Page 624 of Manhattan Bossholes

“What? He needs to know he has people in his corner! I’m not going to do anything stupid. I just want to be there for him. Anyway, I know he’s not in the right headspace to get involved in a relationship, so don’t worry. This is friendship soup and nothing more.”

“I hope he knows that.”

Nina shrugged and started digging through the cabinets. “Where’s the big pot?”

“We have like one cabinet big enough for it. If it’s not there then I have no clue.”

“Ah, I know where it is,” she exclaimed. “I used it to dye those white velvet shorts I thrifted! It was my dunk tank.”

“You couldn’t use a sink or tub?” I laughed at her.

She jogged to her room. “It didn’t occur to me. Anyway, I used beet juice, so it was totally food-safe.”

“How did they turn out?” I asked.

“Revolting pale pink, but it was a cool experiment.”

While Nina rifled through her room, I scrolled through the streaming movie options and finally settled on Bridget Jones’s Diary even though we’d both seen it a trillion times. The Universal music started, and I heard a whoop echo out.

“Yes,” she said, holding the pot above her head triumphantly. “Soup and Darcy day. Perfection.”

The movie would be the perfect background noise as we worked. The TV was visible from our kitchen, but we didn’t even need to watch it to absorb the rom-com vibes. Although I realized too late I probably should’ve picked a movie that didn’t focus on a perfect happily ever after, since mine was in the trashcan.

We met in the kitchen and Nina started pulling out all the ingredients from the cupboard.

“You do realize we could just send food to him?” I asked as I watched her pile up vegetables on the counter. “You don’t have to go through all of this.”

She was shaking her head before I even finished the sentence. “Anyone can do that. I want to show Tyler I care for him, and that I’ll put in the work.”

I glared at her.

“As a friend,” she added quickly.

“Hmm,” I sniffed. “Okay.”

“Make yourself useful,” she said. “Start dicing onions, please.”

“This is supposed to be a day of moping and napping,” I complained, dragging my feet over to where she’d set up the cutting board. “Why are you forcing me to work?”

“Because I want you to be too busy to feel sad. The only tears you should be crying today are because of those onions. Now, dice!”

“Okay, okay,” I laughed.

Meanwhile, Bridget fumbled and charmed her way through the movie, and we yelled out lines about stuff like well-timed blow jobs. Focusing on the work of peeling potatoes, mincing garlic, and chopping carrots was indeed a great way to not think about the way Cameron had drop-kicked my heart the day before. Before long, our cozy apartment was filled with the scent of a homecooked meal. Nina and I sat on the couch and watched the final few moments of the movie with tears in our eyes.

“Ugh,” I smacked the couch. “Why doesn’t real life turn out like that? Kissing the perfect man in a swirl of snow, with Van Morrison crooning in the background?”

“In your zebra-print undies,” Nina added.

“It’s not fair,” I pouted. “I really thought it was happening for me. Under the most unusual circumstances, of course.”

“Hey, fake dating is a thing in our world. How many romances have we read with that plotline?”

“Those are fiction,” I fired back at her. “And that’s where that whole idea should have stayed. Now I know better than to believe it can happen for me. I’m not that lucky.”

“So, let’s focus on what can happen,” Nina replied. “The shop!”

I rolled onto my stomach and balled up a pillow under my chest. “Oh, I love thinking about that.”