Page 29 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

I stared at her. “You’re saying like it’s normal for three exes to show up in one night?”

“It’s not normal,” Andi said. “It’s iconic.”

Mel walked into the kitchen, already reaching for plates like she also lived there.

“You were losing your mind,” Honey said. “Honestly, I was impressed.”

“I am traumatized!” I corrected.

“Same thing,” Andre said.

I dropped my head back against the couch.

“This is insanity!” I muttered.

Honey shifted slightly, finally lowering her arm just enough to look at me.

“Took you long enough to realize that,” she said.

And somehow, that didn’t make me feel better.

“Did they say why they were there?” I asked.

Everybody shrugged and shook their heads, but not looking at me.

“So, you guys took me home, and that was it?” I asked.

“Yes,” Andi said, now clearly over it. “And now we’re feeding you.”

Andre slid a plate onto the counter.

Mel grabbed utensils like she paid rent.

Honey pulled the blanket over her face to try and continue sleeping.

And I just sat there, in the middle of my own apartment, surrounded by people who had fully accepted the chaos of my life.

By the next weekend, Honey and I were already three stores deep into the mall. We were also three stores deep into retail therapy.

We walked around carrying multiple shopping bags like we had just been sponsored by sugar daddies and bad decisions.

The air-conditioning hit just right. The lighting was flattering. And for the first time since my birthday, I felt… well… functional.

Not healed yet.

But at least moisturized.

Honey walked beside me like she owned the place—which, honestly, she might as well have. She had on oversized sunglasses indoors, a fitted top, and Levi’s jeans that looked expensive enough to judge people.

“I’m telling you, James,” she said, flipping through a rack of dresses without even looking at me, “the dating pool in Southside is actually offensive.”

I snorted. “That’s because your standards are offensive.”

She gasped softly, placing a hand on her chest. “Excuse me? Is wanting a man with abs, a sharp jawline, great hair, and is financially stable and emotionally intelligent offensive?”

“That’s not a boyfriend, babe, that’s a Marvel casting call.”

She pushed her glasses down just enough to look at me over the frame. “I’m not asking for too much.”