Page 111 of First Comes Forever

“They changed the recipe,” I say, holding up a samosa.

Girls’ nights used to be hosted at Addie’s piece of shit apartment, central to all of us. Noa had the big house, but that was in the suburbs, well out of our way. Quinn’s apartment was the nicest, but it was too far in the business district, so no parking. Reese’s apartment didn’t have creaky floorboards, but her apartment was tiny, and all her furniture seemed doll-sized. Before I moved, I had the second best apartment for girls’ night, but I always had too much junk. My couches, floor, countertops were always riddled with packages, products, and just unnecessarystuff.I think the clutter drove my friends crazy. So we flocked at Addie’s.

Since I moved to L.A., Addie has fallen in love and finally lost her virginity. She now is engaged to and living with her disgustingly rich former boss. So by the end of April, our girls’ nights have been upgraded from what looked like a halfway-house to the most expensive penthouse in downtown Denver.

I have to speak a little louder to complain about the samosa because the penthouse is so big. “Am I the only one who noticed it tastes different?” I ask my girls, looking out to the living room from the open concept kitchen.

“They got a new chef. But I actually think it tastes better,” Reese says, joining me in the kitchen.

“I agree,” I say.

“So what’s the problem?” she asks, emptying her half-full glass into the sink. “What?” she asks when she sees my expression.

“Did you just pour half your drink down the sink?Who are you?”

Reese laughs. “A lot changes in a year, babe.”

I’ve visited home quite a few times, but being back in Denver was like letting out a breath I’d been holding for over a year and a half. Noa graciously took me in as I take baby steps to get back on my feet. I’m not rushing into another job. My new counselor and I have identified that I’m a very goal-oriented person. Almost to a fault. It means I’m going to pour my whole heart into whatever I pursue, so I have to make careful choices about what I invest in because it becomes my world.

These days, I’m investing in quality time with my friends and my mom. I’m pacing myself as I grow my skills in web design and development. Most importantly, I’m relearning what I like, not what gets people to like me. As per my counselor’s suggestion, I’m back on social media but not to influence or monetize. I’m taking baby steps, like training my feed with things I genuinely enjoy. My account is private, and my profile picture is of my hand with a bright purple manicure. I share a part of me, but not all of me.

I rarely engage, but when I do, I’m a bit of a reverse troll, if you will. Every time I attempt a new recipe, or find a home decor idea I like, or even see a funny dog video, I comment with something kind and specific. Emojis aren’t enough. I leave a message that I would’ve liked to receive when I was creating content for the masses. I made my first batch of Blondies and went back and thanked the creator for a phenomenal recipe. It was easy to follow and foolproof. And make no mistake, I am a fool in the kitchen. But cooking has been therapeutic. It’s a simple way to create and share love. Only half of the recipes I attempt end up edible. But anytime I have a winner, my girls are my taste testers.

I proudly brought my tray of Blondies to girls’ night, and they were a hit. So much so, Addie’s fiancé and Quinn’s new giant-sized football beau annihilated the tray before any of the girls could grab seconds.

The funny thing is I feel like I know myself better now than when I was supposedly on top of the world. I’m broke and technically without a career. I’m a rookie at my new endeavors, and I’m still sad over my missed chance at motherhood. But I’m being patient with myself. I’m living life instead of just talking about it. Real life is far more mellow than the extravagance I used to post online. But in mellow…there’s peace.

Peace is helping me heal.

When Noa joins us in the kitchen, she squeezes my hip gently and places my phone face down on the counter in front of me. “Your phone is going off. Someone’s texting you,” she says with a wink, then helps herself to another samosa from the Styrofoam container in front of me.

Noa’s knowing look tells me it’s Adam. She knows everything. The rest of my best friends know an abridged version of what happened in L.A. They know Adam and I had a fling and he helped pay for IVF. They don’t know how close we got or that I still wonder to this day whether it was Adam’s baby or the donor’s baby that slipped right through my fingertips.

I wait until Reese joins Quinn and Addie back on the oversized leather sectional before I flip my phone over. Adam sent me a picture of egg rolls and his hand around a glass of wine.

Adam

Hey, it’s Friday.

Me

Hey, it sure is.

Adam

I’m starting a new Friday tradition to supersede yours. Egg rolls, cabernet, and Bridget Jones’s diary.

Me

What? That doesn’t work.

Adam

Why not?

Me

It has to start with the same letter. For example: Egg rolls, Eggnog, and Ellen.

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