Page 18 of Desserts for Stressed People

Chocolate chip cookies?

Shane:

Similar ingredients, I’ll give you that. But what would I be using the bananas for?

Bananas? I check the picture again and...damn. Bananas are hiding behind the flour.

Nevaeh:

Banana bread!

I’m confident about my answer this time. I literally can’t think of another dessert that can be done with bananas. But, hey, I onlybuydesserts.

Shane:

Close. I’ll send you a picture when it’s done.

That makes me sigh. I shouldn’t be making plans to chat with Shane. I’m indulging in something that can’t possibly have a positive outcome. But I don’t protest, nor do I tell him what I should—that I’m not interested.

I grin, send him a thumbs-up, and make my way home.

* * *

“How was work?”

I glance at Alex and hold my fork in midair. This is the first sentence he’s spoken to me since I arrived, after a wave of his hand and a distracted grunt to welcome me home.

“Good. They might want me to join a new team for a while. Events,” I say, setting the fork down. “What about you?”

“The usual shitshow.”

With a nod, I look down at my food, and his phone buzzes. It’s on the coffee table, but the vibration makes a horrible noise against the wood, and we both turn to it.

He gets up, checks it, then walks back to the table, turning it face down. “I’ll be out of town for a week. We’re meeting some new potential clients and we have a series of appointments lined up.”

Face down. He put his phoneface down. Because he’s waiting for a message he doesn’t want me to see.

My fists clench as I glance at the half-eaten food on my plate. Food I no longer want. Getting up, I leave my plate in the sink. I don’t think I’ve ever done it before, not without rinsing it and drying it, but I’ll do that later. Right now, I just need to be somewhere else, or I might smother him with the cauliflower leftovers.

“Are you done eating?” he asks.

I take a deep breath before turning around. “Yeah. I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Okay,” he says unconvincingly. “Did you even hear what I said?”

“Out of town for a week. Got it. I’ll see you later.” I leave the kitchen without giving him the chance to say anything. At this point, I don’t even care if he notices something’s wrong. I swiped on that damn app before work and during my lunch break, and I still haven’t found him. Maybe I never will. Treating him like the shit he is might be the only way for me to ever avenge myself a little. And who knows? If I do it enough, he might break up with me himself. He’d pay rent in that case, right?

I put on a pair of sneakers and leave with my earphones in. I’ll listen to some music and stroll along the canal like we used to do when we first moved here. Doing it alone tonight floors me with sadness.

How did I get here? What exactly went wrong?

Goosebumps cover my skin with the chilly gusts of wind, and I’m glad I’m wearing a thick jacket, because the air smells familiar—like blooming jasmine and baked goods from the pizzeria down the road—and I plan to spend some hours here.

The water of the canal is dark—the reflections of lamp posts wiggling on the surface—and a small group of ducklings sleeps on some rocks. When the muscles of my legs feel jelly-like from the quick walk, I sit on a green bench. It’s freezing against my leggings, but I nestle into my jacket and open RadaR.

No point in opening my chat with Shane. He hasn’t texted, or I would have gotten a notification. Instead, I scroll. Left, left, left. Cute jacket. Left. Left. It goes on forever, and I simply can’t find my stupid boyfriend.

Maybe it’s my settings.

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