And listen, it’s not like I want her life to go back to the way it was when she lived with Uncle Don full time and she was an Internet content writer who wrote listicles about, like, snack foods and home repairs and celebrity hairstyles. But there was a comfort in knowing she was always next door, hunched over her laptop on the couch or in her twin bed, typing away into the night as she wrote her articles or her screenplay. I’m happy that she’s finally pursuing her dream and kicking ass at it—I mean, she has a real, big-time job, like an almost-thirty-year-old should. But part of me can’t help but feel a little left behind.

“Um, it smells amazing in here,” she says, kicking off her shoes and sitting down on my bed, moving some of my approximately one hundred throw pillows out of the way. “What did you make?”

“An apple-ginger pie,” I say, sitting down beside her and laying my head on her shoulder. “It won’t be ready until tomorrow. By the way, I made out with Nick.”

Annie slides her shoulder out from under my head and looks me straight in the eyes, her mouth hanging open. “Is this a joke?”

I shake my head, thinking about the way his hands gripped my body. “This isn’t a joking matter.”

“Oh, wow.” Annie puts a hand over her heart. “Did I . . . write this into existence?”

“Annie.”

“I mean, I always knew you and Nick had a thing for each other, but for this to happen now, right before the movie comes out . . . I feel so powerful.”

“Annie. Stop.” I roll my eyes. “Yes, we made out, and yes, I blame you, but not because we’re, like, meant to be or whatever. You know I only believe in that kind of thing for sentimental freaks like you and Drew.”

She smiles smugly.

“That kind of thing doesn’t exist for us mere mortals. But your movie put all kinds of ideas into my head. Think about how you would feel if there were frequent listicles online about all the reasons why your boss was super hot and why the upcoming movie about your life was, and I quote, ‘relationship goals.’”

Annie leans back against my pillows. “There are a lot of articles about how my fiancé is the Internet’s boyfriend, in case you forgot. And that list where he was named the second-sexiest celebrity named Drew.”

“True.” Sometimes, I forget that Annie’s betrothed is a literal movie star, and that she met and fell in love with him in a positively rom-com-esque series of misunderstandings and tropes. Although now I know him as my BFF’s future husband, he was, for a while, known for being in a movie where he was shirtless and covered in grease/jumping out of exploding helicopters/having sex with former models who were trying their hands at acting.

“I still think it’s wrong that the Property Brother beat him,” she continues. “Drew isn’t even the hot Property Brother. Everyone knows that’s Jonathan.”