Page 2 of You Fall First

“I think I finally found a job,” I tell Maren during our weekly call after hot yoga. We take classes every Saturday at the same time, except her studio is in Charlotte. That’s where Maren lives now. She has an apartment, a job as a nurse, and a boyfriend.

I have a yoga mat.

“One of the longtime servers at Tequila Mockingbird is leaving at the end of this month,” I say, “and they want me to fill her spot.”

“How do we feel about this prospect?” she asks. “Am I cheering you on? Flashing a big thumbs-down?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” I say, but the truth is, being wanted is a fairly major selling point for me. “According to the manager, I’ll make good tips and earn a free meal at every shift.” I flick a wave of sweat from my brow, wondering how my AirPods survive these post-yoga calls. Without our check-in dates, though, I’d be a pile of couch rot binging Netflix. Besides, I appreciate knowing at least someone wants to date me every Saturday.

“So what’s the downside?” Maren asks. I’ll bet her ponytail’s still perky, and she’s not even beet red.

“My parents,” I groan. “I’m not sure they can handle yet another pivot. Working at a restaurant wasn’t exactly the game plan when they sent me to college. Or grad school.”

“So you’re in a transition period,” she says, her voice full of cheer. She doesn’t sound out of breath, let alone sweaty. Not that sweat makes a sound, even the amount pouring from me.

“My life has been one long transition,” I point out. “And I swear, if my mom calls me a late bloomer one more time, I⁠—”

“You gotta rip the Band-Aid off, Jo. Tell them about the job tonight, over dinner while their mouths are full. You’ll feel better.”

“Ugh.”

“If you do that, I’ll break up with Bucky.”

“Stop. A Bucky breakup?” I feign a shocked gasp. “Say it isn’t so!”

“Yeah. Turns out he’s not the one.” She snorts. “The fact that he’s named Bucky should’ve been my first clue. Anyway, I want to cut the cord before the guy gets in too deep.”

“Wow.” I roll my eyes, scoffing to no one. “Imagine a person not stringing another person along until said person starts dreaming of wedding proposals, marriage vows, and having a bunch of little Swipe Rite babies.”

There’s a beat of silence, during which I picture Maren wrinkling her cute button nose. “Do we need to talk about Oliver?”

“Absolutely not.” I reach my car and toss my mat in the back seat. “Let’s make a pact to rip off our respective Band-Aids tonight, and never speak about Mr. Loser Chef again.”

“Virtual pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.” I hook my little finger in the air, even though Maren can’t see me.

“So you’ll call me after your folks hear your good news?” she asks.

“Of course. And you call me when Bucky’s done crying over his dessert.”

“The man does love a good cheesecake,” she quips. “But you know what this means, don’t you?”

“That I picked the worst day ever to have terrible PMS?”

“That we’ll both be concurrently single for the first time since college. Woot!”

“Woot,” I echo, with slightly less enthusiasm. Since I’ve only had one boyfriend, the rest of that time was all her.

“Sorry about the PMS, though,” she says.

“Actually, I think I’ll be dropping the P any minute now and going straight to M.”

“Go home and have some ice cream, then.”

I smile to no one but myself. “Nurse’s orders?”

“Nurse’s orders,” she says.