Bo has been spending lots of time with Paul, constantly driving to Riverside or somewhere near here to meet him. He’s seen me just once. We got drinks at the Purple Parrot after one of my shifts. He had just been hanging out with Paul on campus. He seemed disconnected and aloof, bored of me, like he’s been since he moved to Hollyweird. But he lit up when he talked about Paul. He told me Paul gave him all these books I’d never heard of, and he loved reading them and discussing ideas with his dad. It made me sick. I wanted to confront Paul and tell him to stay the fuck away from my son, my only real family member, the boy I single-handedly raised without any of his help.

Bo told me he would be going to Paul’s birthday dinner at his house. Of course Paul is a Pisces. Weak and spineless. An adult baby. After drinks, I went home and looked at Exalted posts about Pisces. I found one that said “Pisces Starter Pack.” It had a bunch of crying emojis, a photo of an ugly fish, a GIF that said “Cry Baby,” the dictionary definition of “delusional,” a broken heart emoji, a weed leaf, a septum piercing, tie-dye condoms, a crystal ball emoji, and the Google search “How long until yogurt is poisonous?” Gross.

The post made me feel better. Paul is a whiny loser. Bo is having his honeymoon phase with his estranged father, but soon enough he’ll come running back to his mom, just like he always does.

“You’re late, Dawn,” Roberto says when I enter the Blind Pig.

I look at the clock on the wall. My shift starts at noon, and it is just 12:03. I want to argue, but I know it isn’t worth it. The old Dawn would have argued, but today the stakes are too high.

I traded shifts with the new waitress named Destiny to get off early. I had to suck up to her, which was humiliating because I hate her. She has a bad attitude and makes more tips than me. And her skin is absolutely flawless, despite her smoking cigarettes like me and always eating French fries off other people’s plates.

My shift goes quickly. There are fewer tips during the day, but it’s low stress. But I feel stressed nonetheless, and I feel it in my stomach. I keep going to the bathroom, and Roberto rudely asks if I am taking ex-lax to lose weight.

“No, I just have a big night,” I say. Then I wonder if maybe I should lose weight. Destiny is definitely thinner than me, and she gets better tips.

“Big date?” Roberto asks.

“Something like that,” I say.

EMILY.