I stared at the Christmas lights Lydia herself had hung when she decorated the place and how they still twinkled mockingly across the walls.
“We had dinner. We flirted. We… didn’t stop flirting. And then one thing led to another and…”
“And?”
“And then we kissed,” I said, flinging a hand in the air. “And it was good. Too good. And then I ruined it by being me.”
Lydia tilted her head. “Definebeing me.”
“I panicked. Said something stupid about how we’d never work. And then he left.”
“Mel,” she said gently. “You didn’t just say something stupid. You said something true that hurt.”
I looked at her. “That’s supposed to help?”
She smiled softly. “It’s supposed to mean you care more than you want to admit.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. “I can’t do this right now. My brain’s fuzzy. My mouth tastes like regret and Cabernet.”
“Good,” she said, standing. “Because you’re not thinking your way out of this one yet. You’re showering, and we’re going antiquing. Fresh air. Retail therapy. Time away from your overactive conscience.”
“I don’t want to move.”
“Then I’ll drag you.” She patted my knee. “But go hop in the shower.”
I groaned but stood anyway, shuffling toward the bathroom. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
“Occupational hazard of friendship,” she called after me.
I turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat, staring at myself in the mirror. Puffy eyes. Pink cheeks. The faintest ghost of a smile I couldn’t quite smother, even if I wanted to.
The truth was, I hadn’t slept because every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel him. The weight of his hands, the warmth of his laugh, the way he’d looked at me like I was something he wanted to keep, even though we both knew he couldn’t.
I stepped into the shower, letting the water scald away the hangover and the memories, though neither went quietly.
Outside the door, I could hear Lydia moving around the apartment, humming, probably rearranging my throw pillows because she couldn’t stand chaos. She was too good at finding balance, something I’d always admired and envied in equal measure.
“Mel!” she called over the sound of the water. “What’s your excuse gonna be when he inevitably shows up again?”
I closed my eyes, water streaming over my face.
“I don’t have one,” I called back.
“Good!” she said cheerfully. “Because I don’t buy any of them anyway.”
I could almost see her grin.
I stayed in the shower longer than I needed to, partly because it felt good, partly because facing Lydia’s knowing eyes afterward would be harder than any hangover.
When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, steam curling into the small space, I caught my reflection again.
And I didn’t look heartbroken.
Tired, yes. Hungover, definitely. But under all that, something else.
Something alive.
“Mel?” Lydia knocked lightly. “I made coffee.”
