“Am not,” I bite back, though I do appear to be incapable of being mature this evening. Which may or may not have something to do with the fact that May is basically echoing Evan’s words. And the only thing worse than hearing your faults listed by your ex in the middle of a breakup is having them confirmed by your very best friend.

“Are too. But, again, we don’t have to talk about that tonight.” She holds her glass up to the center of the table. “To my darling bestie. You’re the sister I never wanted and the partner I never knew I needed. Any man who can’t hold on to you is a complete fucking moron and we hate him.”

“That was beautiful.” I clink my glass to hers before taking a long swallow. “Now let’s get smashed.”

Two or three or four—who has the ability to keep count at this point?—hours later, May and I stumble out of our Lyft and up the stone walkway to the front door of my house.

I love my house. Were I in a sober state of mind, I’d probably spend a minute appreciating its beauty and acknowledging the generational wealth and impeccable timing that afforded me the opportunity to buy this prime piece of Los Angeles real estate. Located in the super-trendy neighborhood of Atwater Village (though it was more up-and-coming and less hipster haven when I bought this place), the small Spanish-style abode has everything I need. Two bedrooms, one fully remodeled bathroom, air-conditioning, a parking space, a small backyard, and it’s walking distance to multiple coffee shops and bars. Yes, I know how lucky I am.

But tonight I don’t care about any of that. I care that I’m able to get my key in the front door and get it unlocked without either of us puking in my lovingly tended front garden.

Together we stumble down the hallway to my bedroom, and I think we manage to discard our shoes and purses before we collapse on my bed, which is a major win at this point.

“I want to watch a movie that’s going to make me cry.” I pull myself up for just long enough to turn on the TV that’s mounted over my dresser.

“Does that seem like the best idea right now?” May’s voice is muffled by the pillow she’s face-planted on.

“Yes. This is what you do after getting dumped. Step one, get drunk.”

“Check!”

“Step two, watch rom-coms. Step three, eat ice cream.” I scootch off the bed with the intent of heading to the kitchen to grab the emergency pint of Ben & Jerry’s I keep stashed in my freezer. However, the spinning room throws me off balance and I have to steady myself on the edge of the bed.

May turns her face to me. “What’s step four?”

“Step four of what?”