Page 7 of False Start

"It sounds like, in addition to your ongoing grief from losing your brother, you also have some anger at your parents and feelings of abandonment."

"Well, yeah!" I almost shout, then take a breath to calm myself, counting in and out like she taught me. "I needed them and they just checked out. It's been years and we still barely talk."

"Your anger is completely understandable and, from the way you've described what happened with your family, warranted. I don't want you to think your emotions aren't valid, but in the next few sessions, we should work on how to confront these feelings when they arise so you can process them fully and then move past them. Not for your parents' sake, but for your own wellbeing."

I drop my keys onto the entry table and flop face-first into my couch. The smell of my post-therapy chocolate chip cookie wafts to my nose and makes my stomach grumble. It's probably another "unhealthy" coping mechanism, but I'll quit my job, move to the country, and become a zucchini farmer before I give up my chocolate chip cookies. And I hate zucchini almost as much as I hate the outdoors.

Madame Clawdette Purrington—Clawdette for short—saunters over from her spot on the windowsill to execute bun mode in the middle of my back. I can't help but chuckle. My fur baby is a sassy bitch, as usual.

I extricate myself from beneath the cuddly Persian despite her protests and head to the kitchen for her treats. If I'm even a minute late feeding her, there will be hell to pay. I was against cats for the longest time, having never had pets as a kid, but coming home to an empty apartment became unbearable, especially during those dark years.

I had to give up Khan, my last cat, when I first moved into this apartment. Thankfully, Maya took him in. After a while, though, I realized the landlord was never around to catch any pets in the building. Maya had already bonded with Khan, so I adopted Clawdette, who snuggles better than any of my late night partners.

My phone rings and I rush to my purse, frantically digging through my Birkin before the call goes to voicemail.

"Hello?" I answer without checking to see who it is.

"Hey girl, did you just run up a flight of stairs or something? Or did I catch youin flagrante?"

I can practically hear Tiffany waggling her eyebrows.

"Tiff, if I were getting it on, do you really think I'd stop to pick up the phone?"

"Maybe if he wasn't hittin' it right, you would," she snickers, and I giggle.

Tiffany and I met through Maya. They were friends since way back, but Tiff only just moved from DC to start an outreach program at a community center in Harlem. Maya brought her along to a “Binge & Bitch” session—where we binge shows, drink wine, and bitch about guys, and the occasional girl—and our duo became a trio just like that.

"If he was that wack," I laugh, "I would've kicked him out long before I could take a call."

"Point taken," she agrees. "Speaking of 'evening extracurriculars', I didn't see you after the streamer exit. Did you make any newfriends?"

"Why?" I ask, on edge. "Did you see me leave with anyone?"

I can hear her smirk even without FaceTime.

"Noooo," she draws out the word.How much does she know? Did she see Cory and me together?"But it sounds to me like you were with someone you shouldn't have been."

I muffle my sigh with my hand. She's fishing. She doesn't know anything. So far, I'm still in the clear.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, feigning ignorance. Tiff sucks her teeth.

"Whatever, ho," she mutters playfully. "You can keep your little sneaky link. I, on the other hand, will gladly tell anyone who asks about my night with Monica. I'll blow one of those Ricola horns and shout it from the hilltops, if you want."

"Wow!" I laugh. "It's like that?"

"Yeah. It's likethat."

"OK! I'm glad to see you finally got back on that horse. Or, maybe…strap on?"

Tiffany laughs and dives into the details of her night with Monica. She came as a plus one with one of Adam's brother's work friends, but ditched him when he threw up down his suit after a few too many Jägerbombs. Who still does Jägerbombs after college?

Tiffany gushes about the leggy brunette with the Rockabilly fashion sense and the razor sharp wit, and I smile warmly into the phone.

She'd been having a bad streak in the relationship department, losing her last girlfriend in the move to NYC and buying a used Mercedes with her most recent ex, only for him to drive it all day, racking up multiple tickets when she was at work. Martin was such a dick that one of his other girlfriends—apparently he had one ineach borough—reached out to Tiffany to help her find and tow the car while he was at a friend's place. Thank God it was in her name.

"Was it just a one-time thing, or are you going to see her again?"

Despite everything, Tiff remains hopeful. I wish I could hold on to my own optimism like that. There's a beat of silence.

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