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Melody: Are you seriously going to ask me that? Brendan wouldn’t even make eye contact with me this morning. I pulled him aside after class, thinking maybe something had happened last night, only to find out you were a no-show.

Me: What?

Melody: If you didn’t want to go on the date, Rose, you should’ve said so.

Me: Hold on a minute. I’m confused. I did go on the date. It was amazing, which is why I’ve been calling. I wanted to thank you.

Melody: Really, Rose? I never picked you as a liar.

Me: I’m not lying!!!!!

I quickly follow with another reply.

Me: I did go on a date last night with Brendan. I don’t know why he’d say I didn’t. He even asked me on a second date tonight.

Melody: You know what, I’m not doing this with you. Lose my number!

I send another message, but it never shows as delivered. Has she blocked my number?

What the hell?

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mumble under my breath as I cross the main room, heading for the kitchen. My heart is racing in my chest, and I need coffee stat.

“Shit … shit.” Squawk. “Polly wants a cracker.”

“Shut up, Polly,” I grumble. “I’m not in the mood for you right now.”

“Fuck off … fuck off.” Squawk. “Show us your tits.”

I went on a date with Brendan last night … didn’t I? I’m not imagining it. Why would he lie and tell Melody I didn’t show up? If he didn’t want to see me again, why would he ask for my number and then text me within minutes to organise another date for tonight?

None of this makes sense. It makes my head spin, and not in a good way.

I pop a pod into my coffee machine, turn it on, and shove a mug under the spout. Once I press the button, I pull up our text thread from last night to read over it while I wait. Was I so kiss-drunk that I misinterpreted what he sent?

My eyes scan over each message, but nothing stands out, so I start typing.

Me: Why would you tell Melody I didn’t show up last night when I did? I don’t understand why you’d lie to her. She’s now blocked me.

I see the dots appear, disappear, then reappear. I swear to God, if he tries to gaslight me, I’m going to lose my shit.

Seconds later, the shrill ring of my phone makes me jump. “What the hell, Brendan,” I say as I bring the phone to my ear.

“Good morning, Rose … like the flower.”

I growl down the line. “Don’t call me that, buster. I am so pissed with you right now.”

“Let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain, Brendan. I thought we had a nice time. You kissed me goodnight. You asked me out on another date …”

I hear him let out an audible sigh before replying, “I had a nice time too⁠—”

His words give me pause, but only for a second. “If that’s true, why the hell would you⁠—”

“Maybe now would be a good time to tell you my name isn’t Brendan,” he cuts in.

“What?”