Page 306 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Leave me alone!” I complained as the incessant pounding on my front door carried on. It sounded like a herd of bulls was attempting to break through. Stacy was deceptively strong.

“I’m not going to go away,” she yelled through the door. I flopped back over on the couch, stuffing a pillow against my head, hoping to drown her out. It didn’t work. She’d been going at it for five minutes straight, and I couldn’t tell if the pounding in my head was my own heartbeat or the echo of her knocking.

“C’mon, Tasha!”

“No!” I called.

“Natashhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa!”

“Ugh, God!” I got to my feet, wrapped in my comforter like I was about to brave a winter storm. I could feel the achy, sticky mess of mascara under my eyes from crying so hard, but I didn’t care enough to clean myself up. I stumbled to the door, heaving the comforter up over myself so I didn’t trip over it. “What do you want, Stacy?”

“You can’t wallow alone. You need the solidarity of female friendships right now.”

I rolled my eyes. What I really needed was to be left alone to wallow in a heap on the couch. I was good at wallowing.

“You need someone to talk to!” Stacy insisted. “Someone to bitch and complain to. I’m that person. Now let me in.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” It was bad enough when I’d texted her about what happened, reliving every nasty thing Trent had said.

“Are you really going to make me stand out here?” Stacy said, changing tactics. “It’s cold. And I’m small. So, so small, Natasha.”

I peered through the peephole. She wasn’t wearing her coat. It was almost November, for crying out loud. What was with her and Jimmy? “You have a perfectly nice, well-heated apartment to be in,” I said. “You don’t have to be cold.”

Stacy hammered on the door, and I jumped back. “Let me in,” she said. “I’m really not leaving until you do.”

“Stacy—”

“If you don’t, I’ll call the cops and get them to do a welfare check on you.”

I peeked out the peephole again. “You wouldn’t.”

Stacy put her hands on her hips. “Try me!”

She sounded serious. I unlocked the door and popped it open a crack, putting my foot behind it to stop Stacy from barreling inside. She looked miffed to be blocked. “You’re annoying, you know that?” I told her.

“Thanks,” she said. “I try. Now move.”

I held firm. “Look, you’re my best friend and I love you, but I can’t deal with your insane optimism right now.”

“Okay, I’ll dial it back.”

That got a chuckle out of me despite how wretched I felt. “I don’t know if that’s possible. But I mean it, Stace. I don’t want to hear that everything’s gonna work out in the end or that this is the journey I was meant to be on to make room for something better or whatever other motivational junk you’ve got on reserve. Okay? I can’t handle it today. So if you’re only here to tell me that everything’s going to be all right, could you just…not?”

For a second, Stacy looked like she was about to cry. But she swallowed it back. “I’m here to tell you exactly what you need to hear right now. Whatever you tell me that is.”

“Fine.” I pulled the door open to let her in. She came at me, arms wide. “No, don’t hug me,” I said, warding her off.

“You’re not going to combust if I hug you,” Stacy said, stomping past me, her flowery shawl billowing out behind her. “You look awful, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, following her to the couch. “I feel awful.”

“Crying really takes it out of you, huh?” She untangled one of my curls, tucking it behind my ear.

I nodded.

Stacy sighed. “I really can’t believe he did this to you.”

“I can,” I said, a bite to the words. I should have seen it coming like a train barreling straight for me. Stacy frowned. “Trent told me he didn’t do relationships. Why would I have been any different?”