It takes us ten minutes to stop crying and hugging and gasping at the huge diamond Colt chose for her. She tells me that it happened over the Christmas holiday. That she had begun unwrapping all her gifts, and Colt made her open the smallest one last. Her parents recorded the entire thing. And she and Colt are now trending on TikTok as a result. Then she shows me the video of Colt getting down on one knee while her mom shouts in the background, “Back straight, Nora!” and I cry and laugh all over again, because I’m happy—so happy for her—and because I want that kind of stability in my life too.

A little voice reminds me that I can, in fact, have it. I can choose perfect. All I have to do is turn my back on one night in Spain.

Hashtag Best Couple Ever.

FIFTEEN

FIFTEEN

Two days later, I cook Dom a meal at his place. I stick to my winning (and only) recipe. Pasta with a premade supermarket sauce and fried drumsticks coated with breadcrumbs. Dom has pulled numerous double shifts this week, covering for some people who took extended Christmas vacations. Since we didn’t do the deed at his parents’ house over Christmas, it has now been a week since we’ve had sex. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to have sex with him right now. I’m still tangled up in my feelings.

I hate that I’m hiding a secret from him. Which is why I try to compensate by being the girlfriend he deserves. Also, I’m aware that the clock is ticking and that Nora is a breath away from telling me she is moving out. She should move out. I’ve ruined enough lives in my short lifetime.

I’ve already done the calculations, and I can rent the place on my own. It’s probably for the best that I stay there for at least one more year. I can’t see myself taking big steps with Dom, with everything that’s going on.

“Food’s amazing, babe,” Dom moans as he tears into a drumstick. My mother always said you can tell a lot about a man by the way he eats his fried chicken, and Dom’s a savage when it comes to his meal. He licks his fingers and separates the meat from the bone, crushing the semihard parts with his teeth. Oil drips down his chin. He is like that during sex too. Hungry and raw and real. Yet in just about any other area in life, he is sweet, agreeable, almost placid; the two versions of him coexist, but I cannot help but suspect that he is one more than the other. What bothers me is I don’t know which part of him is real and which part is for show.