I chomp on another bite of apple while swiping left on three more dating app profiles. I haven’t been out with anyone since my Jade Castle date with Lucas. In fact, I’ve barely done anything at all. I’ve half-heartedly cobbled together a résumé and scanned job boards. I know I can’t coast like this for much longer—my bank account is running low—but I can’t get the thought of the Summit job out of my head. Nothing else compares. I’ve been slightly more proactive on the dating front; I have a handful of conversations going with different guys, though honestly, I’m too wary to meet up with any of them. Another profile pops up.

Cali > Mass, the profile reads. Love football, hockey, and 420.

I flick disinterestedly through the guy’s photos, if only because we’ve made the same geographic move. In his third photo, he’s wearing a Rams jersey with Tyler’s name stamped across it. I swipe left and, in a fit of frustration, delete the dating app from my phone.

“Ave, you gotta come in here!” Mom shouts. “That girl from Summit is coming up next.”

“And this coach, remind me, what’s his name?” Dad asks.

I won’t get any peace in here.

“Coming!” I shout back finally.

I trudge into the living room and perch on the arm of the couch. There’s a glare on the TV from the overhead lights reflecting off the trophy case along one wall. I’ve told my parents to move them. Jasmine and a decorated male gymnast from the ’90s are on-screen. In some ways, she looks the same: her eyes still sparkle with a hint of the glittery eyeliner she’s always loved, and her warm, brown skin pops against a tight, long-sleeved, magenta top that looks vaguely reminiscent of a leotard. But now, dolled up for the cameras, she’s wearing bright lipstick that matches her outfit, and her hair is smooth.

A banner running across the bottom of the screen lists the commentators’ names: Barry McGuire and Jasmine Floyd-Federov. I always forget she works under her hyphenated married name. That was the other thing that happened during my downward spiral in LA: Jasmine and Dimitri. They got together. The news felt like the most violent hangover of my life. I turned down the invitation to their wedding, citing a family reunion that same weekend. It was a lie.