I don’t deserve any sympathy. I shrug and look down at my plate so I don’t have to see Raj’s expression.

“Hey, hey. Breakups are the worst. You don’t have to put on a brave face,” he says.

“Yeah, but I deserve to feel this awful,” I point out.

“Maybe this wasn’t your finest idea, but you’re a good person,” he says. “I know you are. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come clean to Blake at all.”

I don’t know if I believe him. I have a sudden craving to bite my nails or pick at my cuticles—anything to distract me from my feelings—but I know I can’t.

“So that’s it? The wedding is off?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Probably. I just—I don’t know. I wonder if I can talk to Blake.”

He grimaces again. “That might be tough. After, you know, stomping all over his feelings.”

His words spur me out of self-pity and into motion.

“Oh, shut up,” I say, lightly tossing a mozzarella stick at his forehead.

He ducks just in time and flashes jokey finger guns my way to let me know he doesn’t actually think I’m a dick. Or at least I hope that’s what he means. He darts off to help a customer.

While he works, I scroll morosely through Instagram. It looks like Holden and Faye went to a wedding together this past weekend. He posted a photo of them posing in formal wear; she commented underneath, “My forever wedding date ♥.” I grind my teeth so hard they could shatter into dust.

Raj is still working. I feel frantic with desperation. If anyone would know what to say to make me feel better right now, it would be Helen—she’s the one I should be talking to about this. I draft an email to her:

Hi Helen,

How are you doing? I know it’s been a while. I’m sorry I haven’t called more often. I miss you.

Brooklyn Jewels isn’t doing well. Our rent is going way up this fall, and I don’t know if we can necessarily afford it anymore. Well, that’s not quite true—I know that we can’t. I thought I had a plan to work it all out, but everything has fallen through, and—

Raj sails back toward me with a hopeful look in his eyes. “You look miserable. What would make you feel better? Drinks? Distractions?” he offers.

“Distract me, please. That would be perfect,” I say, saving and closing the email before I can finish it.

There’s nothing I can say to Helen without sounding like a failure anyway. I don’t want her to see me like this; she’d be disappointed.