Page 87 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Andre exhaled and took a sip of his coffee.

“I know what I’m doing,” I replied.

Honey tilted her head. “Do you?”

I opened my mouth, but then stopped, because suddenly I wasn’t sure how I’d sound if I voice my thoughts.

Andi clapped her hands once, cutting through the tension. “Okay, but are you happy?”

That question landed differently.

I leaned back in my chair, staring down at my plate—at the eggs I had completely forgotten about.

“…I don’t know,” I admitted.

Admitting it out loud—about Kyle, about the sex, about maybe getting back together—didn’t feel bold anymore.

It felt uncertain.

Across the table, Andre picked up his coffee again, but he didn’t drink it.

He just held it there… watching me.

CHAPTER 11

EVEN THE TOXIC KNOWS HOW TO SAY SORRY

Christmas was only a week away.

Close enough that the city had already decided it was here—tiny lights wrapped around trees, café playlists stuck on loop, everyone moving a little faster, a little busier, like they were counting down to something that mattered.

But not close enough to feel real.

It still felt like something approaching. Something you could prepare for. Something you could fill with whatever you wanted it to be.

For me, Kyle became Christmas.

For a week now, I had been living in the soft, air-conditioned in-betweens of his hotel room.

He wasn’t from Southside anymore—not really. Manila had already pulled him into its orbit, faster and louder and more permanent than anything we had here. But he extended his stay.

“For you,” he said. Just until New Year’s.

And I let that mean more than it probably should have.

We saw each other every day.

It started casually, like all bad decisions do. A drink that turned into dinner. A dinner that turned into staying over. A ‘just this once’ that became a routine. And before I could even question it, I had a toothbrush sitting next to his in a bathroom neither of us owned.

I kept ending up there.

I would tell myself I’d only stay a few hours. That I had things to do. That I wouldn’t fall back into something I had already survived once. And then I’d wake up beside him anyway, sunlight slipping through the curtains, his arms draping over me like it had always known where to go.

We went on dates.

Real ones. The kind that almost convinced me this wasn’t a repeat of something that already failed. Dinner in places that required reservations. Coffee that stretched into late afternoons. Walks that didn’t feel rushed. Conversations that felt easy again, as though we had skipped over everything that broke us once and landed somewhere softer… or safer… or at least, something that looked like it.

We had sex.