I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. I actually have a boyfriend. Let me preface the fact that I’m offensively happy by saying this has never been my life’s goal. I’m someone who always thought my life was full enough without a significant other. I had Parisa, my job, my art. But that feminist disclaimer aside, I can’t stop smiling right now, and my moms are looking at me like I’m a complete lunatic. I could tell them right now. I could casually ask Julia to pass me the cream cheese and announce that Wes and I are officially dating and that’s why I’m practically delirious, but I don’t want to open up our relationship to other people’s opinions yet.

For now, I like that it’s mine and only mine. Wes and I don’t have to walk around Winchester together, enduring the not-so-subtle way our classmates would whisper about us. I don’t have to weigh anyone else’s opinion but my own. I guess this is why some celebrities prefer to walk red carpets alone. Who wants their happiness thrown under a microscope? Love shouldn’t be analyzed so closely, especially at such an early stage.

“What is up with you?” Elena asks. “You seem… happy.”

“God forbid,” I joke. “I’m just excited because I’ve been making some progress on a painting.”

“Can we see it?” Julia asks.

“Not yet. Most of it is still in my head.”

My phone buzzes with a text alert. Then another and another. I know it’s Wes. Parisa never reaches out to me this early. I sneak a peek and smile even wider.

I miss you, it says. I can’t stop thinking about last night.

It feels wrong to experience this much joy when I know the world is falling apart outside our door, but maybe we’re all clinging to whatever form of happiness we can find. And anyway, I’ll take the guilt with the ecstasy right now.

I miss you, too, I text back.

Elena raises an eyebrow and asks who I’m talking to this early.

“Parisa,” I lie.

I can feel Elena bristle at my response. Even before our little edible experiment, my moms acted weird anytime I brought up Parisa. When I’ve called them out on it, they claim they love Parisa, but they also manage to throw in a small dig: She’s fragile (entitled), she’s particular (stuck-up), she’s competitive (privileged). Personally, I don’t think they ever got over the panic attack she had after eating Julia’s shrimp tacos. I tried to explain to them that it stemmed from a place of anxiety, not because they bought the shrimp at Costco instead of some high-end grocery store.

“I hope you guys aren’t plotting to see each other. Adema numbers are peaking every day.”