I blink, glancing down to see Alex’s nickname at the top of the screen. Somehow, I hadn’t realized I was looking at the message he sent me earlier.
“I’m not,” I say, a little too quickly. But it’s too late, the blush is already creeping in. The telltale warmth covering my cheeks.
Kara’s expression doesn’t change. “You are.”
“It’s nothing.” I exhale, setting my phone face down on the table and idly tracing a finger over the textured edge of the sunflower case Alex sent me a couple months ago.
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“It’s just… he texted earlier. About some dish he’s working on for the new restaurant.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” I shrug. “We just… still talk sometimes.”
And that’s the truth of it. We do still talk; except it’s not like we used to. Not constant. Not effortless in that same way where hours would pass without either of us realizing it.
Now it’s a message here, a reply there.
Sometimes it’s a full conversation, but more often than not it’s just a quick exchange that fades when one of us gets pulled into something else.
It makes sense.
We have lives that don’t overlap the way they did before, back in LA. Nothing dramatic happened, we’re just both busy.
Still, I don’t mute his notifications. I don’t archive the thread, and I don’t stop my heart from doing that small, frantic flutter when his name lights up my screen.
Kara watches me for a second, then sighs. “You miss him.”
I pick at the chipped label on my glass. “Of course I do.”
She waits patiently for me, knowing there has to be more.
“But I’m okay,” I add, glancing up at her. “I really am.”
There’s a difference between missing someone and needing them. I don’t feel like something is missing from my life without him.
I feel like something meaningful happened, and now it’s over. And maybe that’s enough. We both just go our separate ways, remembering our time together for what it was.
Kara studies me like she’s trying to decide if she believes me. Then she nods once, like she’s come to a conclusion she’s not going to argue out loud.
“Okay,” she says simply.
She takes a long sip of her drink and we move on.
That’s the thing about Kara. She’ll push when she needs to, but she also knows when to let something sit. And this is something I definitely don’t plan on digging into right now, especially not in the middle of a dive bar surrounded by desperate men waiting for the first sign of vulnerability to move in on.
Later that night, after I’ve washed off the day and changed into one of my oversized sweatshirts, I curl up on my couch with my laptop balanced on my knees.
My phone buzzes softly beside me—Grump Bucket.
A picture loads.
A plate, intricate and precise, with components arranged in a way that looks almost too perfect to touch. I don’t even know what half of it is, but I know it took time. Skill, intention, and finesse that Alex has in spades.
I smile before I can stop myself.
ME:
