My roommate, Emily and I are working on our third bottle of cheap white wine on Friday night. We’ve both had crazy weeks, so the few hours of relaxation are perfect for my aching feet, which are on Emily’s lap as I stretch out on the sofa.

We both perk up on hearing a key turn in the lock of our front door. The hinges creak while it opens, slowly revealing our third roommate, a smiling Dahlia.

“Hi!” she chirps. “Y’all miss me yet?”

It’s one of those rare days where all three of us are home at the same time.

“Of course,” Emily answers. “Never mind that I just saw you on campus a couple of days ago. What are you doing here?”

“Slumming,” I say before Dahlia can answer. “It’s a miracle she steps foot in Brooklyn at all. Now that she has a sprawling penthouse suite to lounge in with the furbabies.”

“Stop it, that’s so not true,” she drawls and lets out a shy laugh.

“She’s right,” Emily agrees. “Except our Miss Dahlia here has two luxury homes to live in. Vivian’s place until the petsitting slash penthouse sitting job is over, and then, when her boss gets back, she can just move her bags over to the hot neighbor’s!”

“Hot jerk, if the company he keeps is any indication.” I cover my mouth, but it’s too late to take back what I said. “Sorry. I’m… that just came out. I’m sure Jackson is nothing like… you know who.”

“It’s okay,” Dahlia says softly.

“No, it’s not okay. I’m happy you found a decent guy to date in this town.”

She and Emily know what went down, or at least, they have the abridged version of events, the snippet I shared with them once, during a weak moment. I shouldn’t have said a word about Jackson just now, but I couldn’t help myself. The man Dahlia’s dating is close friends with the guy I consider to be the biggest mistake of my teenage life.

Caleb Mitchell.

Arrogant bad boy, unapologetic playboy, and cocky bastard.

After my parents passed away and social services put me in foster care, I took a part-time job at Mitchell’s New York, a chain of high-end designer department stores owned by Caleb’s parents. He was doing a stint at the time as VP of Merchandising, and visited the branch where I worked every few weeks to meet with the store manager. I don’t remember how he noticed me out of the dozens of staff who worked there, but he did. Maybe it was because he and I were just a few years apart in age. I still don’t know. But once he noticed me, he made my life in that job a living hell. Every time he visited the store, he’d scrutinize whatever task assigned to me. Whenever I worked on the cash register, he’d tell me I needed to move faster, or be more customer friendly, or he’d embarrass me about my counter being a fucking mess. If I was folding clothes or neatening rack that customers had rifled through, my neatening efforts wasn’t near enough to meet company standards. Hell, one night I was manning the fitting rooms, and he sarcastically told me I needed to do a better job of selling potential customers on what they tried on.

That job was a nightmare.

Then there was the holiday party that I’ll never forget.

I swallow hard to push down the lump that forms in my throat as forcefully as I try to shove away the memory of that evening.

“Are you all right?” Emily asks.

She watches as I fill my wine glass to the brim and gulp down the contents. “Yes. Fine. I’m peachy.”

Dahlia sits in the armchair opposite me. “I’m sorry you went through that night. And I’m more than sorry that dating Jackson is a constant reminder.”

“Don’t apologize,” I tell her. I let the fruity alcohol fill my stomach, and wish it was something stronger. “You and Jackson have every right to see each other, and if he makes you happy, I’m glad. Don’t worry about me, all right? I might have the odd slip of the tongue like I did just now, but… you know what? Let’s change the subject. How are the puppies?”

“A handful as usual, but impossible to dislike. They’re so adorable.”

“Good! You should bring them over sometime. We can take them for a walk around here.”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No, no! The streets of Brooklyn are no place for Vivian’s furbabies. The three of them together will terrorize our neighbors,” she says, giggling.

“I have to agree with Dahl,” Emily chimes in. She gets up and walks toward the bathroom but turns in the middle of the room. “I’ve seen them in action. It’s like watching an episode of The Three Stooges. And the little one is the ringleader too! Hang on, I need to take a leak.”

“Gosh, I know, right?”

I lean back on the sofa and smile, my mind sufficiently off of Caleb, thanks to my awesome roommates. “Okay, we’ll save their canine version of slapstick comedy for Central Park. Maybe one day next week after your lecture or something? Oh wait. No, I’ll be working late all next week,” I groan.

“That’s too bad. Big project?” Dahlia asks.

“If by big you mean repetitive, labor-intensive and devoid of mental stimulation, then yes.” I rub my temples and close my eyes to avoid slumping into another funk. “Big project. Shred, shred, shred. That’s the sum total of this internship at Levine fucking Holdings.”

“Levine Holdings. Okay, making a note to self. Hmmm.” She puckers her lips and her eyebrows furrow as though she’s trying to jog her memory. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“Probably because I’ve whined, moaned, criticized and bellyached about them since my internship started,” I suggest. “And on that point, I’d have more of a challenge working at a burger joint. But my internship will look great on my resume! Hooray for that!” I squeal with more fake enthusiasm than my poor throat can muster. It comes out tinny and causes me to cough as though something went down the wrong pipe.

“I wish it was going better for you,” she hums apologetically.

“You and me both, darling.”

“Give it time. I’m sure it’ll improve.” I take my glass to the kitchen sink at the corner of our open concept living area. Giving it a rinse, I put it in the dishwasher and reach under the sink for bottled water. “Hey, tell Emily I’m gonna call it a night. I have a few weeks to figure out this student loan thing. Tomorrow morning, I’ll ask my manager at the makeup counter if they have any extra shifts I can pick up. After that, I’m going to troll around Soho for a short-term waitressing gig at one of the chic restaurants or clubs. Maybe tips are the answer.”

“How much do you have to come up with again?” she asks.

“A few grand, but it may as well be a million bucks. My teeny tiny credit cards limits are maxed out, I have seventeen dollars and sixty-three cents in my checking account, and I broke the piggy bank ages ago.”

“I know you already told me no the last time I brought it up, but I can help,” Dahlia starts off in a whisper.

“Uh-uh. I’m not taking your money, Dahl. You earned it, and it’s yours. I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

“Okay, okay. I just wish you’d let us help. That’s what friends are for, you know?”

I return to Dahlia’s side and lean down to her, pulling her into a brief hug. “I appreciate how sweet and generous you and Emily are, love. I really do. But I got this. I promise. Have a good night.”

As I leave the living room, my head starts pounding with a stress headache. It gets worse in my bedroom. Slumping into bed, I drag the covers over my head.

Of course, what I said to Dahlia is a flat-out lie.

I don’t ‘got this.’

I’m stumped as to how I’ll come up with the cash.