Page 31 of Ready or Not
To know that Desi had the power to break me scared me more than I'd ever admit to them. I could still feel the ghost of his arms around me, the warmth of his chest against my back as he'd held me. For one night, I’d let my guard down, and the weight of that realization was suffocating.
“Do you honestly believe he would’ve hurt you after what you told us about him?” Alexandra’s question was gentle, yet it wrapped itself firmly around my fraying thoughts. Her dark eyes searched mine through the screen, and I hated how easily her words found the parts of me I wanted to hide.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, pretending to adjust my sports bra as if fidgeting with fabric could distract me from the truth.
“Did he even say or do anything that felt off last night? Anything that would make you think he’s some kind of psycho, folding your clothes as his goodbye message?”
“But that’s the thing, Allie,” my voice cracked as my words came out faster than I intended. “It was so… perfect. Too perfect. Like something out of a stupid rom-com where everything falls apart in Act Three because it was never real to begin with. I mean, who does that? Who folds someone’s clothes and lets them sleep in without a care in the world? Especially after what we…” I trailed off, feeling my cheeks heat as flashes of last night threatened to overwhelm me.
“You’re overthinking it,” Naomi exhaled so heavily I could practically feel it through the phone. “You can’t live your whole life planning for a worst-case scenario that might never happen. You think perfect can’t be real. That if something feels good, it must be fake or fleeting. News flash: not everyone is out here trying to play you, Sol.”
“Okay, but… am I crazy for thinking folded clothes are weird?” I asked almost desperately, trying to redirect their barrage of truths.
Naomi groaned loud enough to nearly blow out my phone speaker. "Sol—if this is about some damn laundry?—"
“Hold on, Mimi,” Alexandra cut her off gently, raising a hand like she was mediating a debate. “The clothes are...admittedly odd. I'll give her that, and her feelings are valid on the clothes.”
“Thank you,” I said quickly, clinging to Alexandra’s lifeline like it was the last shred of sanity in this conversation. “See? It’s not just me.”
Naomi rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck in the back of her head. “Oh, for crying out loud—Lex, don’t encourage this nonsense.”
“I’m not encouraging it, but I’m validating her feelings,” Alexandra interjected with a calm but firm tone, always the peacemaker of the group. “Sure, Sol overreacted—again—but-”
“There’s no buts,” Naomi interjected, her voice sharp and unwavering. “This isn’t about folded clothes. It’s not even about him disappearing before breakfast. This is about Sol running from anything that remotely smells like emotional risk.”
I squirmed under the weight of Naomi's words but didn’t dare speak.
She wasn’t wrong, even if I hated the way it sounded when she said it out loud.
“Here’s the thing,” she continued, softening slightly as she leaned closer to the camera. “You are allowed to be scared, Sol. We’ve all been there, so you know we get it. Trusting someone new? That’s terrifying after everything you’ve been through. But fear can’t be your compass forever. At some point, you’ve gotta sit with the uncomfortable and at least try to work through it.”
“So what should I do?” I asked, my voice small. It felt like a concession, an admission of defeat, but also—maybe—a tiny crack in the armor I'd built around myself.
“Text him,” Elizabeth said immediately, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, then frowned. “Shit… you don’t have his number…”
“Oh lord,” Alexandra winced. “That does complicate things a bit.”
Naomi threw her hands up in exasperation, pacing across her screen like she was on a stage giving some grand speech. “Of course, she doesn’t have his number. Great. Alright, fine. I’ll hit up T to see if he can give me his number. You said they were friends, right?”
I nodded.
“Perfect. I’m texting him now,” Naomi already started tapping furiously on her phone.
“Wait, wait!” I protested, holding up my hands as if that could stop her through the screen. “Mimi, don’t! That’s so—so embarrassing.”
She stopped mid-scroll to glare at me. “Embarrassing? What’s embarrassing is you running out of there like a chicken with no head and not doing anything about it for hours. This—” she gestured dramatically at the screen—" is called damage control.”
“I don’t know if I want to?—”
“Too late,” she interrupted, tapping her screen with finality. “Message sent. Now we wait and pray to God answers my text. You lucky I’m not letting you wallow in your own mess.”
A groan escaped my lips as I flopped back onto my bed. “This is why I don’t tell you guys things.”
“Please,” Elizabeth said with a smirk, crossing one leg over the other on her dark brown office couch. “Who else would keep you accountable? That’s what we’re here for.”
“To be fair,” Alexandra added gently, “You needed someone to push you. Be lucky Mimi didn’t do the usual and chose a sane route like texting T for Desi’s number.”
“Fine,” I pouted, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of their well-meaning intervention pressing down on me. “But if this all goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you guys.”
