Sophia glared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, tugging at the hem of her too-short dress. “This is ridiculous,” she grumbled, yanking the fabric down futilely. “I look like I’m trying way too hard.”
Amy emerged from the bathroom, applying a final swipe of lipstick. “You look hot, stop fussing,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, the point isn’t how you look. It’s getting you out of this apartment and out of your own head.”
“I’m perfectly fine in my own head,” Sophia retorted, kicking off her heels and flopping dramatically onto the bed. “It’s cozy in there. No judgment, no regrets, no…” She trailed off, unable to say his name.
Amy sighed, sitting next to her sister. “No Jake?” she prompted gently.
Sophia groaned, burying her face in a pillow. “Don’t say his name,” she mumbled. “It makes it real.”
“Hate to break it to you, sis, but it’s already real,” Amy said, patting Sophia’s back. “Hiding from it won’t change that.”
Sophia lifted her head, eyes narrowed. “Watch me try,” she challenged, reaching for the bottle of tequila on her nightstand.
Amy snatched it away. “Nuh-uh. If you’re drinking, you’re doing it surrounded by people who can cut you off when necessary. Now get your ass up and put those heels back on.”
“You’re worse than Mom,” Sophia grumbled, but she sat up anyway. “Fine. But I’m not promising to have fun.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Amy replied dryly. “Now come on, let’s go paint the town… a mildly interesting shade of beige.”
Sophia snorted despite herself, finally cracking a smile. “Your pep talks need work, counselor.”
The cool night air hit Sophia’s face as she stepped out of the Uber, the salty breeze from the nearby ocean tousling her hair. She squinted at the glowing sign of The Rusty Anchor, its golden light spilling onto the cobblestone path.
“Fuck me, it’s cold,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.
Amy rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you’d worn an actual jacket instead of that flimsy excuse for a sweater.”
“It’s called fashion, look it up,” Sophia retorted, but her comeback lacked its usual bite. Her eyes scanned the entrance, spotting a small group of women huddled near the door. Emily’s chestnut hair caught the light as she turned, waving them over.
“There they are,” Amy said, nudging Sophia forward. “Try not to look like you’re being marched to your execution, yeah?”
Sophia plastered on a smile that felt more like a grimace. As they approached, she caught snippets of conversation.
“… swear to god, if one more patient asks me if essential oils can cure pneumonia…” Freya was saying, her pixie cut ruffling in the breeze.
Evelyn laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “At least they’re not asking you to diagnose their kid’s rash via Facebook message.”
Emily caught Sophia’s eye, her smile faltering slightly. Shit, Sophia thought. She knows something’s up.
“Hey, ladies,” Amy called out cheerfully. “Ready to get our drink on?”
Sophia forced herself to meet Emily’s concerned gaze. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t-
“You okay, Soph?” Emily asked softly.
Fuck.
Sophia huffed, her breath visible in the chilly air. “I’d be better if I was drunk,” she quipped, trying to inject some levity into her voice.
Emily shook her head, her green eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination. Without a word, she looped her arm through Sophia’s and steered her towards the entrance of the Rusty Anchor.
The warmth of the restaurant enveloped them as they stepped inside, the scent of butter and seafood mingling with the salty sea air. Sophia’s stomach growled traitorously, reminding her that she’d been too caught up in her own head to eat much that day.
“Table for five,” Amy said to the hostess, her voice carrying a hint of authority that brooked no argument.
As they weaved through the tables, Sophia couldn’t help but notice the elegant decor. Crystal glasses clinked softly, and the low hum of conversation was punctuated by the gentle strains of a string quartet. It was a far cry from their usual haunts.
“Christ, Em,” Sophia muttered. “Did you win the lottery or something?”
Emily squeezed her arm. “Sometimes we deserve a little luxury, don’t you think?”
They settled into a corner table, Amy and Emily positioning themselves with a clear view of the door. Sophia’s brow furrowed. What the hell are they up to?
A waiter appeared, his crisp white shirt a stark contrast to the worn leather of Sophia’s jacket. “What can I get for you ladies this evening?”
“A bottle of your best champagne,” Amy said decisively. “And keep it coming.”
Sophia’s eyebrows shot up. “Champagne? Who died?”
Freya snorted. “Your sense of fun, apparently. Lighten up, Soph. It’s girls’ night!”
As the waiter retreated, Sophia leaned back in her chair, studying her friends’ faces. They were trying too hard, their smiles a touch too bright. She felt a knot form in her stomach.
“Alright,” she said, her voice low. “What’s really going on here?”
Emily’s green eyes widened innocently as she reached for her water glass. “We’re just having girls night, Soph. I don’t know what you think is happening?”
Sophia snorted, crossing her arms. “Bullshit. You’re all acting weird as fuck. And since when do we do ‘girls night’ at a place that probably charges more for bread than I make in an hour?”
The waiter returned, popping the champagne cork with practiced ease. As he poured, Sophia’s gaze darted between her friends’ faces, searching for tells.
“Look,” Amy said, leaning forward. “We just thought you could use a night out. To… clear your head.”
Sophia’s stomach clenched. Fuck. They knew. Of course they knew. She grabbed her champagne flute, downing half of it in one gulp.
“Christ,” she muttered. “Am I that obvious?”
Emily reached out, squeezing Sophia’s hand. “We’re your friends, Soph. We know when something’s eating at you.”
Sophia’s shoulders slumped. She traced a finger along the stem of her glass, avoiding their concerned gazes. “I fucked up,” she whispered. “Like, monumentally fucked up.”
Freya leaned in. “Is this about Jake? And… Oscar?”
Sophia’s head snapped up. “How the hell do you…” She broke off, glaring at Emily and Amy. “You told them?”
Emily held up her hands. “They’re worried about you too, Soph. We all are.”
Sophia slumped back in her chair, suddenly feeling very small in the elegant surroundings. “Great. So now everyone knows what a mess I am.”
Freya’s voice cut through Sophia’s spiraling thoughts. “It’s okay to feel, Soph,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. Evelyn nodded in agreement, her warm brown eyes radiating empathy.
Sophia shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you don’t,” she spat, her words sharper than intended. She ran a hand through her curly auburn hair, tugging at the ends in frustration.
“Then tell us,” Evelyn prompted softly, leaning forward. “Help us understand.”
Sophia’s gaze flicked between her friends, her chest tight with conflicting emotions. Part of her wanted to bolt, to run from this impromptu intervention. But the larger part, the part that was tired of carrying this weight alone, won out.
“Fine,” she sighed, reaching for her champagne again. “You want to know? I slept with Jake and Oscar. Together. And it was fucking incredible.” She drained her glass, gesturing for a refill. “And now I can’t stop thinking about it. About them. About how royally I’ve screwed everything up.”
Evelyn’s brow furrowed. “How have you screwed things up? It sounds like you all had a good time.”
Sophia laughed, the sound hollow. “Yeah, great time. Fantastic. Until I woke up and realized I might actually have feelings for Jake. Real, fucking terrifying feelings.”
“And that’s… bad?” Freya asked, her pragmatic nature shining through.
“It’s catastrophic,” Sophia groaned. “Jake doesn’t do relationships. He does fun. Casual. And I agreed to that. I can’t go changing the rules now just because I’ve caught feelings like some lovesick teenager.”
The waiter returned with more champagne, and Sophia gratefully accepted a refill. She took a long sip, letting the bubbles dance on her tongue before continuing.
“So now I’m avoiding him. Because I don’t know how to face him without giving everything away. And Oscar… God, Oscar probably thinks I’m some kind of slut now.” Sophia ran a hand through her hair, messing up the carefully styled curls. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.”
Evelyn leaned forward, her warm brown eyes full of understanding. “Soph, honey, there’s nothing to fix. Feelings aren’t something you can control. They just happen.”
“Yeah, well, they shouldn’t have happened to me,” Sophia muttered, fidgeting with her glass. “Not with Jake. Not after…”
“Not after Alex,” Amy finished softly, reaching out to squeeze her sister’s hand.
Sophia nodded, blinking back tears. “I can’t go through that again. I can’t open myself up just to be told I’m not enough. Not good enough, not pretty enough, not fucking interesting enough to keep around.”
Freya’s eyes flashed with anger. “Alex was an asshole, Soph. A grade-A, prime cut douchebag. Jake isn’t him.”
“How do you know?” Sophia challenged, her voice cracking. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because we’ve seen how he looks at you,” Emily said softly. “When you’re not paying attention. When he thinks no one else is watching.”
Sophia’s heart stuttered. “What are you talking about?”
“He looks at you like you hung the fucking moon, Soph,” Freya said bluntly. “Like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.”
Sophia shook her head, refusing to believe it. “You’re wrong. You have to be.”
But a small part of her, a part she’d been trying to ignore, whispered that maybe, just maybe, they were right.
Sophia pushed her chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor. “I need some air,” she muttered, her chest tight. “Bathroom.”
Amy stood up, concern etched on her face. “I’ll come with you.”
Sophia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She led the way through the crowded bar, dodging drunk patrons and narrowly avoiding a spilled drink. The smell of booze and sweat was suffocating.
As they entered the relative quiet of the bathroom, Sophia leaned against the sink, her knuckles white as she gripped the porcelain. She stared at her reflection, seeing the fear in her own eyes.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
Amy leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Want to talk about it?”
Sophia laughed bitterly. “What’s there to talk about? I’m fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.”
“Because you have feelings for Jake?” Amy asked gently.
“Because I let myself have feelings for Jake,” Sophia corrected, running a hand through her hair. “I knew better. I fucking knew better.”
Amy sighed. “Soph, you can’t punish yourself forever for what Alex did.”
Sophia whirled on her sister. “Can’t I? It sure as hell beats the alternative.”
“Which is what?” Amy challenged. “Actually being happy?”
Sophia flinched, her sister’s words hitting too close to home. She turned back to the mirror, studying her own face as if searching for answers.
“Happiness is overrated,” she muttered, but the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Amy stepped closer, her reflection appearing next to Sophia’s in the smudged bathroom mirror. “Soph, you deserve to be happy too,” she said softly. Her eyes met Sophia’s in the reflection. “Fuck Alex six ways to Sunday, he’s a grade A fuckwit. Jake isn’t.”
Sophia’s throat tightened. She wanted to believe Amy, wanted it so badly it ached. But the fear, that goddamn fear, kept its claws dug deep.
“How do you know?” she whispered, hating how vulnerable she sounded. “How can you be sure?”