But I did tell him about my text to Brooke. And her support today. It was nice to be able to share all of this with Brougham. He gave me his full attention while I spoke, narrowing his eyes in concentration, and “oh”-ing at all the appropriate moments. One-on-one like this, it felt like the two of us up against everyone else. I worked to remind myself that this wasn’t the case, though. It wasn’t just the two of us. He had a girlfriend. I was his friend, and that was all.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I finished.

Brougham barked an unexpected, rare laugh. “‘Dear locker eighty-nine,’” he joked.

I groaned. “I know, I know. But I’m too involved. I can’t trust that my perspective is unbiased here.”

“Look. You can’t erase what you did,” Brougham said. “It’s done now. But maybe you could try to patch things up?”

“But how am I supposed to do that?”

“… Are you serious? Have you not been telling people how to patch shit up for two solid years now, or was that a fever dream of mine?”

Okay. Great point. “I mean, there’s a couple things I could probably try,” I said. And those things would cost money. But I still had a little of that, if I … skipped Oriella. “But I couldn’t do it alone.”

Brougham drummed his fingers on the locker he was leaning against.

“Good thing you’re not alone.”

Saturday afternoon, Brougham arrived at Mom’s house to join in on my birthday cake holding a plate of white bread coated in sugar sprinkles, for some reason.

Ainsley led him into the kitchen where Mom, Dad, and I were sitting around the kitchen table, which had a supermarket chocolate cake proudly stuck in its center. One of the best parts of my birthday, if not the best part, was having Mom and Dad in the same room, at the same time, doing their best not to snap at each other. It was just so rare to see them together, it was basically a present in itself.

Brougham gave a soft smile the moment he saw me and held the plate up in offering, while the rest of us stared at it as one. “I brought fairy bread,” he said. “It’s not a party without fairy bread.”

“Technically, it’s not a party at all,” Ainsley said, tearing open the package of birthday candles. We’d been waiting for Brougham to arrive to do the cake. Brougham and I had to run off to start setting up in about half an hour, so I’d asked if he could join in on the festivities. Usually Brooke would be the one making a guest appearance, but today that wasn’t really an option.