Page 5 of Desserts for Stressed People

“I’ll create a fake profile and match with him.” The next steps are pretty easy to guess.I’ll get the proof I need and the revenge I deserve.

She slurps from her straw. “Or you could skip on the virtual vengeance completely and just put foot cream in his yogurt. Even better, we could cut every single one of his suits in tiny stripes.” Her eyes sparkle. “Or we could plant a couple of bags of cocaine in his suit, then—”

“Oh my God, Em. No. And remind me never to piss you off.” When she rolls her eyes, I fidget with an abandoned piece of paper. “I’ll set up a meeting, and I’ll show up instead of his hot date. Then I’ll break up with him.”

“What about the apartment?”

With a shrug, I take the first sip, quickly realizing I’m drinking sangria as the tangy, sweet liquid takes over my tastebuds. “I’ll wait for the lease to expire to set up our date. But at least I won’t be his helpless victim in the meantime. I’ll makehimmy victim.”

Her eyes wander, her cute nose wrinkling as she churns. She must be picturing the scene, because she smirks. “Again, I totally get it.” She tilts her head to the side, her hoop earring popping up from under her beachy waves. “I guess I’m just surprised.”

My finger traces the edge of the long-stemmed glass. “I always thought I was doing the right thing with Alex, Em. I thought that’s how it works—that at some point, you need to compromise and stick with someone even if things become...”

“Horrible?”

“No, just—”

“Borderline abusive?”

I roll my eyes. “Just...dull.”

Emma squeezes my hand on top of the table when my chin wobbles. “I think it’s great. Therapeutic. You used to be a bull with a red flag, and Alex kind of stole that part of you. It’s time to go back to your bad bitch days.”

With a hesitant nod, I pass her my phone. “You set it up. If I do it, I’ll rethink this halfway through creating the profile.”

“All right,” she says with a sigh. I grab a barbecue chip and stare at her fingers, angry-typing on my phone. “Email added. Now, we need a name.”

Cleaning my hands on a blue two-ply paper napkin and avoiding the splinters that infest her older-than-life table, I stare into the living room. My eyes focus on the intermittent red light of the TV on standby as doubt creeps into my veins, dipping its spiny fingers into my bloodstream. What am I doing? This isn’t the right way to go about it. Setting up a profile on a dating app to catch my boyfriend in the act is the stupidest thing I could do.

Emma hums, stretching her long legs on the chair next to mine. “It should be something poetic.”

“Poetic...” I mumble as Emma nibbles at her pink straw, her eyes still stuck onto the phone in her hands.

“Yes. This is a pivotal moment for your life story. You’re getting rid of the man who hands you an envelope with cash on every birthday.”

After a soft laugh, silence settles. Emma’s eyes flip from one side of the room to the other, her forehead creased and her lips lightly twitching.When she snaps her fingers, her eyes go wide and bright. “Got it. We’ll make her your exact opposite. Name included.”

Sure, it makes sense. If Alex wanted me, he’d be with me. He wants something else. “The opposite of my name.” I set my glass on the table. “So my catfish name is Hell.”

She rage-types something and turns my phone around.

“Nevaeh,” I read out, my lips curving into an involuntary smile. “Is that a name?”

“If Apple and Siri are acceptable names, so is Nevaeh.” She presses something else on the screen. “Now, we need a picture. Random supermodel?”

My heart sinks. Whose picture am I supposed to use? Isn’t that a crime? Identity theft, maybe? “No, that’s messed up. Ugh, oh my God, Em. What am I doing?” I ask as I hide my face between my palms.

“It’s fine. Let’s just give a makeover to his video games with a hammer.” She drops the phone, and my stomach feels coated with black paint as I stare at it. Is this what being in a relationship means? Losing your edge? I’ve never been impulsive, but in the last years, I’ve turned into a parasite—much too comfortable in my cocoon of familiar sadness to enforce change. Always choosing the safe alternative over the frightening one.

Grabbing the small device, I stare intently at the dark screen, hoping it’ll give me an answer, and when I turn to Emma, her brows are arched up. “How about Olivia’s pictures?”

“Haven’t they met before?”

I shake my head. “You know I haven’t seen her in years. The last time she visited, Alex and I were out of town, and before that...” With a sigh, I quickly scan through my memories. “We weren’t together yet.”

“Aren’t they friends on social media?” Emma asks, then immediately rolls her eyes. “Oh, right. He’s a conspiracy theorist.”

I stifle a chuckle. I wouldn’t go as far as to call him that, but hedoeshate social media and can go on endless rants about privacy and the government. He clearly doesn’t think the same applies to RadaR, the hypocrite.

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