Alana Duncan.
It sticks in my head for the whole morning, and by the time we’re halfway through brunch, everything I’ve convinced myself about being evolved and mature enough to not stalk a stranger has dissolved.
“I think Jason was cheating on me,” I blurt out to my friends. I touch my chest as I say it, because it hurts like hell to admit it.
Mo has been telling us about the bug she’s fixing on her Zebra app, but she immediately pivots.
“I’m going to kill him,” she says, and it’s like she doesn’t even need the details. I see a version of the past year where she’s been waiting for him to fuck up, and now he has.
“Are you sure?” Amber asks.
“I don’t trust him,” I say, and it feels like a giant release after all this time. To simply tell the truth.
I know this is as good a chance as any to tell them about thedumping, the dreams, but at this point things have gotten so far that I don’t think I can. Besides, Jason cheating on me would be mostly a Jay-is-a-douche kind of problem, mostly his fault, rather than a situation where I’ve lied to them for more than a month. I’m sure I’ll tell them the whole truth at some point. Just notnow.
“With who?” Amber asks.
“Yeah, how did you find out? Piece of shit.” Mo mutters the last part under her breath.
“It’s complicated,” I say, “but basically there’s a girl named Alana Duncan who looks like a brunette Sabrina Carpenter, and I found her number in his phone.”
“Could it be a mistake? Maybe he has the girl’s number for another reason?” Amber says, forever cautious to take up arms against someone she likes.
“They’re into each other. Just trust me on this,” I say.
“I believe you,” Amber says, and I want to kiss her for choosing my side, always. “What do you want to do? I mean, have you looked up her socials?”
“Not yet,” I admit.
“Okay, but how aggressively stupid can one guy be?” Mo asks, stealing a bit of bacon from my plate. “I told you it was weird how he was suddenly into you, didn’t I? As if he didn’t know you all his life…”
Amber shuts it right down. “Mo, seriously. More support. Less…whatever it is you’re doing.”
They glare at each other. Mo relents. “Fine. What’s her name again?”
I repeat her name, and all three of us search for her.
“I have her Instagram,” I say, and both of them lean in to look at my phone.
“She’s hot,” Amber says, stating the obvious.
“Oh my God, her dog,” Mo coos. “Can the two cheaters eff off to an island and give us the cute dog?”
Amber smacks her, and Mo giggles.
“She has so many friends,” I say, looking at the vast array of faces on her grid.
Alana hasn’t updated her Instagram in over a year, but there are a few pertinent things we learn about her. She’s great at golf. She’s great at playing the bass. She’s older than us—in her first year of college. And she has three older brothers.
“God, it’s like a page of testimonials,” I say, looking at her tagged photos.
@northernAlanaYou are the funniest, sweetest, most loyal friend I have ever had. You have been there for me ALL our lives, through thin and thicc (iykyk, hahaha). Even tho we don’t share blood, you are my SISTER for life and the kindest soul I have been priviliged to know and I miss you now that we’re on separate coasts.
“Separate coasts?” Mo says. “Oh, it looks like she moved out west for school.”
After some back and forth, we decide I should DM Alana and send this message:Hey Alana, I wanted to ask a couple of questions about someone you know. Do you have time to chat?
She doesn’t respond throughout our brunch, and by the end of the day, there’s still no reply.
