Chapter 3
3
“She looks like me.” I dropped the take-out bag on the glass coffee table, the rich, spicy scent of pad see ew and fried rice making my stomach growl. “People are calling her Hot Thea.”
“Seriously?” Dom was half in the fridge, rummaging for IPAs. “They said that in front of you?”
“Well, not to my face.” I settled on the couch, unboxing the spring rolls. It felt like a relief to spill to Dom, whom I’d barely seen over the last few weeks. She’d texted that afternoon, asking if I was down to reschedule takeout-and-TV for that night. Last Chance Love , a reality show where undateables went through a dating boot camp before being paired with their “perfect match,” had been our favorite show all through grad school.
“I overheard this patient say it to someone.” I dug into my noodles. “Lydia. To her credit, I don’t think she knew I was right behind her.”
“Was Lydia the one who asked when you last got laid?” Dom settled next to me.
“Yes! Same person.” That had been an interesting art therapy session. She and Ace had proceeded to discuss how old they thought I was, and whether or not I’d want dinner first. My chest warmed that Dom remembered. Early in the job, she’d convinced me to stay when I’d felt completely overwhelmed.
“You know more than you think,” Dom had said then. “And you’re naturally caring. You listen. You want to help.”
It had been encouraging, even though it was also easy for her to say. Dom’s wealthy parents had connected her to the sex therapist she now worked for. An inpatient unit was laughably different from chatting with clients about their love lives.
“Well, I think you’re the Hot Thea.” She opened her beer and took a deep gulp. “But maybe you can have some kind of gladiator-style competition to see who comes out on top.”
“I’m down.”
“Of course you’re down. You’d win . It’s always the nice ones who’re the most vicious.”
I chuckled. I’d missed this, our easy banter. Dom and I had connected over a group project early in grad school. She was a second-career therapist, like me, but she’d come from the fashion world and was herself model-like: tall, long-limbed, with a pushed-back crop of short blond hair and a dazzling smile. When she found out I was new to the city, she’d planned various nearby outings in between classes: getting classic New York–style pizza, visiting a hole-in-the-wall bookstore, downing a pickleback at a dim-lit pub. For a short time, I’d had a crush on her. While I’d always identified as straight, it had made me giddy to wonder if her attention went beyond friendliness. But I’d soon realized that many people felt this way—Dom was charismatic and flirty, and had quickly started dating several women and a nonbinary student in our program.
To my surprise, Dom had continued our friendship even after the semester ended. Our second year, she’d asked if I wanted to move into a two-bedroom she’d found. I’d jumped at the chance, even though the rent was more than I could afford.
“Anyway.” I speared a shrimp. “It’s still driving me nuts. I could swear I know her from somewhere.”
“The mirror?”
“It’s not just that,” I protested. “I’ve seen her before. Her specifically.”
“Hmm. Long-lost twin? Alternate reality Thea?” Dom scooped up a forkful of rice. “The possibilities are endless.”
“Truly.” I grabbed the remote. “Okay. Ready to see Hunter meet Tiff’s family?”
“Uh, yeah. One sec.” She leaned forward, unfurling like a spider, and set her container on the coffee table. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Sure.” I felt a flash of unease.
“So…” She fixed her slate-gray eyes on me. “Amelia and I have been getting more serious. And we’ve decided to move in together.”
I froze, shocked. Amelia? Dom was nonmonogamous and often dating multiple people. Had I heard the name Amelia before? I definitely hadn’t met her.
“Sorry, who?” I asked.
“I met her at the sex toy expo last summer. We were casual through the fall, but then this winter… I don’t know, something just clicked. You probably noticed I’m, like, never here.”
“I have noticed that.”
“I’m always at Amelia’s.” Dom shrugged. “She has a rad apartment, but unfortunately her building got bought and everyone’s getting kicked out. So… since our lease is up, too, I thought it seemed like perfect timing.”
“Oh. I see.” Panic surged up through my chest. Was I going to have to find a new roommate? Share a bathroom with a complete stranger? The other option was living in a tiny studio far away, which I’d done throughout grad school. I couldn’t go back to that. Especially not when I was still recovering from my breakup with Ryan two months before.
Dom took a long sip, studying me.
“Are you still dating other people?” I asked.
“We decided to just focus on each other for now. But we may open up again down the road.” A cute smile pulled at her lips. “It’s just… God, I don’t know. I’m in love! I haven’t felt this way in so long. Not since Mara.”
“That’s great.” I tried to smile. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m sorry to spring it on you like this.”
“No, I get it.” I kept my interested expression fixed. “Are you finding a new place?”
“No, she’ll move in here.” Dom looked around, considering. “She’s at a private practice, too, but all of her sessions are virtual, so we figured we’d turn the second bedroom into an office.”
Oh. So I was getting kicked out. Okay. Tears formed behind my eyes, but I held them at bay.
“I hope that’s cool.” She touched my forearm. “I’m going to miss living with you.”
“Me too,” I managed. “But it’s fine. I totally understand.”
“Good.” She leaned back, relieved. “I’m sure you can find something nearby. Oh, and Amelia’s cousin works at a moving company; she can totally get you a deal.”
“Great.” I shoved a spring roll in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to speak.
“Thanks for being so chill about this.” She picked up her rice. “I know things have been tough for you after the breakup.”
So she did remember. It felt too vulnerable to agree, so I downplayed it. “I’d barely call it that. We dated for like four months.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Yeah, but it sounded pretty serious. Weren’t you calling him your boyfriend?”
“For like a week.” I tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a honk.
“Commitment-phobe.” She shook her head.
Maybe that had been part of it. But it wasn’t the main reason. I envisioned Ryan staring at me, his mouth twisted in disgust.
I hadn’t told Dom the full story. I knew she’d be more open-minded—she was training to be a sex therapist, after all—but if there was even a flicker of judgment in her eyes, I wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Instead, I’d broken down and texted my former therapist, Cynthia. She hadn’t responded.
“Any dates on the horizon?” Dom dug cheerfully into her food. “Are you on the apps?”
“I was, but it’s just…” What was the best term: Depressing? Exhausting? Demoralizing?
During grad school, I’d widened my search to include women and nonbinary people after my brief infatuation with Dom. It had felt weirdly anticlimactic, maybe because I was in a progressive program and there were lots of queer people around me. Of course, I struggled with impostor syndrome, and I also knew my parents would have major issues if I dated someone who wasn’t a man. But I hadn’t yet had to worry about it—getting people to message back on the apps, much less plan to meet in person, often seemed near-impossible.
That’s why Ryan, who I’d met in person at a social worker happy hour, had seemed like such a godsend.
“Probably not a great time of year to date. Everyone’s depressed.” Dom tapped her beer can. “I’m sure things will pick up soon.”
I forced a smile. “I’m sure.”