Addison
Routine was non-negotiable for me even on a Sunday. During my childhood, my mother didn’t let us sleep in, we woke and did chores on the weekend before heading to activities.
To this day I wasn’t the type to waste the start of the day. I couldn’t sleep in or scroll Instagram in bed, and idle time made me restless. Like I was already behind before anything had even begun.
I slid out of bed, pulled on a matching athletic set, tied my hair back into a high ponytail, and moved through the motions without thinking: water bottle, pre-workout, running shoes. Then the day began as I headed for the gym.
It was an hour later when my pace finally slowed. I felt flushed and hollowed out in the best way. I liked the quiet afterward, the kind that echoed inside my chest like space clearing, like I had outrun the noise for a while.
I showered at the gym, changed into a navy blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans, added gold hoops and a soft swipe of mascara, and headed to brunch.
It was a ritual I didn’t particularly love but didn’t know how to quit either, muscle memory and habit wrapped up together, proof that pretending still came easier than stopping.
I met Lilly, Eloise, and Harper at a trendy café in the South End, one of those airy, curated places that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and ambition.
White subway tile gleamed under soft midday light, blush velvet cushions lined the seating, and gold rimmed glassware sparkled across every table.
The room was filled with women who looked like they belonged in skincare commercials, and the whole place carried the polished confidence of somewhere that charged eighteen dollars for a mimosa while convincing you it was a bargain.
A year or two ago this would have felt completely normal to me, fun even, but sitting there now, it felt slightly like stepping into a life I knew how to perform but didn’t fully recognize anymore.
We kissed cheeks, squealed each other’s names, complimented shoes with performative reverence, and settled in like we were celebrating something monumental even though none of us could quite name what.
Champagne was ordered within three minutes, because of course it was.
I smiled in all the right places and played my part easily enough.
Addison Hart, friend who knew the best brunch spots and how to dress for them.
The version of me everyone expected to show up arrived right on schedule.
But something about it felt off in a way I couldn’t quite ignore.
At that moment my brain betrayed me entirely and offered up the thought of sitting on the back of Sawyer’s bike with the wind in my face.
The image landed so suddenly it nearly made me choke on my champagne, and I stared down into the bubbles rising in my glass while I tried very hard not picture her hands on the handlebars and my arms wrapped around her as she whisked me away from brunch and off somewhere much more casual.
The worst part was that the idea didn’t feel wrong at all. If anything it felt a little thrilling, which only made the realization more unsettling because I had no idea what to do with the fact that I liked the thought of it.
I shook myself out of it, and pulled myself back into the conversation where Lilly was deep in wedding mode, swiping through color palettes we had seen a million times on her phone like a general preparing for war.
“So, as you all know, we’re doing soft mauve and dusty blue for the florals,” Lilly said as she turned her phone toward us, her eyes bright with conviction. “But here is what they’re actually going to look like: elegant. Classic, but modern.”
I leaned closer with the others, studying the photos of carefully arranged flowers spilling across the screen in soft clouds of mauve and pale blue.
A year ago, I would have had opinions ready and a florist recommendation saved in my contacts.
Now I just nodded and said, “They’re really pretty,” because that seemed like the correct response.
Lilly beamed like I had just validated a life decision, and Eloise immediately started debating ribbon textures while Harper suggested a champagne wall near the dance floor.
The conversation spun quickly into centerpieces, seating charts, and whether live strings felt too traditional for the ceremony. I listened, chiming in when expected, but the words floated past me like they belonged to someone else’s afternoon.
Eloise clasped her hands together with excitement as she leaned toward the table. “God, I want to be engaged already,” she said.
“You will be,” Lilly replied confidently as she reached for her champagne. “Trevor’s obsessed with you.”
“We’re going to Tuscany in the fall,” Eloise added with a dreamy smile. “I know he’s planning something.”
I sipped my champagne while the bubbles hit my tongue sharp and sweet, almost cloying, and the conversation drifted around me in easy loops about weddings, men, real estate, and ring settings. It was curated happiness in curated lives.
I used to want this world so badly it made my chest ache, and I used to imagine myself exactly here. Lately, though, I wasn’t sure if I had wanted the life or just the version of myself who fit neatly inside it.
“And how’s Jason?” Harper asked as she turned toward me with a glossy smile. “He’s so handsome, you lucky bitch.”
“He’s good,” I said smoothly, the answer automatic.
Lilly leaned closer across the table, resting her elbow beside her glass. “Are you seeing him again?” she asked.
“We have dinner tonight,” I said.
The table erupted with claps and squeals while Eloise grabbed my arm and Harper laughed. “You’re perfect together,” Harper said. “Same ambition. Same values. It just makes sense.”
I smiled and nodded like I agreed. Jason made sense.
He was respectable, clean-cut, polished in a way that felt almost museum-grade, the kind of man my parents would love and the kind my friends already did.
Every date with him felt like an audition where I laughed in the right places, asked the right questions, and wore my most flattering dress along with my most agreeable smile.
I wasn’t miserable, but I wasn’t entirely happy either. I stirred the melting ice in my water glass while smiling again, even as a headache bloomed slowly behind my eyes.
* * *
Back home I changed into soft clothes, an old college T-shirt and cotton joggers, and curled up on the couch with a candle burning nearby.
I had my laptop open to get some work done and get a head start on the week ahead. But instead, my phone was already in my hand before I really thought about it. Instagram opened. Sawyer’s photo on my feed almost immediately. A selfie on her bike this morning.
God she was so hot.
I stared longer than I meant to. Her caption read:
@sawyer.wilson.welds: Sundays are for riding after a fun welding job.
I opened my DM’s and typed.
Me: That bike is going to ruin my productivity.
I tried to focus on work again, but my phone buzzed.
Sawyer: That sounds like a you problem.
I smiled despite myself and tucked my feet beneath me on the couch.
Me: It absolutely is a you problem.
Sawyer: I didn’t make you open Instagram, Sunshine.
Me: You kind of did…
Sawyer: Oh yeah, how is that?
Me: You asked me to hang out…
Me: And then you posted a thirst trap.
There was a short pause before her reply appeared.
Sawyer: That was not a thirst trap.
Me: Your tank top would disagree.
Sawyer: Careful, Sunshine.
Heat crept up my neck at that.
Me: I’m just making observations.
Sawyer: You’re doing more than observing.
I stared at the message for a second, my fingers hovering over the keyboard before I typed.
Me: Maybe.
The typing bubble appeared again.
Sawyer: So, you never answered the question… I am in my workshop now, but probably going for a drink this evening. Wanna join?
My heart skipped hard enough that I felt it in my throat. The answer that jumped into my head was an immediate yes. I could picture it too easily… sitting across from her at Blake’s, the easy way she leaned against the counter, the way her voice would drop a little when she’d say, ‘Sunshine.’
Then reality followed right behind the impulse. Dinner with Jason.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, my stomach twisting with the kind of disappointment that felt bigger than it probably should have.
Me: I have a dinner tonight…
Sawyer: Rain check then?
Relief and regret tangled together in my chest.
Me: Rain check for sure.
Sawyer: Deal, sunshine.
I would have said yes without hesitation if Jason didn’t already have a reservation with my name on it. I set my phone down beside me on the couch and tried my best to do a little more work.
* * *
By the time I got to Back Bay, the sun had dipped low enough that the city had started to glow in that soft early-evening light that made everything look a little more expensive than it actually was.
I paused outside the restaurant for a second, smoothing a hand down the front of my dress before stepping inside.
Jason had picked a place he knew I loved. It was sleek and polished and fancy. Soft lighting reflected off marble surfaces, and the air carried the scent of champagne and butter. He stood as I walked over, kissing my cheek before complimenting my dress.
I smiled as he pulled out my chair for me to sit. I did and thanked him politely as he sat back down across from me.
Then he started talking. He talked about markets, IPOs, and a promotion he was about to get.
Before I could even say anything, he moved on to golf trips, protein shakes, suits, and himself.
He moved from one topic to another with effortless enthusiasm while I nodded when appropriate, sipped my wine, and let my thoughts drift somewhere else entirely.
Instead of listening, I imagined what it would be like if I were at dinner with Sawyer rather than Jason.
I wondered where she would take me. Maybe some hole-in-the-wall place with amazing food, or one of those little diners on the coast she rides her bike to, a place where she already knew everyone behind the counter, and what was good on the menu.
“Addison?”
I blinked and realized Jason had stopped talking. He was watching me expectantly from across the table, his wine glass halfway to his mouth.
“Sorry,” I said quickly, offering a polite smile. “What were you saying?”
He launched right back into whatever story he had been telling, something about a deal at work and a guy named Mark from the Boston office, and I nodded again while my mind drifted right back to her.
Our plates came and went. My food tasted fine, probably excellent, but I could not remember a single bite. The check finally came and he paused long enough to look at me.
“What’s your week look like?” Jason asked as he reached for the bill.
“Busy,” I said. “Listings. Showings.”
“Wednesday dinner?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I replied, and he took it as a yes.
Outside my place, he kissed me, and I let him even though I felt nothing. His lips were warm and practiced, the kind of kiss that could look good from across a room but left no real impression.
He adjusted his jacket slightly before asking, “Should I come up?”
“I have an early start,” I said gently.
He smiled tightly and nodded. “Maybe next weekend. I could take you somewhere nice.”
“I’ll let you know,” I said.
We said goodbye, and I climbed the stairs to my condo before shutting the door behind me. The apartment was silent when I leaned back against the wall and exhaled. I kicked off my heels, dropped my purse on the table, and reached for my phone.
One new message waited. My stomach flipped before I even opened it.
Sawyer: Here’s my number. So we don’t have to play cat and mouse on Instagram anymore.
xxx-xxx-xxxx
I smiled as I saved the contact, realizing I might not know exactly what this was yet, but I was already more than intrigued.
* * *