Chapter 16
LAINE
"Ithink my smoothie is trying to escape," Jamila says, chasing a bright purple blob down the side of her glass with a napkin.
"That's what you get for ordering something called 'Acai Explosion,'" I say, stabbing a chunk of mango in my much more reasonable green smoothie. "I warned you."
"You did. But the name was so dramatic, I couldn't resist." Jamila grins and takes another sip, somehow managing not to spill this time. "How's yours?"
"Less explosive. More like 'Spinach Whispers Gently.'"
We're sitting outside the smoothie place Jamila mentioned after yoga last week, and it's still weird how normal this feels. Six months ago, making plans with someone from a fitness class would have been pointless. What's the point of getting to know someone when you'll be gone in a few weeks?
But here I am. Week four of Saturday smoothies. Same table, same order, same person across from me. And I like it.
"So," Jamila says, settling back in her chair with the look of a woman about to steer a conversation exactly where she wants it, "how's things with Reid?"
Not subtle. But that's Jamila. She asks questions like she's picking locks — not to rob the place, but because she genuinely wants the tour. The first time we got smoothies, she had my entire life story out of me in forty-five minutes.
"Things are good," I say. "Really good."
"You said that last week. And the week before." She tilts her head. "But you've got a different face today."
"I don't have a different face. This is my regular face."
"Laine. I work in marketing. Reading people's faces is literally how I pay my mortgage. You've got a different face." She points her straw at me. "Spill."
I poke at a chunk of mango. She's right. Things are different this week. Not bad different. Just... more.
"I cooked dinner at his place last week," I say. "Met his roommate Blake. We've started going to this weekly trivia night with Reid's work partner and his wife."
"That's a lot of socializing for someone who was eating pasta alone three months ago."
"I know." I take a sip. "And the weird part is, I loved it. All of it. Not just being with Reid — the whole package. His friends, his house, the way they all just... fit together."
"So what's the different face about?"
I set down my smoothie. Stare at it for a second.
"Bethany — one of the travel nurses on my floor — cornered me in the break room on Wednesday.
Her contract's up next month and she was scrolling through postings on her phone.
San Diego. Honolulu. Somewhere in the Virgin Islands that looked like a screensaver.
" I pick at the edge of my napkin. "She asked if I missed the beach, and before I could even answer, she laughed and said, 'Never mind, you've got the hot paramedic and a permanent address now. You're basically a townie.'"
Jamila tilts her head. “Girl, she sounds like a bitch. But what she said bothered you?"
"It terrified me."
"Why?"
"Because six months ago, I was Bethany. I was the girl scrolling postings and chasing the next sunny place.
I never stayed anywhere long enough to be called a townie.
That was the whole point." I lean back in my chair.
"When I first got here, I built my own system from scratch.
My apartment, my job, my routine. I unpacked my suitcases and shoved them in the back of a closet for the first time in my life. The plan was all mine."
"And now?"
"Now I'm rewriting the plan to include the hot paramedic, and I didn't even notice it happening until Bethany held up the mirror.
" I dig my spoon into the smoothie. Way too hard, flinging little bits.
"After she said that, I went to Target. Just needed laundry detergent.
One item. One. But did I leave with laundry detergent?
No. I ended up in the housewares aisle staring at a mug that said 'World's Okayest Cook. '"
Jamila's mouth twitches. "Oh no."
"I almost bought it for him. For a man I've been dating for two months. I picked it up, put it down, walked away, circled back, picked it up again. I stood there for ten minutes having an existential crisis over a ceramic joke because buying it felt like admitting my bags are actually unpacked."
"Did you buy it?"
"No. I left it. But I'm still thinking about it. Which is worse."
Jamila laughs — not at me, with me, which is an important distinction — and leans forward. "Okay. So Bethany called you a townie, and now you're spiraling because you think settling down means you've lost yourself."
"I don't want to be someone who builds her whole life around a guy," I say.
"My friend Claire did that. Moved to a new country, met someone three weeks in, completely rewired everything.
Dropped her plans. Changed her career goals.
Stopped being the person she was before him. " I pause. "It wrecked her."
"Is that what's happening to you?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know." I shred the napkin into little strips.
Methodical. Like if I make them even enough, the answer will reveal itself.
"I still love my job. I still go to yoga.
I still have my apartment and my routine and my plants that I mostly remember to water.
" A strip tears crooked. I start on another one.
"But when I'm at his house, cooking in his kitchen, sitting at a table with Blake and Tony and Angie — I feel more like myself than I do alone. "
I stare at the pile of napkin confetti I've made.
"And that scares the hell out of me."
"Because?"
"Because Bethany's out there looking at postings in the Virgin Islands, and six months ago I would have been looking right over her shoulder." I flatten my palms on the table. Press them down. "And now my first thought when she showed me that listing wasn't I want to go. But what about Reid?"
I look up at Jamila.
"When did he become the reason I stay? When did that happen? Because I didn't sign off on it."
Jamila is quiet for a moment. She does this thing where she doesn't rush to fill silence, just lets it breathe.
"Can I tell you something that might piss you off?" she says.
"That's never a great opening."
"When I met Kerry, I freaked out too. Not because she was wrong for me — because she was right.
And being right meant I couldn't keep one foot out the door anymore.
" Jamila taps her nail against her glass.
"You keep talking about disappearing, about losing yourself.
But from where I'm sitting, you're not disappearing.
You're expanding. Those are different things. "
"How?"
"Disappearing is when you shrink to fit someone else's life.
Expanding is when your life gets bigger because someone else is in it.
" She shrugs. "The mug thing? That's not you losing yourself.
That's you caring about someone enough to think about them in Target. That's normal. That's what people do."
"People who aren't terrified of commitment."
"People who are terrified of commitment.
That's the whole point — it's scary because it matters.
" She gives me a look. Warm but direct. Jamila's signature.
"You're not Bethany, Laine. And that's not a bad thing.
Bethany's chasing sunshine. You're building something.
Those take different kinds of courage, and honestly? Yours is harder."
I sit with that for a minute. Could it be that simple?
"There's also..." I stop.
"Also what?"
"Nothing. It's nothing."
Jamila waits. Patient and unblinking. The woman should have been a therapist.
"His roommate, Blake," I say carefully. "He's... interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"I don't know. He's quiet and intense and kind of intimidating, and then you'll catch him doing something unexpectedly sweet — like refilling your water glass without being asked.
" I'm picking at the remains of my napkin now, shredding the strips into smaller strips.
"He doesn't talk much, but when he does it means something.
And Reid talks about him like — I don't know. Like Blake hung the moon."
"And?"
"And nothing. He's Reid's best friend. They have this incredible bond. I just..." I trail off, because I don't actually know how to finish that sentence. What am I trying to say? What is the point I'm circling?
"I just want him to like me." God, I'm lame. "He's important to Reid, so his opinion matters."
Jamila studies me for a long second. I can practically hear the gears turning behind those sharp eyes. But she doesn't push. She just nods.
"From what you're describing, it sounds like you've found something real. The whole package — the boyfriend, the friends, the sense of belonging." She smiles. "That's not disappearing, Laine. That's arriving."
My phone buzzes. Reid's name on the screen, and I'm smiling before I even have time to think about it.
Reid
Trivia Night tonight! U have to come. Together we will decimate the competition. Tony and Angie are coming. PLEAASSSEEE!
"Reid?" Jamila asks, noticing my face before I can rearrange it.
"Trivia night."
I'm really bad at trivia.
Reid
You have time to study before tonight.
I grin at that. As if I'm going to study for bar trivia. As if I'd even know what to study. Though knowing Reid, he's probably already assigned himself the food and pop culture categories and is counting on Blake for everything else.
Can't wait.
Send.
And then, before I can stop myself: "Jamila? The mug. Should I go back and get the mug?"
She grins. "Honey, you should've bought it the first time."
Yeah. I know.
I'll go tomorrow.
"If we don't win the appetizer round, I am personally filing a grievance with the DJ," Reid says. He slams a basket of pretzels onto the scarred wooden table like he's laying down a winning poker hand. "I need those jalapeno poppers, Tony. I need them spiritually."