The word brunch makes my stomach turn. “No booze.”

“No booze. Coffee and carbs.”

A magic combination that’s enough to perk me up, just a tad.

May shucks the rest of her blanket cocoon, shimmying until she is sitting next to me, both of us leaning against my natural wood headboard.

“How are you really?”

“Mostly, I just feel like a total dumbass.” I don’t bother to lie to her; she’d be able to hear it in my voice. “It’s not the sadness, not really. I just can’t believe I let myself waste four years on him.”

She picks up my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together and squeezing.

I wait for her to argue with me, to tell me all relationships teach us something or happen for a reason or some other Hallmark-level bullshit platitude. But instead we just sit in the silence, my head resting on her shoulder, until I gently nudge her. “Go shower. I need caffeine.”

She basically falls off the bed but still manages to do it gracefully. A minute later the shower in my en suite bathroom turns on and I hear her groan of relief even over the rush of the water.

I let my head fall back against the headboard as I attempt to process everything that went down last night. Not just the breakup, but Evan’s accusation, that I’m incapable of being alone. And May’s assertion that I’ll find myself in a new relationship before the dust of this one even settles. My brain isn’t functioning well enough to puzzle it all out, but I know it’s something I shouldn’t ignore this time, as much as I want to.

May emerges from my bathroom looking almost like a human being. She steps into my closet, no doubt helping herself to whatever items she wants from my wardrobe. Not that any of them are up to her standards. “Are you feeling sorry for yourself yet?”

“Yes.” Again, there’s no point in lying. Even from the closet she’d be able to hear the deception in my voice. Perhaps I should think about brushing up on my fibbing skills now that I no longer have a serious boyfriend to occupy my time.

“Cut it out.”

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours, May. I think I’m allowed to wallow a little.”

She emerges from the closet outfitted in one of my simple coral sundresses. Of course, since she’s a good four inches taller and four cups bustier than I am, it hits a little differently on her than it does on me. She points to my Spider-Man alarm clock. “You may wallow for five more minutes. And then you’re cut off.”

“You’re so bossy.”