“It’s not that shocking,” Steph says. “Beth has her shit together. She has a good job and a nice dog, and she doesn’t get too drunk and spill ice cream all over her furniture. I’m just … a loser.”

I slam my drink on the table and droplets of Red Bull vodka spritz into the air. “A loser?” I say. “I’m sorry, but Stephanie Snyder is not a loser.”

Steph looks up at me and frowns.

“Stephanie Snyder is a winner,” I continue. “She is my best friend. She is a goddess and a boss. She has hair like a lion and perfect tits. She is a Leo, blessed with the power of the sun.”

“Oh please, Dawn,” Steph says. “My zodiac sign does not make me a winner.”

I slam my drink on the table again. “What is wrong with you?” I grab her shoulders and shake them until she starts laughing. “Let’s get shots.”

“Sure,” Steph says. “Let’s drink until I believe you.”

“Attagirl!” I shout.

I walk up to the bar and order two shots of tequila, then bring them back to our table.

“I don’t want to talk about Beth,” she says.

“That’s fine,” I say, and then we both take our shots in unison, like twins.

“What’s new with you?” she asks.

I wasn’t planning on telling her about Paul’s driver’s license, which at this point I am hoarding like a private secret, but the tequila compels me to pull the license out and put it right on the table in front of us.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Remember a very significant Paul from my past?”

“Holy shit,” Steph says.

Steph is the only person I told about Paul. I told my mom I was raped. I told Bo his father was dead.

“Where did you get this?” she asks.

“I saw him walking into the Coffee Bean across from work a few days ago,” I say. “I’ve started going before work hoping to run into him. He was walking out the other day and dropped this.”

“Oh my god,” Steph says. “I thought he was from out of town.”

“Same,” I say. “But according to his driver’s license he lives right by you.” I pause, wondering where Steph is living now that Beth dumped her.

“Holy shit,” Steph says. “This is crazy. What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I say, and that’s the truth.

EMILY.