Page 351 of Primal

Kristy snorts. “Obviously, the guy’s idea of confrontation is clicking ‘unfollow.’”

Lana raises her glass. “Cowardice isn’t illegal, unfortunately.”

“Should be. Along with that tragic chinstrap beard.” Kristy passes me the remote. “Now pick a movie in thirty seconds. Or I’m putting on The Notebook.”

“It’s not even about Brett. It’s about common fucking decency. Can’t believe I wasted six months with a douchebag who can’t even text me ‘it’s over.’”

“Want me to make a voodoo doll?” Kristy offers. “I’ve got glitter glue and tiny khakis.”

“If you ask me, men like Brett don’t deserve anger. They deserve oblivion.” Lana stretches across my couch like a panther, her silk shirt riding up. “Speaking of professionally disappointing men …”

She sets her glass down and flashes her phone screen—a Slack thread with J.B. Young. They want to discuss her ‘attitude’ in Monday’s deposition.

Kristy whistles. “Damn. What’d you do this time?”

“Told a judge his precedent was ‘as outdated as his haircut.’ Worth every penny of the ‘professionalism seminar’ they’re making me take.”

“Fuck ’em,” I say automatically.

“Oh, I plan to. Just not at the office.”

Kristy steals the laptop. “How’s the family empire? Still pretending you’re not the black sheep?”

“Please. My mother’s Thanksgiving toast last year was ‘At least my little girl’s not pregnant like Cousin Emily’.” Lana rolls her eyes. “Three generations and I’m the only one who didn’t get into Harvard. Apparently, I owe them a lifetime of overcompensating.”

“That’s awful,” Kristy says.

“Good news is, I’ve got my own personal hype man now.”

“The guy from your Insta story?”

“Nope. You haven’t met him.”

“So, who is it?” Kristy pounces. “How long’ve you been sneaking around?”

Lana’s fingers tighten around her glass. “Two years.”

“Really?” Kristy sits up so fast my laptop slides to the floor. “Two years and we’re just finding out?”

A shrug. “Wasn’t serious at first.”

“And now?”

“Now he’s teaching me things.”

“Ugh, don’t make it sound like a bad porno—”

I nudge Kristy. “Let the woman have her secrets. You know Lana collects men like they’re trial exhibits.”

“Fine. Fine.” Kristy huffs, scrolling again. “Okay, no sad movies, no rom-coms. What about Zombieland? The apocalypse feels relatable.”

Lana traces her glass. “I’ve always liked zombies. Predictable. Honest about what they want.”

“Yeah. Brains.” Kristy mimes a chomp.

Lana swirls her wine, watching the legs slide down.

I nudge her. “You okay?”