Max winks before letting herself out of my bedroom. She looks around first, making sure she isn’t going to run into my roommate, and then heads out the front door. It clicks behind her, and I collapse into the pillows. Staring at the ceiling, I ignore the feeling of wanting to cry. It wasn’t my fault that Max doesn’t want a relationship. She doesn’t want one with anyone; it’s not just me. So how can I be hurt by something like that? I just wish I could shut off my heart in these moments.
I used to be so good at friends with benefits. I could stay unattached like no one’s business. But the last time I felt that unattached, I broke someone’s heart. I miss Gus. I was theirfriend, and I still feel like shit about stringing them along. But I thought it might make Max commit if she knew I was with someone else. Yeah, I know how shitty that sounds. Which is why lately I haven’t been hooking up with anyone except Max. I guess I’ve become one of those hopeless friends with benefits who hope they’ll change their mind.
Sighing, I pick up my phone and look at my notifications. There is nothing pressing in my texts, so I leave them alone for now and head to Instagram first. Thousands of comments and likes are flooding my feed. Most of them praising me for being so body positive and brave, a word I hate. Why are fat girls who post themselves on the internet always referred to as brave? I sigh. It is a common occurrence, but whatever.
I recently did a brand deal with a queer-founded organic makeup company in the city. I tried the products and loved them, so I made a makeup tutorial and did a little shoot.
The company is super happy about how the collab is going, so it is only a matter of time before they ask for another. I’ve got over 1.1 million followers, which makes me a mid-range influencer; most of them are there for my body-positivity content.
It had started by accident, posting photos without filters. Posting my bikini photos with stretch marks, my stomach rolls, all of it on display.
I’m not ashamed of my body, not like the media wants me to be. And after I weeded out the losers who made unfriendly comments, I found my following by being authentically myself. I shop local in the city, post about what I actually enjoy and where to find plus-size clothing that don’t make you look pregnant or a hundred years old.
It is successful enough that I could quit my job and do this for a living. It makes my taxes a pain in the ass, but besides that, it is fun.
My phone buzzes with a reminder alert
*Therapy on Monday at 11:15 a.m. Click to confirm*
I confirm my appointment and close my phone. I need a shower, and I hate to wash off the smell of Max so soon, but at least I’ll still have her on my sheets.
I’m having breakfast with my best friends, Aspen and River, tomorrow, and I need to look presentable. They are still in their honeymoon phase.
They married over a year ago after finding each other again at a LULY concert, their sapphic singer, and falling back in love. I was hesitant at first, knowing how heartbroken River was the last time Aspen left, but she happily proved me wrong.
I get out of bed, wrap a robe around me, and head to the front door to lock it properly. The bottom lock clicked into place behind her, but before I become Jamie Lee Curtis’s mom in the shower, I want to lock the second one. Sure, I live in midtown, but I don’t want to risk it; there are bad people everywhere.
“Hey, I didn’t know you were still up,” my new roommate, Hazel says.
“Just about to shower, I wanted to make sure everything was locked up,” I explain.
“Ah, I was up drawing. Do we have any coffee? I’m trying to stay awake.” She smiles.
I don’t know much about Hazel, she answered an ad in the paper a month ago. When Aspen moved out I realized how much having someone rent a room helped out financially. It was nice to put into my savings every month. Hazel was the most relaxed of the applicants, and she was looking for an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop. So I introduced her to River, and because she’s talented, River agreed to hire her.
“I think there’s coffee by the mugs.” I am more of an iced coffee drinker, but every so often I enjoy a hot cup on a cold night.
“Yes! Thanks.” She starts fixing it, and I head back to the bathroom.
I’m still feeling a bit on edge since Max left, and the last thing I want to do is go to bed. So I put the shower on as hot as it will go and hope the steam will relax me. I have photos to take this week, and I don’t want to have bags under my eyes for them.
Chapter Two
MAX
“Is that lipgloss on your neck?” Aspen asks, squinting at the side of my throat. My hand rushes to cover my flesh, and I feel the sticky remnants. Yes, that is definitely lipgloss.
“Uhhh!” I try to wipe it off, but it’s just sticky, and now my fingers smell like cherries.
“Oh my God, it totally is! And you’re blushing like crazy! Whose is it?!” Aspen asks.
We’ve been friends longer than I can remember, but she still doesn’t know about Cari. At first, it was out of convenience, and at this point, it just feels weird to bring it up. I’m not the type to kiss and tell, so why would I mention it? I rub my hands on the back of a napkin she hands me and clean the rest of my neck.
Aspen must see my face because she quickly says, “It’s fine, you don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready.”
“It’s just not a big deal. If it turns into something, you’ll be the first to know.” I say. And I mean it too, if I were going to tell anyone about my relationships or one-night stands, it would be her. If she can hold my hand while I cry after being left at the altar, our friendship can handle anything.
“Okay.” She nods.
