Lizzie: Happy birthday, bitch face. Love you. Come home soon.
Olive:Happy birthday, Cass. Miss you. Wish we could celebrate with you.
Lizzie:Maybe you can celebrate by getting under someone else.
Lizzie:Some new dick could do you some good.
Olive:Lizzie! Shut it, will you? Seriously though, Cass, when you’re up for it, will you let me write about your breakup? My notebooks are itching to be filled with heartbreak songs.
Lizzie:Stop being so boring, Ol. Get your own heart broken, and write about that. Love you, Cass.
Olive:Love you, Cass.
Me:Ha ha, very funny. Sure, go ahead, Ol. But I’m with Lizzie. Get your own heart broken if you want something juicy to write about. Love you both.
Olive: Hard no from me. Thanks though.
Chuckling to myself —a real chuckle— I somehow find the courage to peel my body off the couch, force myself to go to bed, close my eyes, and let sleep take me away.
For the first time in three weeks, I don’t sob myself to sleep.
That’s progress, I think.
***
The sound of banging on my apartment door shoots through my ears, forcing me upright, leaving me frazzled, confused, and pissed.
"What the hell?"
Groaning, I rip off my eye mask and blink away the blur. There’s only one person in their right mind who would knock like a damn mad woman at nine in the morning.
On a Saturday, none the less.
Grunting, I throw my feet over the side of the bed, shoving my white, fluffy slippers on one by one, before making my way to my front door. The banging continues, but it doesn’t quicken my steps.
"Hurry up, you old bitch," I hear Jenna’s voice shout from the other side of the door. It blends with the sound of her fist pounding against it, and I’ve never longed for silence more in my entire life.
"What a pleasant surprise," I say sarcastically and I rip the door open and away from her invading knuckles. Rolling myeyes, I cross my arms over my chest and glare at my best friend. She looks a lot more put together than I do.
Her long, blonde hair is down in waves, while my brown hair is in a messy bun. Her soft, blue eyes pop, thanks to her oversized black t-shirt and light blue jeans that hug her thick thighs, while my hazel eyes are no doubt puffy and bright red, and my grey t-shirt is covered in wine and ice cream stains.
"Here. I got you this," she says, handing me a large cup of coffee as she shoves my body out of the way to make herself comfortable in my home. I guess I don’t mind that she’s here. Apparently, I craved coffee and company today, even though I’d never admit it.
"I’ve bought enough to make us your birthday breakfast," she says, slamming grocery bags down on my counter tops as I slowly make my way to join her.
"Thanks," I mumble in between sips of the magical cup of liquid gold that I cling to for dear life.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
I knowwhyshe’s here.
But I don’t understandwhy she’s here.
"It’s your birthday, silly. Of course, I’m here. I have big plans for you today,Miss Herring." She winks at me while emptying the contents of her shopping trip all over my countertops.
"I’ll only agree if it involves my couch, bed, TV, or wine."
"You’ve done nothing but watchbad TVon your couch, or in bed, for the last three weeks, Cassandra. Give me one day to celebrate you. Once your birthday is over, you can go back to feeling sorry for yourself. I’ll even buy you a wine subscription box."
