Page 2 of The Unfluencer

The courtyard goes so quiet, I swear I hear the universe eavesdropping on us.

“I can’t wait until I find mine,” Chanel muses, vaguely.

Tatiana and Priscilla wistfully hum their agreement, their attention fixed on a blanket of stars dotted across a deep indigo blue sky.

Meanwhile… did I miss an episode?

I’m still stuck on the “what” they’re impatiently awaiting. A constellation? A shooting star? A paper scrap dream vacation and a brand-new-car Showcase Showdown?

The theatrical sighs are taking me out, though.

“Um…” I’m fighting for my life not to laugh. “Find your what?”

All three of their heads snap up, eyes on me. Again.

It’s low-key terrifying.

I flit my gaze to the side, confused. “Yes?”

“Our Lincs.” Chanel laughs, as if asking the universe to crank out a bunch of perfect fiancé clones should’ve been a given.

It’s quiet for a split second.

“Oh,” I say, finally.

And it’s literally the only word that comes out of my mouth. But apparently, that singular word and slight pause must’ve had a whole silent soliloquy attached to it, because they all jolt upright, faces twisted like I personally chewed up and spat out their dream men for breakfast.

Chanel nods, wordlessly, lower lip protruding.

It’s truly a masterclass in dramatic acting. The smile. The blinking eyes. The little eyebrow bounce as she shifts her attention to her side and, out of nowhere, produces another paper strip between her dainty fingers.

“Finally book a tropical vacation,” she recites, dryly.

A collective round of snaps echoes around the courtyard as she releases it into the pit. The paper fizzles into barely a blip of a spark, which, honestly, feels sort of anticlimactic when there must be a good dozen or so of my resolutions floating around near the firepit flagstone.

But then, from her abundant, sequin-trimmed cleavage, Chanel pulls out another paper and continues reading.

“Get a full health screening by end of March…” She lets the words hang on the wood-smoked breeze before she clutches her heart, giving the performance of a lifetime. “Groundbreaking, am I right?”

Wow.

Another one of my resolutions.

Same as last year’s. Probably the year before that, too. My major goals don’t change. Prioritize health. Water my friend relationships. Dream big. Hence the tropical travel manifestation. Of course, there’s other one-offs and bucket list items because wine, puzzles, and a clean home to watch action-packed romance movies are high-key self-care.

“Oh, so it’s a crime to be practical.” I let out a hollow laugh. “Got it.”

Priscilla chuckles softly.

“You know that’s not what you’re doing, right?” Tatiana winces like she’s secondhand embarrassed for me. “These aren’t just practical resolutions. If we scrounged up the rest of your scraps scattered around this courtyard, not one would be about love or relationships.”

I nod, repeatedly.

“Unpopular opinion: love isn’t the only option for a New Year’s resolution.” I reach for the first glass I see and toss back the last dregs of prosecco, thinking how much better this conversation would’ve been with a piña colada in my hand to help wash down the exhaustion. “This is diabolical, y’all know that, right? There’s plenty of time for settling down, if ever. But yeah, you can keep going if you want.”

“Oh, I will,” Chanel says, all petty, no point.

I slouch back against the cushion. Then immediately snap upright again because I’m restless, irritated, and not about to let this be the start to my year.