My stomach, grumbling loud and actually painful, eventually ends my Survivor marathon of dissociation.
I guess it’s time to be a human again.
I haul myself off the couch and head to the corner store, grabbing the bare minimum for jambalaya. It’s a good slow cooker meal—low effort, high reward. I throw a bag of frozen wontons into my basket, too. Something to snack on while I wait.
Walking back to my apartment, I roll my eyes, remembering Nate’s irrational jealousy over the slow cooker I bought. It wasn’t fancy. Just something cheap that could get the job done and save us both time and energy after long days. But of course, Nate saw my brilliant idea as a personal attack.
"What, my cooking isn’t good enough?" he'd complained. "I’m tired at the end of the day too, Andy! But still I go out of my way to make you something. ‘Cause I care."
"What are you talking about?" I'd been too exhausted to hide my exasperation. "We’re both tired. You cook all day. This way, whoever’s up first can just throw stuff in, and dinner will be ready when we get home. And we’ll actually have leftovers. How is this an attack on you?"
He couldn’t give me an answer back then. And now, I can finally see it for what it was: manipulation.
He must have thought cooking for me every night—no matter how drained he was—would make me realize how imbalanced things had become. That I’d feel guilty enough to cut back at Runway.
Instead, I tried to make life easier for both of us. And he, like a petulant little boy who didn’t get the exact toy he wanted, threw a fit.
Classic.
What an ass.
Back at my apartment, I chop the onion, celery, and bell pepper, tossing them into the slow cooker. It hits me then—how easy it had been to break up with him. Yeah, endings always hurt, but now I can look back and see the situation for what it was.
Not healthy.
Still, the apartment is lonely now that it’s just me.
And way too expensive.
I sigh. I’m going to have to do something about that soon. This place is bleeding my savings dry, and I can’t justify it anymore. I don’t know if I’ll find something cheaper without roommates, but I have to at least start looking.
Thinking about roommates immediately brings up memories of living with Lily in college.
I smile.
Giving the jambalaya one last stir, I set it to High and put the lid on. Three hours to go. Then, I flop back onto my couch.
Lily.
We really had some good times. From pushing each other on the swings in elementary school to throwing parties in our dorm room—there was never a dull or lonely moment.
I open Instagram, but I’m not really looking at anything. Instead, I’m trying to make sense of how our friendship has shifted in the last six months.
I think back to the last time we talked. Or argued, more accurately.
It was at her big gallery opening, and I had barely stepped inside before Christian Thompson materialized out of nowhere.
God.
I cannot believe I slept with that slimy lizard.
But that’s a self-rebuke for another time. I force my mind away from sleazy smirks and too much hair gel, back to my best friend.
If I can still call her that.
It still stings, what she said to me that night.
"The Andy I know is madly in love with Nate, is always five minutes early, and thinks Old Navy is couture. For the last sixteen years, I’ve known everything about that Andy, down to her last hangnail. But this person? This glamazon who skulks around in corners with some random hot fashion guy? I don’t get her."
I don’t want to think badly of my best friend of sixteen years, but—
What the hell?
Of course I changed. That’s life. I’m not the same person I was at five, or fifteen, and I sure as hell hope I’ll keep changing before I hit thirty-five. Lily never had a problem with me growing before.
So what’s different now?
I twirl my phone around in my fingers and stare at the ceiling, turning it over and over in my head.
And then it clicks.
Every time Lily scolded me for being “too obsessed” with my job, it always came back to him.
"It’s his birthday, Andy."
"The Andy I know is madly in love with Nate."
"In case you’re interested, Nate is looking for you."
She had no problem accepting the expensive purses I got from work. But apparently, slighting Nate crossed a line.
What kind of girl’s girl prioritizes her best friend’s boyfriend over her best friend?
I slam my head back against the couch.
It’s so obvious now.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Maybe I was too busy. Maybe I just didn’t want to. But now, I can’t unsee it.
Lily was in love with Nate.
My boyfriend.
Well. Ex-boyfriend now.
Thank God.
You know what? I think, the anger draining from me as quickly as it came. They can have each other.
I don’t need a man who wants me to shrink so he can feel bigger.
I don’t need a friend who puts a man’s ego before my growth.
I inhale, deep and steady, gathering up every what-if, every if-only.
I hold it inside me for a few beats.
And then—
I let it all go.
A deep, full exhale, like opening my hands and watching it all float away.
I won’t fret over them. I won’t stress over making it work. I won’t waste another second worrying whether they like the new me.
My phone rings in my hand, vibrating against my palm.
I jolt, nearly falling off the couch as I fumble to answer it.
"Yes, Miranda?"
My voice is steady.
I’m not going to agonize over them anymore.
I don’t have the time, anyway.
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