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“Babes.” Callie’s voice is gentle but firm. “You can’t keep comparing everyone to him. And you can’t let him breadcrumb you forever.”
“I know.” I sit up, mascara everywhere. “But it’s like... Nathan kisses too hard. He ordered for me without asking. His car was too clean. He drives too fast, and?—”
“And he’s not Jaxon.”
“And he’s not Jaxon,” I whisper.
Callie grabs makeup wipes, gently cleaning my face like she’s defusing a bomb. The wipe is black and pink—there goes forty bucks of Sephora. “You know what the worst part is?”
“That I’m pathetic?”
“No.” She tilts my chin up, her face serious in the golden glow. “Jaxon probably texted because someone told him you were out with Nathan. He doesn’t get to do that. He doesn’t get to ignore you for days and then act possessive when you try to move on.”
But he does. Always has. And I let him.
“I shouldn’t have gone out tonight,” I say, fresh tears starting. From the wall: “BLUE SHELL!” and a truly creative string ofcurses. “I shouldn’t have worn this stupid dress or these shoes or?—”
“Stop.” Callie grabs my hands. “You look hot. You deserved a night out, even if it wasn’t with the right person. Even if that person turned out to be a soccer-playing douche who wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit him with a 65-mile-per-hour riseball.”
My phone buzzes. Jaxon.
Well you’re prolly asleep
i'll text ya tmmr when I get back
Again sorry abt that
miss u
Callie sees it too. Her eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare answer.”
“I wasn’t going to.” But we both know I’m lying. We both know I’ve saved every text he’s ever sent, screenshots in a folder labeled “homework.”
She takes my phone, slides it under her pillow. “Tonight, we put on face masks, watch trashy reality TV, and eat the emergency Oreos I hid from you.”
I manage a watery laugh. “The Oreos were for emergencies.”
“Trust me.” She hugs me tight. “This qualifies. If you really want to feel better, we can make a TikTok of us burning that pink dress.”
I glance at the dress, then at the Oreos. “I kind of like the dress.”
“Fine. We’ll burn Nathan's number.”
“Deal.” My phone buzzes again under her pillow. And again. But for now, wrapped in Callie’s coconut-scented hug, watching her dig snacks from her sock drawer while Love Island plays, I let myself forget about the boy who never claims me in public.The one who left in his too-clean BMW thinking softball is “cute.” All of it.
Because some nights, that’s all you need.
2:47a.m.
Here’s a plot twist for you. I’m not awake pining over Jaxon. I’m awake because Dragon Palace’s “world-famous shu mai” is trying to kill me from the inside.
Callie’s breathing is slow and steady, broken by the occasional tiny snore she insists she doesn’t have.
I’m curled up in the fetal position, wondering if this is karma for letting Nathan kiss me or if the waitress saw me roll my eyes and gave me the week-old dumplings.
“Shut up,” I whisper to my stomach. It answers by trying new and exciting knots.
This is what I get for letting a guy order for me. Next time, I’m sticking to Chipotle. Or anywhere else.