25. Macey
MACEY
The Burrow Bitches
Kira: Everyone chime in with their inspiration to Macey today!
Kira: I’ll go first. Macey, you’re a talented writer who’s gonna go far.
Ariadne: You don’t need a man to be successful! You’re an independent woman
Britney: you’re a bad bitch with a fat ass
Kira: Not quite what I had in mind, but I agree
Macey: I love you guys
Today I discovered that I had a limit on the time I could spend pitying myself. Turned out it was three days. I spent three whole days in bed wallowing, eating nothing but Chinese takeout while binge-watching Love Island . Both the US and UK versions.
After a brief stint of considering applying to be a contestant on the reality show, I realized I had spiraled enough. I wasn’t made to be on TV. I was made to be a writer.
And I wasn’t going to let this setback ruin my career.
I jumped into gear, prioritizing my goals and how to achieve them. Personal goals, especially dating-centric goals, would have to wait. Top of my list?
Growing my blog.
Getting fired was an experience unlike any other. Days ago, I thought my worth had been demolished because of it, but it made me realize how much I was worth away from Roamer’s Digest .
I could do this. I knew I could.
I just had to figure out…how.
There were so many ways to improve but also so many ways to fail. I found myself with a newfound respect for anyone who started their own business. Without the set boundaries of an employer, how did you know what to do?
I guessed that was the point. You did whatever you wanted.
Write what you know was one of the first pieces of advice I ever received. It’d worked well for me in everything I’d done. So now I’d start with what I knew.
My laptop lit up with enthusiasm as I began typing—if only my brain could match that energy. I’d tried working from my apartment earlier, but the couch had me convinced it was a sanctuary for movie binges, not productivity.
The original plan was to camp out at The Burrow Café, but the idea of bumping into someone I knew felt counterproductive. Instead, I opted for a charming little neighborhood café with the coziest chairs and cheesecake so good it could solve existential crises.
I had only been here a few minutes, in the corner booth, when someone I knew walked in. Not just anyone.
Noah Hansley .
And he was wearing…a tie?
He paused in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room like he was searching for someone. Was it me? Surely not. His wavy hair was smoothed back, his stubble freshly shaved, and his outfit—sharp and undeniably expensive—made him look like he’d stepped out of a high-end ad campaign.
Why was he so dressed up? Oh no. Was he on a date?
Fortunately, my corner booth was well hidden, so I was able to watch him walk to the table where a familiar-looking woman sat. I had to hold back a grin. That wasn’t any woman—it was the professor whose lecture we sat on at the University of Illinois Chicago.
Despite my residual anger toward what Noah did, the sight flooded me with joy. I hoped that meant good things for his application for the fall semester.
I turned back to my work, though the weight of seeing Noah still pressed against me. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my mind already racing through everything on my to-do list. But something was different now—I was doing everything for me , not for anyone else.
Maybe, just maybe, I was building a better future. One where I could be happy and fulfilled. Or at the very least, one where I spent fewer late nights eating ice cream while revisiting old articles, searching for clarity that never seemed to come.
After a few minutes, I finally checked my email inbox. Spam, spam, new comment on the blog, spam, invitation to a resort, spam.
Wait.
I clicked on the email, my stomach twisting before I even read the subject line.
It wasn’t just any invitation—it was for a couple’s vacation .
My throat tightened.
Delete .
The email was gone, but the thought remained, stubborn and unshakable.
Memories of Opal Serenity crept in before I could stop them—the way the ocean breeze had tangled my hair, the lazy mornings in a bed too big for just me, the way Noah had looked at me across the breakfast table, his usual sarcasm softened into something real. Something dangerous.
I had gone into that trip thinking I knew exactly who Noah was—just another arrogant influencer with a carefully curated life and a knack for getting what he wanted.
But I had been so wrong.
He was different. So much kinder, more genuine than I had let myself believe. He remembered the little things, noticed details about me that I hadn’t even realized were worth noticing.
Now everything felt wrong.
I pushed back from my desk, rubbing my hands over my face. I was still angry with him. Still hurt. Still not ready to forgive him for making decisions about my life like I wasn’t capable of handling it myself.
But damn it, I missed him.
I missed his teasing, his unwavering confidence, the way he could read my moods with just a glance. I missed the way he made everything feel lighter. I missed his presence, even though he was on the other side of the café.
What was I supposed to do with these feelings?
I sighed, leaning back in my chair, staring at my empty inbox like it held the answer.
It didn’t.
And right now neither did I.
“Where’s Noah?” my mom asked, her tone casual as she poured me a glass of water. “We were hoping to meet him.”
I blinked, trying to shove down the pang of discomfort that hit me.
Dinner with my parents had crept up faster than I anticipated.
Maybe it was because I’d been throwing every ounce of my energy into my blog these past few days.
Repurposing old, unpublished articles that Victoria had rejected at Roamer’s Digest and finally using my own photography, my way.
I’d poured myself into it, and it felt freeing. But Noah was still a fresh wound.
I had brought up Noah to my parents a few times. They followed my blog and occasionally checked social media, so he wasn’t a secret I could hide from them anyways.
“Oh.” I fumbled for a moment, even though I’d rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in my head. “We broke up.”
The words dropped like stones into the room. Both of my parents froze, jaws slightly open in surprise.
The clink of silverware on plates halted, and suddenly, the air felt heavier.
“I’m sorry, baby,” my mom said, her voice gentle as she sat down across from me at the dinner table. Her eyes softened with concern, searching mine for more information.
“It’s fine. It happens.” I shrugged, trying to brush it off, but the truth was more complicated.
“But you guys were in a fake relationship, right?” my dad asked, his brows knitting together as he stabbed a piece of sausage with a little too much force. His mustache had grown and curled at the ends. Something about that, and the tired chestnut eyes, made me feel nostalgic.
I laughed. A fake relationship sounded extra silly when my dad was saying it. “Yeah. It always had an expiration date. We just decided to go our separate ways early.”
I wondered if they could understand that.
My parents had been together since they were sixteen, through every challenge and complication life threw at them.
Their bond was built on years of shared experiences and resilience, forged through being young parents who had to grow up fast. I admired their marriage, their ability to weather any storm that came their way.
But Noah and I were different. We didn’t have that kind of foundation. Now, without him, I feared people would start asking questions, speculating about why we had broken up. People would think they knew more than they did.
Mom gave me a small, encouraging smile, her eyes kind.
Her blonde hair was pinned up today, but a few stray strands had escaped, falling loosely around her face.
Dad, with the ease of a partner who had done this a thousand times before, reached over and gently tucked the loose strands back into place.
It was a simple gesture, but one that spoke volumes. He had always been good at the little things—taking care of us in the small, meaningful ways that added up over time.
Despite everything that had gone wrong between us, Noah had taken care of me, too.
In his own way. He carried a spare inhaler for me, just in case.
He left me notes on bad days, little reminders that I wasn’t alone.
And he had encouraged me to leave Roamer’s Digest , even when I wasn’t ready to hear the truth.
He saw things in me I hadn’t seen in myself.
“Well, he’s missing out,” Mom said firmly, breaking the silence and snapping me back to the present.
I managed a weak smile, appreciating her attempt to comfort me, even if the words didn’t quite land the way she intended.
“Anyways,” Dad said, changing the subject as he poured more sauce onto his plate. “How’s work?”
Here it was, the moment every child dreaded telling their parents. Just be honest, Macey. You’ve got this.
“Actually…” I hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I got fired.”
For the second time that evening, both of my parents’ jaws dropped. Mom’s fork clattered against her plate, her wide eyes darting toward the ceiling as if searching for divine intervention.
“It really sucked at first,” I continued quickly, trying to keep the conversation from spiraling into panic mode. “But honestly? It’s been a good thing.”
“A good thing?” Mom sputtered, her laugh tinged with disbelief. “Macey, this was your dream job! How could losing it be a good thing?”
I shook my head, a strange sense of relief washing over me as I prepared to tell the truth I’d been holding back for so long.
“No, Mom. It wasn’t my dream. I stayed because I thought it was what you wanted for me. But I was miserable. It wasn’t the worst job, sure, but it wasn’t what I loved. I worked so hard, and most of it just got rejected.