Chapter 42
forty-two
Nessa
Group Chat: Bad Bitches
[Stef Carter, Lily Long, Delia Shane, Nessa Rabin]
Nessa added Millie to the group chat
Nessa:
Ladies! Adding Millie. She’s Seth’s new neighbor and has the absolute coolest tattoos.
Stef:
Hi, Millie! I’ll be home for Christmas. I can’t wait to meet you -Stef
Delia:
Hey there, I’m Delia, we’ve met
Lily:
omg. Hey girl hey!
Nessa:
and you are…?
Lily:
***
Nessa:
That’s Lily
Millie:
So excited to be adopted by you all
Nessa:
Delia and I are working on a little project. Can I borrow everyone who isn’t studying for finals?
Stef:
prayer hand emoji TY!! Going back on do not disturb moon Stef has notifications silenced
Nessa:
Can you guys meet me at CCs?
Millie:
I have to prep some bouquets and arrangements. Can you bring coffees here?
Nessa:
Absolutely! Send over your orders 3
A few hours later, I’m sitting on the floor of Rosie’s, wearing my Read More Smut sweatshirt and a giant burlap hair bow. I’ve scattered a mix of printed emails and the notes I typed up yesterday around my corner of the floor.
Delia and Lily take turns picking up random letters and reading me the bullet points I laid out. After the first hour, we have it narrowed down to our top picks.
Millie is unloading a series of dahlia blooms from specialty boxes. She trims the stems before placing them into old ten-gallon paint buckets. “Read us the list,” she calls, grabbing sheers from her apron.
“Okay, Question 1: Flicking the Bean isn’t cutting it.” I read the title we scrawled on the page.
“Preach,” Millie calls, and the room erupts in giggles.
“Don’t think we won’t get back to that, Mildred, my dear,” I say.
“Ouch, who are you? Seth?” she replies then sticks her tongue out at me. There are more giggles throughout the shop.
“Okay, okay. So friends with benefits. Things ended. Now despite their status as ‘president, captain, chairman of the self-love club,’ this listener is struggling to enjoy their time alone the way they used to,” I say, then place it in the keep pile.
“That tracks,” Delia says, examining a few potted plants near her.
“Those are violets.” Millie points her scissors at them.
Delia gently fingers the petals and murmurs “gorgeous” before turning back to the group.
“Lily, which did you have for her?” Delia asks.
“I’ve got the reformed playboy,” Lily cries.
“Technically, you had the friends-to-lovers,” I tease her, and her cheeks go pink.
Millie asks, “Are we talking romance book tropes or your life?”
“My life,” Lily says at the same time I say, “Both. You still owe me your favorites.”
With a smug grin and a particularly sharp snap of the scissors, Millie lops off the bottom of a stem and plunks the flower into the water. “I’m more of a why choose fan.”
“Okay… that’s going in the stories for later pile. Both the letter and your answer,” I say.
Outside the flower shop windows, volunteers are stringing up lights across the square. The twinkling around the gazebo and the greenery cast an ethereal glow, like fairies dancing along the branches.
It’s beautiful. If this were a romcom, this is the moment Mateo would appear on the sidewalk, holding large handwritten signs, declaring his love.
Or a boom box playing a song just for me.
Unfortunately, this is real life, and there’s no point in daydreaming about him sweeping in to tell me that I’m perfect in his eyes. That he’s moving here for good.
Once we’ve put away the questions, we help tidy the shop. We say our goodbyes, and Millie locks up behind us.
Delia and I walk home together, passing one lawn sign after another, each denouncing the Reynolds Group. I’m buzzing, from the caffeine and the sight. They’re printed with phrases like Keep New Jersey Weird and Keep PS Prices Affordable to All .
My smile grows, and my steps get lighter. “Good, let those interlopers know how little the people here want their influence.”
Wyclef greets us as I pull off my boots. Once I’ve hung my coat, I pick him up and cuddle him to my chest. I settle with him on the couch and turn on the TV to fill the silence as I run my hands along his fur.
Unfortunately, none of it quiets my mind.
No, instead, those two voices that have been arguing compete for attention.
My thoughts race one after another. About the script I created.
About my friends. About what Ema said on Rosh Hashanah.
That this year is about trusting others to fill in if I do less.
Mateo wanted me to have fun. My friends and even Shae love when I let loose a little.
My work is… meaningful, but in the dark, when I’m alone, I can’t help but sometimes think that it’s also run its course.
Maybe it’s time to rethink how much of other people’s trauma I absorb.
But mostly, I keep thinking about the self-proclaimed reformed playboy who fell for someone he never expected to. He called her a smoke show who’s out of his league. He’s been missing from her life, just like Mateo and me.
Strangely, for as different as Mateo and I are, we share one very prominent struggle. We’re both dealing with who we are expected to be and who we want to be.
I see it now, and I wish I could say something. I unlock my phone and navigate to our message thread. We haven’t said a word to each other in weeks, and a tiny piece of me wants to restart the conversation. But I don’t know how.
She’s ruined me for all other women. That’s what the listener said. It’s romance hero stuff, and he knows how much I love that line.
Could it be him? Are we both waiting for the other to make the grandest gesture?
I wake up to a text that makes my blood run cold.
Group Chat: Bad Bitches
[Stef Carter, Lily Long, Delia Shane, Nessa Rabin, Millie]
Stef:
Hey, Nessa, can we talk? I’ll be at The Featherweight this afternoon.
After two decades, I’ve finally broken the framily . I wouldn’t blame her if she hates me. My heart sinks at the thought, but…
What’s stopping me from being loved by them in return, other than holding everyone at a distance because of one worthless man?
It’s time for me to take my own advice, no matter how difficult it is. I need to talk this out.