15. Karla
KARLA
“To another girls’ night!” Our sake glasses clanked together before we tossed back warm peach shots.
I hissed as it burned down my throat. “That one had a kick.”
“Karla, how has it been back in your place?” Martha asked while half bent over the menu, checking boxes like she was filing taxes.
I shrugged, swirling the last drops in my cup. “It’s been hard not having the dogs.”
Understatement of the century.
Kari threw her hands up so fast her chopsticks flew out of her grip. “I still cannot fucking believe all that shit happened.”
It had been just about a month since my apartment had been trashed.
The investigation was closed, and in the end, they couldn’t determine without a doubt that James had broken in.
Officers Whistler and Todd did everything they could, but there just wasn’t enough.
Too few fingerprints. No cameras. Nothing concrete.
And the worst part—the part that twisted like a knife every time I thought about it?
James didn’t have Nike or Thor.
They had vanished.
Like they’d been erased from the world.
Every day, I checked shelters. Called vets. Messaged rescues. Posted online. Nothing. Not even a rumor. I knew—deep down—that he probably sold them or dumped them on someone who didn’t ask questions. But I still left their beds out at home. Their bowls. Their favorite toys.
Just in case.
“I’m still pressing harassment charges against him,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’ll see. Hopefully he gets at least probation.”
Kari was still huffing, dramatically flailing her hands around like she was conducting a pissed-off orchestra. “I am going to make his life a living hell. He doesn’t know what he’s up against. There will be no settling. I will make him sit through a trial.”
I put my hand on her arm, partly to calm her, partly because she’d almost knocked the soy sauce into my lap. “I really don’t want this to go to trial, Kari. Think about how awful that would be for me.”
Martha raised her praise hands. “Amen!”
Kari crossed her arms over her chest like a toddler denied ice cream. “Fine. We’ll see how it all plays out.”
The server came, and we all handed her our menus. Jill smiled warmly at us. “Thank you. It’s nice to see you all again. It’s been too long.”
“We’re glad to be back for sure,” Martha said. “Life just got in the way.”
Jill pointed at each of us. “All work and no play makes for very sad ladies. You need to have fun and enjoy each other.”
We filled our sake cups again, lifting them.
“Now that,” I said, “is something I can definitely drink to.”
The warm buzz started settling into my shoulders, loosening muscles I didn’t realize were locked.
Martha leaned in, whispering behind her hand. “Hey, isn’t that some famous figure skater walking in?”
Kari and I both turned.
A middle-aged man walked in holding hands with a gorgeous Hispanic man half his age.
I recognized him instantly. “Yes! That’s Simon Abramson. He’s won a crap ton of gold medals.”
“Isn’t it so weird when you see celebrities out?” Kari asked.
Martha snorted. “I would hardly call him a real celebrity. Now that hunk he’s with? He could be an underwear model. That’s a celebrity.”
I threw my napkin at her. “Damn girl, keep it in your pants.”
“With the dry spell I’m having,” she shot back, “you should be proud I’m not over there trying to turn him straight right now.”
Kari’s laugh exploded out of her—one of those silent, shaking ones where she looked like she was about to choke. She gasped for air, tears streaming down her face.
I patted her shoulder. “It’s not that funny.”
She waved her hands. “I don’t know if I’m laughing or crying. I’m in the same damn boat as Martha. It’s pathetic.”
“Why is dating so freaking hard?” Martha threw her hands up. “Either you’re sleeping with the enemy, or you can’t find a date to save your life. No one wins.”
“I think most of the good ones were snatched up in college,” I admitted. “And God knows how busy we were. Dating wasn’t even on the priority list.”
I wasn’t ready to date again. The thought made me feel hollow. But I knew Kari and Martha were trying—and failing—in spectacular ways.
Kari grabbed her phone. “Okay. You guys have to hear the latest message I got from a dude online.” She scrolled, then cleared her throat dramatically. “‘I hope I’m the reason you’re smiling at your phone this morning… and then you walk directly into a telephone pole.’”
She stared at us, horrified. “What the fuck is wrong with men?”
I couldn’t hold my giggles in. “This is why I will remain single for the rest of my life.”
Martha rolled her eyes. “You say that now. Wait until you can’t remember what the last dick you slept with looks like. You’ll be crying into your pillow wishing on a star for a beautiful penis to enter your life.”
We all dissolved into chaotic hilarity.
But as the noise faded, my chest tightened. Because beneath the drinking and joking and celebrity-watching… there was still a hollow place inside me. A place shaped exactly like two tiny dogs.
Nike.
Thor.
My boys.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. James wanted to break me. To isolate me. To scare me into disappearing.
But sitting here—with the sake burning warm, with my girls beside me, with laughter still lingering—I realized something:
He hadn’t won.
Not even close.
I was rebuilding. Piece by piece. Minute by minute. And one day, no matter how long it took, he would face consequences.
Maybe not the ones I wanted. Maybe not the ones he deserved.
But enough.
Enough for him to know he didn’t get the final chapter of my story.
I did.
We clinked our glasses again, and my smile felt steadier this time.
Stronger.
Because healing wasn’t pretty. Anger didn’t vanish. Loss didn’t loosen its grip overnight.
But I wasn’t drowning anymore.
I was rising.