We laugh, but in the back of my head I know there will be no boozy ballet. We no longer have a common denominator. Once Francesca realizes Asher and I broke up, we won’t be going on anymore thrifting dates, which is fine, I guess. The ex-girlfriend and the current girlfriend was never a likely friendship.

“We need to find me something to wear tonight,” Francesca says, flicking another hanger down the rack.

“Where are you going?”

She looks at me with quizzical eyes and laughs. “The ugly sweater party? At the Demerci? Asher said you two were going.”

“When?”

“This morning,” she says. “I ran into him when I was leaving pilates. He looked a mess, but when I asked, he said you guys would be there.”

“Oh.”

I try not to get hung up on him looking a mess. Because him being a mess means he got as much sleep as I did. Up all night. Staring at the ceiling. Wondering how a week could change everything.

It’s a strange feeling to be simultaneously angry and heartbroken. Half the time, I don’t know if I’m crying because he disappointed me or because I miss him. Sometimes I cry because I’m upset that I’m crying over him.

Most of the time, I cry because I hate that I’ve been silenced for so long—that I’ve let men walk all over me. Allowed them to make me uncomfortable. Granted them permission to treat me as less than the person I am. I’m not an object to be used for their gains.

I’m a woman.

And I’m done being bullied.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say even though that’s an absolute lie. “No, not really.”

“Is it Asher?”

I can’t tell if she’s fishing for information, or if she’s generally concerned. I give her the benefit of the doubt. Whatever her intentions were when befriending me don’t matter now.

“I don’t think we’re going to work out.”

“What?” she gasps, her eyes widening into tiny oceans of gray. “Why?”

“We’re very different.”

“I know,” she laughs. “That’s what makes you guys so great together.”

“No, I think we’re too different.”

Francesca drapes an old Rolling Stones tour t-shirt over her forearm, and gives me a sympathetic smile, like she knows what I’m feeling, like she’s been here before.

“Look, I don’t want to sound like the ex who thinks she knows Asher better, but he’s been this way for so long that I don’t think he knows how to be any other way.”

“What way is that?”

“He’s closed off and stubborn and crotchety. He has control issues galore. Everything is done on his terms. I know it’s exhausting.”