Page 6 of The Toy Collector

I blink. “Did you just break into my apartment?”

She shrugs, holding up the spare key like it’s a trophy. “I didn’t break in. I used my God-given right as your best friend. And you weren’t answering texts.”

Rather than focusing on the fact thatInever gave her that key, I reply, “I was wallowing.”

“Yeah, I figured. That’s why I brought sugar and violence.” She tosses her oversized tote on the floor and crosses the room, pulling a small white box from under her arm like she’s smuggling something classified.

“Are those—”

“Chocolate with raspberry filling. Obviously. And look.” She opens the lid to reveal one perfect cupcake, pink candle already stabbed into the frosting at a slight angle. “Tradition, bitch.”

My chest tightens in a way I wasn’t ready for. “You really didn’t have to—”

She levels me with a stare. “You’re damn right I didn’thaveto. But you only turn twenty-six once, and I’m not letting you do it in yoga pants with red eyes and existential dread breath.”

I laugh. It’s small, a little cracked, but real.

She lights the candle with the lighter she keeps in her purse for emergencies and chaotic energy.

“Make a wish,” she says softly.

I close my eyes. For one second, I consider wishing for an internship. For clarity. For a family that doesn’t treat ambition like a betrayal. But instead, I wish for something simpler; I want to be wanted. To feel fulfilled.

Huh, maybe that’s two wishes. No matter, it’s what I want, so even if I have to find a shooting star as well, I wish it.

Lena watches me for a beat while I blow out the candle. I don’t make a big thing of it—no clapping, no cheesy encore. I just exhale, soft and steady, and the little flame disappears.

She sets the box aside on the coffee table. Then flops onto the couch, dragging me with her. “Okay. Out with it,” she demands, pulling one leg under her like she owns the place.

I glance over. “Out with what?”

“Don’t play dumb, bitch. You bailed on class, ignored my texts, and I caught you mid-spiral when I came in. Something’s up, and I want details.”

I sigh, peeling the wrapper from the cupcake and staring at it like it might hold the answers. “It’s just… everything.”

Lena waits, no judgment. Just space.

I lean back against the cushion. “Mrs. Ellis gave me the full reality check this morning. Everyone already has their internships lined up, and I’m still hoping for callbacks. If I don’t get one soon, I won’t graduate on time.”

Her face falls. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” I take a bite of the cupcake. It’s rich and perfect and makes me feel exactly nothing. “I’ve always had a plan,” I continue. “Every semester, every summer, every goddamn volunteer campaign. And now it’s the most important year of my life, and I’m stalled out in the first week.”

Lena doesn’t offer me fake platitudes or empty encouragement, which is why I trust her with the messy stuff. “You’re not behind, Pipes. You’re just not ahead, and that’s freaking you out.”

I blink. That lands a little too hard.

She softens. “You’ve been ahead your whole life. Over-prepared. Over-achieving. But this is just timing. Not failure.”

“You say that as if the job market gives a shit about nuance,” I grumble.

Rolling her eyes, she throws her middle fingers up. “Fuck the job market. You’re brilliant, and driven, and frankly terrifying in heels. You’ll land something. You always do.”

I want to believe her. I do. But the fear’s already lodged deep, like a splinter beneath the skin. Not bleeding yet. Just… festering.

“I just don’t want to disappoint anyone,” I whisper.

She reaches over and tugs the cupcake from my hand. “Then stop disappointing yourself.”

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