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Roman’s nostrils flared mid-nasal-inhale. A strangled sound escaped him halfway through the cleansing cycle, and I nearly collapsed trying to hide my laugh behind a napkin.

The food was pretentious beyond belief. Something involving beet foam and dehydrated kale bark. When my stomach growled audibly, Roman whispered, “My energy’s about to fast its way out of this building.”

Bianca launched into a monologue about “energetic fasting.” Roman looked like he was barely holding it together. A musician started to play an acoustic guitar on a small stage in the corner. It was enough sound to fill the awkward silence.

Then Eric turned his attention to me.

“You’re looking very… healthy, Maggie.”

Healthy? Not beautiful. Not glowing or great or even well. Healthy—like I was a tub of Greek yogurt or had just recovered from a prolonged illness.

I smiled politely. “Thanks. I’ve been doing this new thing where I, you know, sleep and eat and function like a person. It’s revolutionary.”

Under the table, Roman’s hand flexed against mine. I didn’t dare look at him.

Eric chuckled. “Always with the sass.”

There it was—his classic fallback. If he couldn’t outshine me, he’d just… narrate me. Package the parts of me that didn’t fit into his aesthetic and label them as charming quirks. It used to work, back when I was too tired and in love to notice I was being dimmed.

I swirled the water in my glass. “It’s served me well.”

He leaned in slightly, like we were sharing some private joke. “You’ve got a glow. I don’t know. You just seem different. In a good way.”

My stomach gave a dumb little flip, equal parts memory and reflex. Part of me used to ache to hear him say that even once. It would have been confirmation that I was enough. That I was good. That he saw me. And now? Now I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry or throw the Himalayan salt crystal centerpiece at his head.

Bianca didn’t seem to notice. She was in a trance, watching the acoustic guitarist and swaying slightly, her hands folded in her lap like a serene cult leader awaiting ascension.

Eric tilted his head. “I saw your post the other day. That design with the moon phases? Stunning.”

Oh. That post. The one Roman had insisted I share even though I thought it was too weird, too specific, too me.

I glanced up at Eric. He was still watching me, like he wanted something. I couldn’t tell what. A reaction, maybe. Validation that he still had an effect on me.

“You never liked the weird ones,” I said. My tone was even, but my heart was buzzing under my ribs.

He shrugged. “Maybe I just didn’t understand them. I do now.”

Liar. He didn’t understand anything that wasn’t marketable in under thirty seconds or didn’t get a thousand likes by lunchtime. But the compliment was gentle, polished, and just wistful enough to be dangerous.

I swallowed, my throat tight. “Well. I’m glad you’re seeing things differently.”

“I really am,” he said, a little too quickly. “Do you ever think about⁠—”

Roman cleared his throat pointedly. I could feel his gaze even without turning. Eric straightened in his seat.

I let out a quiet breath and smiled sweetly. “About what? Quitting shampoo and moving to an alpaca farm? All the time.”

Eric laughed, but it was a little forced. There was a flicker of irritation beneath it, that slight narrowing of his eyes. He didn’t like being interrupted. Especially not when he was trying to come across as emotionally vulnerable.

He still hadn’t let go of the version of me who had bent herself to keep the peace. But that girl had been tired. Tired of managing his moods. Tired of shrinking so he could shine.

I wasn’t tired anymore.

“Anyway,” I said, picking up my glass, “you and Bianca seem very… in sync.”

He smiled, eyes flicking to his girlfriend, who was now doing deep breathing in time with the music. “Yeah. She’s great. Peaceful. You know how hectic things used to be.”

Oof. There it was. The sideways jab. “Totally. I mean, you’re the one who told me chaos was sexy, but what do I know?”