This wasn’t the kind of food you ate when you were hungry; this was a meal for conversation, a thoughtful choice to share with a couple you’d like to get to know. Wyatt and Michael seemed perfectly matched—nice guys who were also electrical engineers, problem solvers with even tempers who wouldn’t get bogged down in social nuance or drama.

After a few tries, I speared a bell pepper and let it slide onto the grill. This would have been such fun if I’d been able to relax. We’d talk, I’d make a joke, and we’d all laugh, throwing our heads back. After all, we were two carefree couples—young, good jobs, nice homes, no kids. But I was so unsure, doubting every social instinct I’d ever had.

I stabbed a strip of beef, but then it didn’t slide off the fork onto the grill. I gave it a shake, and my hand hit the edge of the hot surface. Only for a second, not enough for a real burn, but the fork and beef went flying, right onto Elizabeth. It was a nightmare. She was splattered with marinade, and we were all asking if she was okay.

“I’m fine, just fine.” She waved us away and scooped up the beef, still impaled on that freaking fork. Then she looked at me, and I could have sworn I saw real concern in her eyes. “Kacy, how’s your hand? Do you need some aloe?”

I could have said yes, let her find some burn ointment, apologized for her shirt, and we’d have been talking and taking care of each other. This could have been the moment when we started to become friends, real friends.

“No, no, I’m fine. Excuse me.” I pushed back from the table, unable to look at Michael’s worried face or meet Elizabeth’s eyes. On Wyatt’s tour, I’d seen a bathroom, and I prayed I would get there before the first sob broke free. I could feel it, swelling under my breastbone, worse than any burn, blurring my vision even as my hand found the doorknob, and I didn’t have time to turn on the bathroom light before I was crying hard, so hard my legs couldn’t hold me up.

I slid down the closed door until I sat with my back against it, alone. My body ached with this sorrow, sobs rattling my core. I was broken, really broken. If Michael had met me today, we wouldn’t be married. I couldn’t make a friend, not today, not ever. I wasn’t failing just at finding work; I was failing at life. No magic affirmation could hide the truth, and no pill was strong enough to cure me.

Worst of all? Sooner or later, I would have to leave this bathroom.

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