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Fine, if you won’t answer, I’ll just say it here. I’m bored. You bore me. And I’m sick of you acting like covering the rent makes you a saint. I’m breaking up with you. Please don’t contact me again.

My fingers go numb and I nearly drop the phone. I stare down at the screen, angry tears springing to the backs of my eyes.

Boring. After all the times I’d asked him to take me out and he’d refused. He always said he was a homebody. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe he was using me.

He’s between jobs at the moment, and I take care of things with what little the bakery makes each month. We’ve been together for a year. I thought that was just what partners did. They took care of each other.

Clearly, I was wrong.

I switch off the bakery’s outside light. I’m not out of cookies, but since the egging and the breakup over text, I’m not really feeling the Halloween spirit. I lock up and drive the five minutes home to my apartment, my phone face down on the passenger seat.

I lie down on the couch, face up, and text the group chat with all my friends.

We call ourselves the Sugarplums. Back in 2014, all five of us auditioned for Clara in the town Nutcracker, and all five of us got stuck in the Sugar Plum ensemble instead. We’ve been best friends ever since, and every December we still do the Naughty Nutcracker together. The group chat has gone quiet after a few pictures of Ivy’s beloved bulldog in a hedgehog costume.

I hate to break the silence with drama, but…

We’re all trying to make it on our own. But tonight, I really don’t want to do the on-my-own part.

I draw in a shaky breath and send: Bryan broke up with me. Over text.

The group chat explodes with angry words and emojis.

It’s Del who calls first, because of course it is.

That girl lives for drama.

I answer.

“Girl, what happened? I thought you two had anniversary plans next weekend.”

“We did,” I say, sniffling. “He said he was bored. Said I bore him.”

“That asshole,” she mutters. “Well, this calls for a meeting of the Sugarplum gang.”

“It’s trick-or-treat night. Joss is working, Ivy’s trick-or-treating with Sir Barksalot⁠—”

“Joss and Ivy can come later. You need us. We’ll come to you. I’m going to call the others.”

“Del, you don’t have to⁠—”

But she’s already hung up. I sigh and head to the bathroom, letting myself cry for a while before I wash my face.

My eyes are puffy and red when Del and Hazel show up. I’ve put my red lipstick back on, though. Bryan doesn’t get to take everything.

Hazel ducks her tall frame through the doorway, red hair escaping its bun, a takeout bag from her family’s diner tucked under one arm. “You eaten?”

I shake my head.

She gives me a look. Apparently, getting dumped is no excuse for missing dinner.

“Ivy sends her love. She’ll be by in a couple hours,” Hazel says, holding up a giant bottle of white wine. “Couldn’t get ahold of Joss. Busy night, with trick-or-treat downtown.”

Del shoves back the sleeves of her oversized hoodie and pulls me into a hug just as Hazel hands me the wine. She’s tiny, but she squeezes like she’s trying to put my ribs back together.

I chuckle. “You two came prepared.”

“I suggested tequila but Hazel says that’s not classy.”