Or, I thought as I reached my gate, I don’t have to be alone. Cat might be my only real friend here, but she’s not actually my only friend.

FIVE MINUTES LATER, Nick was sauntering through my front door, toothpaste-commercial smile gleaming.

“That was fast,” I observed.

“When the lady beckons,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat to me. “Actually, I was already in the neighborhood.”

“Lucky me,” I said, wrapping my arms around his torso and burying my face in his chest. I inhaled, filling my nostrils with the familiar scent of Nick’s musky, slightly spicy cologne and the faintest hint of beer. It was a combination that reminded me of simpler times—sitting on Nick’s lap at football games, cuddling in his bed on lazy Sunday mornings and watching DVR-ed SNL—and made me glad I had called him.

“I’ll show you lucky,” he said, voice low as he captured my face in his hands and covered my mouth with his, ending all conversation.

LATER, NICK AND I lay side by side in bed on our phones. Nick was texting with his friends about some sports something or other, and I was composing an Instagram Story about the night, trying to figure out how to share the evening with my followers without revealing how it had ended in disaster—or how I had salvaged it by calling my ex-boyfriend.

“Oh, hey,” Nick said, looking up suddenly. “I just remembered. My mom wants to see you.”

“Your mom?” I asked, putting down my phone. “Why?”

“She always liked you,” he said with a shrug. “She knows you moved to town, and she thought you might come over for dinner sometime.”

“Oh,” I said noncommittally. The last thing I wanted to do was have dinner with Nick’s family, his mother especially. I’d met her a few times when Nick and I were dating, and the elegant but frosty woman had seemingly taken an uncomfortable shine to me. She’d run her hands through my hair, leaving it lightly smeared with her rose-scented hand cream and getting the strands caught on her cocktail rings, and begun talking about future holidays spent together. She’d thought our relationship was more serious than it was back then; I didn’t want to know what she thought about it these days.

“I’m pretty busy with work right now,” I added, “but maybe sometime.”

Nick nodded and returned to his phone. Relieved I had dodged that bullet, I lifted my own phone and went back to work on my Stories. My heart twisted when I saw an image of Cat’s happy, hopeful face, and I sighed heavily.

“Something wrong?” Nick asked, glancing over at me. “Is this about my mom? Because, Audrey, you don’t have—”

“No, it’s just …” I started, then trailed off. “Nick, do you think I’m a bad friend?”

“Babe, I’m in your bed,” he said, smirking. “I think you’re the very best kind of friend.”

“I’m serious,” I said, lightly punching his arm. “My decades-long friendship with Izzy just completely disintegrated. And then there’s this thing with Cat—”