“And then there was Rock Climber Aaron,” Cleo said. “Remember how his bed was in the kitchen of that apartment he shared with Jasper?”

Cleo had dated Jasper on and off in our midtwenties, and Rock Climber Aaron had been his roommate for a few months before moving back to Colorado for the ski season. His bed had been so close to the stove that his pillow caught on fire once while he was cooking us Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Cute butt, though.

“He literally told me he didn’t want to be exclusive, while his penis was still inside me.”

“Definitely not ‘I carry a briefcase’ hot,” Cleo said.

I sat up, pushing myself back against the other side of the couch and tucking my knees in toward my chest. “I just wish I could say thanks, you know?”

“And get his number,” said Lola.

I grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her in response.

It wasn’t his looks that had unraveled me. Something about him seeing me at my most vulnerable and not turning away, but rather stepping in to help, had felt both mortifying and thrilling all at once. For better or worse, he had seen the real me, and there was something about his expression in that moment that had told me he knew it. And even though the whole world could now view what had happened between us, it had also been something just the two of us shared.

“Lo,” chimed in Cleo, sensing my desire to change the subject. “I told Franny we’d help her come up with a plan for work.” The only thing Cleo loved more than making a plan was executing it.

Lola’s posture straightened, ears perked. She leaned forward in anticipation.

“My plan is to eat a big-ass bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips and watch every episode of Law and Order for a week,” I told them. “I’ll ride out my severance, apply to as many jobs as possible, and hopefully I’ll land something.”

“Or you could use this fifteen seconds of fame in your favor,” Cleo said matter-of-factly.

“Yessss.” Lola clapped her hands together, bouncing in her seat like a toddler. “Come on, you’ve wanted to do your own design work forever. Remember when you got hired at Spayce? You were convinced you’d stay for a year and then bail and go work on your own.”

“Yeah, you stayed for way too long,” Cleo blurted. And then, realizing she’d overstepped, she muttered, “Sorry. But you know what I mean.”

“It was a good job.” I picked at the corner of my sock, where the cotton had rubbed almost bare. “I lucked out. And I’ve only done, like, five freelance jobs on my own.”

“And they were all amazing,” Cleo said confidently. “I was at Patrick and James’s housewarming party, remember? It was perfection. James literally cried over that French wallpaper you picked out for their bathroom.”