Page 73 of Unforgettable

I quickly finish putting together the sandwiches I’m making for Murph and me and lean on the edge of the counter to read the message.

A screenshot comes through and it’s Oz’s Instagram page. He’s circled his follower count and followed the photo up with a few “mind blown” emojis.

My insecurities and doubts fall away as my chest swells with pride for Oz. It’s been less than seven days since Oz posted about his stuffed Portobello mushroom recipe and his visit to the markets, but the growth and interest in his page has grown, steadily, every day.

I’ve been watching. I’ve been reading the comments. And even if Oz hadn’t been keeping me up to date, I would bet my whole family fortune that both his email inbox and direct messages were flooding with requests for paid brand partnerships.

I react to all his messages with a love heart and then type up a text.

Me: Why are you so surprised? I told you this would happen. Next step, world domination.

Oz: I know what you said, but it’s still fucking ludicrous to me that this could actually work.

Chuckling to myself, I send some eye roll emojis.

Me: Just don’t let the fame get to your head.

Oz: I will have to keep you around to keep my ego in check.

Chickening out of actually replying, I send a few laughing emojis instead, hoping to keep it light. But I should’ve known that Oz doesn’t beat around the bush. Ever.

Another text comes through.

Oz: Are you still coming to dinner this weekend?

My fingers dance over the screen. Typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.

I try to find the right words to tell Oz that I’m trying to sort through the mess in my head and my heart, but they never come.

Me: I can’t. Harrison upped my shifts at the bookstore over the next week.

Me: And I didn’t want to say no since we’re both off for the wedding.

It’s a cheap shot and a blatant lie, but I know I can’t be with his family this weekend. The wedding will be hard enough, and maybe, if luck is on my side, the time apart will prove I overhyped us in my head anyway.

When a reply isn’t instant, I know I’ve upset him, and I feel deservedly guilty. And suddenly I’m not even hungry anymore.

“Murph,” I call out.

A sleepy looking Murph trudges out of his bedroom, still tying up his kimono. Today’s print is the pride flag, and I don’t know why, but just seeing my best friend right now has me smiling.

“When did you get that?” I ask him.

“You like?” He throws his hands in the air and struts toward me like he’s a Victoria’s Secret Angel on the runway. “I got it online. It’s perfect.”

“It is.” I tilt my head to the sandwiches. “Lunch is ready. Sorry it’s not something fancier.”

“If I didn’t have to lift a finger for it, it’s fancy.” Murph reaches for his plate and walks over to the couch. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re so mopey, or am I supposed to guess?”

Following him, my food in hand, I take a seat beside him. “You’re supposed to pretend you don’t notice.”

“Ahhh. We’re playing that game. Gotcha.” Murph swallows his first bite. “Be sure to let me know when we’re going to dissect whatever is bothering you.”

“I think I’m going to go home early,” I blurt out, surprising us both.

“What?” Murph stills, sandwich midway to his lips, mouth hanging open. “Since when? Why?”

Unexpectedly, heat forms at the back of my eyes, and a wave of sadness settles over me. “I love it here,” I tell him, my voice shaky. “I love living with you. I love working at V and V.”

---