He tilted his head, eyes flicking to Princess, then back to me. “Alright,” he said quietly. “But if you change your mind, I’m available.”
I waved again, trying to keep it light. “Appreciate the offer. You’ll be on my emergency call list.”
He managed a small smile, looking like he actually considered it an honor.
“Okay,” I said, giving him an awkward wave. “I better get moving before I start crying over bubble wrap.”
He nodded once, watching me go.
By early evening, I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom surrounded by boxes. They were all different sizes, none of them stacked properly, and one of them still smelled faintly like bananas.
This was happening. I wasn’t renewing the lease. I simply couldn’t afford this apartment anymore, not with how much bad luck I’ve had recently. So I decided to be proactive: I sold as much of my stuff as I could and searched for an even smaller apartment — or maybe even a room to rent — before I ended up homeless.
Opening my closet, I began packing without the energy I usually had. It was difficult to stay positive when things never seemed to go right, no matter what I tried.
I folded sweaters I hadn’t worn in years and threw loose papers into a box labeledIMPORTANT??which kind of made me feel like an adult. Mugs were wrapped in old T-shirts because I was out of bubble wrap, which immediately made me lose the feeling of adultness I’d just briefly experienced.
Halfway through, I found my dad’s old apron from the bakery. The one with the stupid embroidered loaf of bread and his name stitched crookedly underneath.
I sat down on the floor and held it like it might offer me some sort of advice, but instead I ended up in a downward spiral.
If I’d been better, the bakery wouldn’t have closed.
If I’d been smarter, I would’ve figured out a way to make it work.
If I’d been stronger, I wouldn’t still feel like I was falling through the same crack years later.
With tears stinging my eyes, I dropped the apron into a box and taped it shut, as if doing so would solve anything. It wasn’t like I didn’t have places I could go, and somehow that made it even worse.
My mom would say yes immediately. She’d say it with relief, even. She’d sayof course you can come home, andyou’ll figure it out, and I would nod and smile and quietly die inside every time she looked at me like she was trying not to worry.
I couldn’t ask my sister. She would look down her nose at me even worse than she already did and Nathan would be huffing and puffing in the background, making me feel like the biggest failure to exist. Every option would require me to admit to it, even if I never said it out loud.
I failed. Again.
My phone buzzed from somewhere under a pile of jeans.
I knew which app it was before I even saw the notification, which probably should have concerned me, butat that moment, when I was hitting rock bottom once again, it felt like someone was throwing me a lifeline.
Sasha: What’s my little devil up to?
My stomach somersaulted, a flurry of butterflies erupting inside me. I’d given up trying to convince him not to call me that, and the truth was it made me feel special. Another thing I could never admit out loud.
I stared at the blank text field, and my thumbs immediately went flying.
Hypothetically … if someone was very bad at long-term planning and maybe put too much faith in vibes … What would you say to them?
No. Too earnest.
Asking for a friend.
I hovered over ‘Send’, my thumb trembling like this was a confession and not a text to a man who might literally be a criminal mastermind, who was definitely locked up and in no position to judge me.
I almost deleted it, but Sasha was the only person I wanted to talk to right now, sad as it was.
The message was sent with a tap of my finger, immediately regretting everything I’d ever done, including learning how to read.
The reply didn’t come right away, which my brain interpreted asHe hates you nowandthis was the final strawandcongratulations, you have managed to embarrass yourself in front of a convicted felon.