Page 209 of What We Bury

She eyes the fork like it might be a trap, then leans in and takes the bite.

“Oh my God.” Her eyes close. “Okay. I know I’m mid-relationship crisis, but this cake is a religious experience.”

“I have excellent instincts in moments of distress.”

“You really do.” She chews, swallows, then picks up her own fork. “So . . .” Her eyes lift to mine and she waggles her eyebrows. “Tell me more about these men.”

“It’s new,” I say, and that part’s true, so it comes out easy. “I don’t know what it is yet. But we’re having fun. And you saw how protective they are of me.” I slice off another bite of cake. “We’re figuring it out.”

I keep my answer light because the truth is Eli cracked something open in me and left me holding the pieces.

The others rallied around me afterward—sat on the floor while I cried hard enough to ruin a shirt, and not one of them tried to fix it or talk me out of it or take a single thing. They just stayed. It was the most loved I have ever felt, and it nearly took me apart right there on the rug.

But the really shitty thing I can’t say out loud is the thought that keeps running through my head whenever I look at them—there are supposed to be five.

I can’t even begin to express how selfish I feel for thinking four amazing men doting on me isn’t enough.

I eat some cake so I don’t have to do anything with my face.

“Honestly, though—I’ve been more worried about you.” I say it light, but I mean it like a hand on her wrist. “You look wrung out, Aims. Every time I’ve seen you lately there’s a little less of you in your face.”

She sets the fork down.

“It’s been a rough stretch,” she admits. “Tyler’s a lot when he’s stressed. And he’s been stressed.” She picks the corner off her napkin. “But I finally said it. Last night. Told him that if hekeeps using me as his—his emotional punching bag, we’re done. I meant it, too. I had the bag packed in my head.”

“Good.” I mean that one all the way down.

“And he just folded.” Her face does something complicated—relief and hope and a little dazzle. “Cried, actually. Said he loves me. Said he’s been a wreck and taking it out on the one person who didn’t deserve it, and that he can’t lose me.” Her smile breaks through, helpless. “It was a lot. Like, all at once. Apology, tears, breakfast in bed. Eggs, coffee. The whole thing. After—” Her voice drops and her cheeks go pink. “After a night I am not going to describe to you except to say it has been awhilesince—” She presses both hands over her face and giggles into them and despite not liking Tyler, I love this moment for her. I hate the reason it happened, hate the timing, hate how perfectly the apology seems to fit the wound—but I love seeing her lit up again. “Multiple. Okay? That’s all I’m saying. Multiple.”

“AMY.” I point my fork at her. She beams. “Repulsive. I’m so happy for you. Keep going.”

“It hasn’t felt like this since the beginning,” she says, glowing. “Like the first month. I really think we turned a corner.”

The comment settles in my chest like a swallowed ice cube—because my body knows that rhythm. The sudden softness after you make a boundary visible. The tenderness that arrives fast enough to make you wonder if you imagined why you were scared in the first place.

But Amy is shining at me over a half-eaten wedge of cake for the first time in weeks, and I’m not her mother, and I’m not going to be the friend who sets the bag back down in front of her before she’s ready to pick it up herself—but I am the friend who’ll ask my masked vigilante lovers to keep watch over her for safety.

I reach across and squeeze her hand.

“I’m really happy for you,” I say. “And listen. Whatever happens. Good news, bad news, total disaster, three in the morning and you need a ride—I’m here. Always. You don’t have to explain a thing. You just call.”

Her eyes go bright. “You’re going to make me cry in a café.”

“Then we cry in a café. We’ll be those women. Someone will assume a breakup and send over more cake.”

“Sage?”

I look up and it’s Jamie, wearing a soft gray T-shirt instead of his usual flannel, a canvas tote over one shoulder. His whole face opens when he sees me, that easy smile that crinkles his eyes, and something in my shoulders drops a notch the way it always does with him.

“Jamie! Hi—” I’m half out of my seat. “What are you doing this side of town?”

“Bookstore.” He lifts the tote, which clinks with what is very much not books. “And the bookstore is next to a wine shop, which is entrapment, and I fell for it.” His eyes go to Amy, friendly, curious. “Sorry—I’m interrupting.”

“You’re not. Sit.” I scoot over. “This is my best friend. My roommate. The love of my life.”

Amy snorts.

“The famous Amy.” Jamie slides in beside me and offers her his hand across the table. “I’ve heard the legend. Reality TV, catastrophic takeout opinions, and something about gas-station sushi that gave you both food poisoning.”