Page 139 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

He never met them in person.

I hesitated for a second, then continued. “They want me to go to our monthly brunch tomorrow.”

He didn’t react right away. Just kept eating, like he was letting the sentence settle before deciding what to do with it.

“And?” he asked.

“And… I said yes.”

A small pause.

“Okay.”

That was it. No hesitation. No question. No shift in tone.

I blinked, almost thrown off by how easy that was.

“Okay?” I repeated.

He glanced at me. “Yeah.”

“But we were supposed to spend the whole day together.”

“We still can,” he said simply. “Just later.”

Something in my chest loosened.

“I’ll come here right after,” I added quickly. “As soon as it’s done.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

I watched him for a second longer than necessary, like I was trying to read something that wasn’t there.

Then—almost absentmindedly, like it wasn’t meant to land somewhere—he said, “You sound like you’re a little burdened by them.”

It was said so casually, it almost slipped past me.

“I’m not,” I said quickly, guilt creeping up on me.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t push. He just nodded once and went back to his food like the thought had already left him.

But it didn’t leave me. It stayed there. Quiet. Uncomfortable. Because for a second, I wondered if he was right. If the weight earlier—the hesitation, the pressure—was because of my friends or because Victor caused it.

Because I didn’t want those two parts of my life to meet.

Because I already knew what would happen when they did.

I didn’t say any of that, of course.

Instead, I picked up my fork again, took another bite, and nodded along to whatever he said next.

And just like that, dinner continued.

Saturday came with too much light.

And somehow, I still showed up.

I paused just outside the display mirror of Punched Coffee, catching my reflection like I needed a second to prepare—to meet my friends as though they were strangers.