m sorry. People suck sometimes. And not in the fun way.
AntD
You know what the worst part is? I genuinely liked this person. My judgment is officially broken. I should probably return it for a refund.
I stare at the screen as I wait for Nick’s reply. I’m not sure what I’m hoping for. Comfort? Advice? I don’t even know what I need right now.
Nick sends me a Baby Yoda meme—the one where he’s sipping soup with an expression of pure unbothered chaos, captioned:Me watching your enemies suffer eventually because karma is real.
I smile.
Yep. It appears a Baby Yoda meme is exactly what I need.
Somehow, this guy can make me smile when no one else can.
CHAPTER FIVE
NICK
All right, all right, it’s official.
I’m addicted to messaging AntD.
It’s not my fault he’s more interesting than literally everyone else I’ve ever messaged. I can never predict which direction our conversation will go. We’ll start off talking about which streaming service has the least annoying ads, and six hours later, we’ll be in a full-on heated debate about which pasta shapes would be most aerodynamic if thrown—penne. Obviously penne. He’s wrong about farfalle.
But amongst all the random subjects, we also talk about deeper stuff. Like, whether there is actually life after death. Whether we’re all just performing different versions of ourselves for different people. Whether anyone ever gets to see the complete picture, or if maybe there isn’t one.
Today I’ve got a break between classes, and I’m hanging out at the overpriced coffee place on MacDougal that accepts meal swipes, doing what I do best. Ignoring the assignment I should be doing and messaging AntD.
