His jab hits me in a place I’d thought long-since healed. Anger rushes through me, but what’s left behind is an icy scum of shame. I guess when he brought up golf earlier, hewasscrewing with me after all.
“For that”—Sybil reaches across the table and plucks the skewer of meat from his plate, waving it back and forth in front of his face—“no Wagyu for you.” She grabs mine as well, and I let out an unladylike yip of laughter. It’s high-pitched and a little shrill, nothing like the throaty chuckle I perfected onLovedBy.
Sybil hooks her arm through mine, and we head for the door. I turn back to look him in the eye. “Thatwas funny.”
2
“THE FOOD WAS REALLYgood, though,” I say as the elevator doors ping open to my apartment floor. “Maybe I should’ve toughed it out.”
“I will take you next time,” Sybil promises as she follows me down the hall. “As soon as you’re back after the Fourth of July. Remind me, you’re gone for one week or two?”
“One,” I say. “Well, about ten days. I’m staying through my birthday, so you’re off the hook for planning me something,” I tease.
Sybil’s face falls. Ever the consummate party girl, she takes her friends’ birthdaysveryseriously. She always has the most elaborate ideas—and then forces our friend Emma to actually plan and execute them. Like the incredible Gatsby-themed party they threw for Willow one year, complete with a massive champagne tower and a twelve-piece jazz band.
“I’m going to scheme something up anyway, you know.” She says it almost like a threat. “You enjoy your sweet little lakeside birthday, but prepare yourself for an epic follow-up bash when you get back.You only turn thirty once. Oh my gosh, wait—” Sybil’s face brightens, and I can practically see the lightbulb hanging over her head. “We should do something big, as the Core Four—since we all turn thirty this year! Maybe we can go back to Willow’s aunt’s place!”
“That’d be amazing,” I say. Sybil was my college roommate, and the first time I met the other girls in our friend group—both of them Sybil’s friends from growing up in Texas—was on a backpacking trip after freshman year. We traipsed across Europe, culminating in a stay at Willow’s family chateau (yes, an actual chateau) in France.
We’ve reached the end of the hall, and I start to dig through my purse for my keys.
“By the way, there’s something I need to tell you, Sybs.” The keys rattle as I unlock the door. “I’m—”
Sybil freezes in the doorway, taking in the cardboard boxes that line my now-blank walls. “What has happened to your house? Are you being slow-motion robbed?”
I laugh. “I’m moving. My lease was up at the end of June. But I begged for a few extra days in here to finish packing.”
She brightens. “Oh good, because Santa Monica issooofar from me in traffic! Please tell me you’re coming closer to Pasadena?”
I hesitate. She looks so happy about my moving to the (way too expensive for me) neighborhood where she and her fiancé live, and I don’t want to squash it, but if I can be honest with anyone, it’s Sybil. “I mean, I haven’t really figured out where my next place is. I’m just throwing everything in storage until I land another good deal. I figure I can use the time at home to look for a place online. And if I end up needing to stay in Georgia a little bit longer, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
Sybil senses something in my hesitation, and her eyebrows shoot up. “But you’re not… you’re notleavingLA. Right?”
“No! Of course not. I’m just going to get my bearings while I’m at home for the holiday and then… reevaluate.” I jam as much confidence as possible into the words.
I left Georgia when I was eighteen to come to USC in a confetti-burst of victory. Out of my high school class, I was going the farthest and to the most prestigious school. I’ve spent over a decade of my life in this city. It’s where I became an adult. Where I met my best friend… who then introduced me to all ofherbest friends. If I’d never come to LA, I never would have met the Core Four. I definitely never would have found myself at the center of theLovedByuniverse.
Besides, I love it here. The easy access to the beach, the amazing hiking trails, the unlimited taco options… but it’s not for the faint of heart. Honestly, that’s another reason why I love LA. Everyone you meet has some amazing job, plus a side hustle. They’re teaching Reformer Pilates or designing a new app, or landing a walk-on role for the next big HBO series—all while looking effortlessly golden-tanned and beachy-breezy. It’s a challenge to keep up.
But I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.
Besides, even if I’m a little exhausted by this world, it’s everything I wanted and worked for. I always dreamed of leaving my small town and living a bigger life. And now here I am, doing it. My athleisure brand has a huge partnership opportunity on the horizon with the FitGirl subscription service, and I’m in talks to start up a podcast in the fall, recording at a studio out here. LA is where all the action is, and I wouldn’t give that up.
“I just need… not even a break. More like a mini reset,” I tell Sybil. Like when I used to take a catnap on theLovedByset before a shoot that we knew would take us all night.
Sybil glances around at the chaotic mess of boxes. “Okay, well. I’m no Emma, but I will do my part to help you pack.”
I laugh, because she’s right. Of the four of us, Emma is the one you call when you need any part of your life organized and put back together again. If I could hire her to be the personal planner of my entire future, I totally would.
But Sybil has other gifts to offer. She plucks a bottle of wine from the brass cart in my living room. “We’ll start by eliminating the need for you to pack this!”
Glasses clink as she selects two from the same cart and sets them on my coffee table.
There’s a squeak and a pop as Sybil pulls the cork free, practically knocking herself over backward in the process. The red wine splashes softly as Sybil pours, the smell of blackberries and pepper rising. She hands me a glass, and my fingers brush against hers, but she doesn’t let go. The silliness has faded from Sybil’s eyes, and in its place is a rare seriousness.
“I know you haven’t been happy,” she says quietly. She’s not playacting at sadness now. There’s real concern behind her words.
“What? I’m totally happy.” But I reply too quickly and too brightly.Dammit.
