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Axel:Something comfortable.

Me:You’ll have to feed me first. I’m hungry.

Axel:Are you trying to figure out if there will be food?

Me:You know how I get when I’m unfed.

Axel:There will be food. And music. But no dancing. That’s all you’re getting. Unless you’re feeling super anxious and then I can tell you a tiny bit more but that’s a green apple situation!

Me:Fine. I won’t be using my green apple card at this time. So, as per usual, I will come and pick you up and you’ll tell me where to go?

Axel:It’s worked well so far for us.

Me:It has.

Axel:I’ve got to get back to work! See you at 7.

Axel and I have been dancing around the terms and conditions of our union since our first kiss. I’ve stopped myself, countless times since the wedding, from bringing it up. The truth is, every time I’ve attempted to, I either get distracted by his lips on mine or I’m too afraid it will jinx things. Because maybe we don’t need a label.Maybe we could just transition from fake-dating to real-dating without having a whole conversation about it. Everyone else in our lives already believes we’ve been dating since the end of August. There’s really no point in making a big deal out of it.

Who am I kidding?

We definitely need to talk about it.

My gut tells me the reason behind this whole surprise date Axel has planned is so he can officially ask me to be his girlfriend. So, I’ll stand by, (im)patiently. Waiting for that moment.

…

He has until midnight.

Then I take matters into my own hands.

I sit up and eye the corner of my bedroom, which is piled with Ben’s belongings. If Axel and I are going to make things official tonight, then I want to start with a clean palette. That means getting rid of everything that reminds me of Ben. Starting with our message thread. I swipe across his name and, without hesitation, hit Delete. And there goes years’ worth of pictures, sweet words, not-so-sweet words, and every conversation we’ve ever had online. Just like that. Gone with one swipe.

I make my way into Mom’s salon feeling ten pounds lighter already. She has Phil Collins blasting and a customer sitting in her chair with layers of foils folded in.

“Jamie!” Mom calls in surprise.

“Do you have a box?” I ask.

“Try the storage room. I should have a couple in there,” she says while checking her client’s progress.

After riffling through Mom’s storage closet, I come out with a decent-sized box marked BioSilk. I stall when I see Olivia standing by Mom’s client. She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, I ask, “What’re you doing here?”

She crosses her arms, cocking her head to the woman covered in foils. “This is my mom.”

“Ah,” I say, nodding between them. “Well, okay, nice seeing you.” I turn to make my way back up the stairs and Olivia follows me. She closes the door to Mom’s salon so it’s just the two of us in the narrow stairwell with echoes of Uncle Phil playing in the background.

“Can I help you?” I ask, stalled halfway up the stairs, still holding the empty box I plan to fill with her boyfriend’s crap.

“When are you going to stop inserting yourself into my relationship with Ben?”

“Ben asked me to tutor him. It wasn’t my idea.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Ben and I have moved past that.”

“Then what are you talking about?” I ask, fingers digging into the cardboard box.

“The DM you sent me about Ben texting you. It worked just like you intended. I confronted him and it started a big fight between us.”