“I did not kick the door.”
“You absolutely kicked the door.”
“I nudged it.”
“You booted it open like you were in a movie.”
The whole table broke into laughter. I was laughing too now, fully pulled in, the kind of laughter that made my ribs ache because I hadn’t used those muscles enough lately. Amber waved them off with regal irritation.
“Fine. The door may have opened aggressively.”
“Violently,” Evie corrected.
“Anyway,” Amber continued, “next thing you know?—”
Regan jumped halfway out of her chair. “Full brawl.”
She mimed grabbing someone by the hair.
“Hair pulling?—”
“Vase breaking,” Evie added.
“Amber screaming not the face like she’s ringside,” Regan said.
“I was being practical!” Amber shot back.
I laughed so hard I had to lean forward. “You’re kidding.”
Regan dropped back into her seat, breathless. “Nope.”
Amber lifted her glass. “We got our girl. Got our answers.”
Evie smirked. “And scared the hell out of that woman.”
Regan pointed at me. “Moral of the story?”
I wiped under my eyes. “What?”
“We don’t play.”
Amber clinked her glass against Regan’s. “Ever.”
The fire crackled louder, and the women kept laughing, interrupting, correcting each other, retelling pieces bigger and messier each time. I sat there wrapped in a blanket I didn’t bring, holding a drink I didn’t pay for, surrounded by women who moved like a unit, and something in my chest pulled tight.
Not pain. Not exactly. Something quieter.
I’d never had this.
Not like this. Not loud, loyal, chaotic, ride-or-die energy that didn’t ask for a résumé before stepping in. I had friends, sure. People who sent texts and remembered birthdays and said things like we should catch up soon. But this was different. This was women who boarded private planes for each other and laughed about it later under desert stars.
Regan nudged me. “You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
My voice came out softer than I meant it to. “Just... wish I had this.”
The table went quiet for half a second.
