Nessa
Count me in. I’m subbing for a ninth-grade math class tomorrow, but hungover algebra sounds like a fair trade.
Phi
Ooo, let me pick the place! There’s a fancy cocktail bar all the paralegals are obsessed with.
We agree to meet at six atLuna & Lark, a bougie cocktail lounge downtown.
Back at the cabin, I shimmy into my favorite dress—casual but hugs just enough to make me feel expensive. And for the first time in a long time, I feel proud of myself.
Sure, Sam helped pay off the land, but this? This was me: my consistency, my hustle, my grit.
Between the pending commission, the Rothschilds’ check, and my salary, I don’t flinch at the idea of ordering the most expensive appetizer on the menu.Maybe it’s time I stopped living in spreadsheets and started living in real life.
With that sentiment, I grab my clutch and head to my car. My phone buzzes in my hand, a calendar notification. I almost swipe it away, assuming it’s something I forgot to move, but something makes me look.
Cabin pest treatment scheduled
Inspection + initial exterior treatment.
Attendance not required.
The technician will follow up via email.
I stop mid-step. What? I tap into the details, scanning the confirmation. Date, time window, notes from the company. It’s all there. Clean, handled, and done.
I didn’t do this. A quiet, immediate thought surfaces.Damn, I’ve been meaning to get to that.
It’s been sitting in the back of my mind for weeks. One of those small, necessary things that doesn’t scream for attention but lingers just enough to weigh on you. I kept telling myself I’d schedule it after the open house … after the next showing … after things slowed down. They never did.
Booking things like this was always my lane—appointments, follow-ups, the invisible stuff that keeps everything running without anyone noticing. I didn’t even realize how much I carried until now. Until it’s just … not there.
I scroll through the confirmation again, slower this time. He didn’t ask, didn’t remind me. He just did it. My chest tightens, something sharp and uncomfortable threading through the relief.
I press my lips together, locking that thought down before it can go anywhere else. It doesn’t fix what he did. It doesn’t erase the fact that I had to carry everything alone before.But maybe I won’t have to carry everything going forward.
I exit out of the notification and slip my phone back into my bag, rolling my shoulders as if I can physically shake the feeling off—one less thing to worry about. I should be grateful for that. Instead, I just feel … unsettled.
I put the thoughts aside for the night as I head toward my car, forcing my focus forward. I’ve got somewhere to be, a night to celebrateme.
The traffic is light, and the parking is ample, a benefit of celebrating on a weeknight, I suppose. I walk into the swanky bar; it smells like aged wood. Dark wood from floorto ceiling, paired with leather stools and soft lighting that makes everyone look better than they are.I see that Nessa and Phoenix are already here at a table in the back.
