That’s how I felt when she started dating Harry. The way she would talk about him and all the shit they had in common, like playing Dungeons & Dragons, which, gross. It’s a weird feeling when you realize your best friend has a whole other life outside of you.

“You think he loves me?” I ask.

“Big. Time.”

Warmth fills my chest despite the chilly October air. “Can I tell you a secret? I think tonight might be the night we, you know.”

She squeals.

“He sort of implied yesterday that he was ready, and I am too. Anyway, what’s the second thing you learned?”

She smirks devilishly. “That you and Jack had a very Jack and Rose from Titanic moment last week that you didn’t tell me about! You kinky slut!”

“Ohmygod. He told you that?”

“In his defense, he thought I already knew since you tell me everything. And—” She starts laughing. “His face became such a shade of purple that he couldn’t look at me for a good half hour. We just drove in silence.”

“How’d you get him to talk again?” I’m dying to know.

“I played a weird country cover of Cardi B’s ‘WAP.’ ” She snort-laughs so loud, it rings in my ear.

“Shut. Up.” I can’t breathe. “You. Did. Not!”

“I did! I did!”

“You know what Benny said when I told him what happened? He said, and I quote, ‘Draw me like one of your French twinks!’ ”

I’m crying actual tears of laughter when I see Mom. “Oh shit, be cool.”

“Why?” Rae mutters. “You don’t want to swap blow job tales with your mom? Uh—hi, Momma Arthur!” Rae unlatches to hug her.

“I’m so happy you came!” Mom says. “I was wondering when the hell you’d get here. I just met Jack!” She has her judgy “is he good enough for my baby?” face on.

“We love him,” Rae says.

“Do we now?” Mom says, glaring at me. “In that case, we better get back inside because your father has a hold of him now.”

“Oh god,” I say.

“Relax,” Mom says. “He’s on his best behavior today.” She stares me down. “You look like you’re wasting away.”

Which is not true. I guess I did lose weight, even though I haven’t been trying. Especially when trying for me has historically been destructive. But Mom is used to me with a lot of extra padding.

“Are you eating okay? Have you found a new therapist yet? We haven’t talked about that in a while.”

“Mom, I’m good.”

“All right, all right,” she says. “I’ll third-degree you later.”