At breakfast the next morning, Chevelle told her family that she was staying until after New Year's, and so her mother insisted on having a birthday dinner.

Chevelle, who had been planning on spending the entirety of this extra time with a certain someone, was very opposed to the idea.

"Manman, please no," she begged. "I really don't want a celebration."

"Tch. Chevelle, don't be selfish," Nadègine said. "Not everything is about you."

"It's my birthday!"

"And what of me who spent seven hours pushing that big head of yours out?" her mother demanded. "Do I not deserve a celebration?"

"You absolutely do, Manman," Josephe said, clearly enjoying the entertainment Chevelle and their mother were providing. There was a cheeky smile on his lips as he took another bite of his oatmeal. "Also, I've been craving cake."

"See?" Nadègine said, motioning to Josephe. "This is not just about you, Chevelle. How often do we have the whole family together in one place? Sa'a fou! We must celebrate."

"This isn't the whole family though," Chevelle said, turning to Josephe with narrowed eyes. "What about Seline? She'll be marrying Josephe soon, should she not be around for this?"

At the mention of Seline, Josephe grew rigid in his seat, pausing mid-bite with frantic eyes. He looked stricken, like he'd just seen a ghost, and Chevelle felt kind of guilty for taunting him like that, but not guilty enough to stop herself. If he wanted to get involved in her shit, then she could play that game just as well as him. And Josephe had much more to hide than her since all Chevelle's secrets had already been exposed.

Chevelle turned back to her mother. "Manman, have you even met Seline?" she asked. "It's kind of overdue, non?"

"Wi, Chevelle, it is quite overdue," her mother agreed, turning to Josephe with a frown. "Why are you keeping my future daughter-in-law away from me and your father?" Nadègine demanded.

Josephe squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to buy himself some time to think of a new excuse. "Manman, I'm not keeping Seline from you," he finally said. "Of course you'll meet her."

"When?" Nadègine asked.

Josephe clenched his jaw, looking up at Chevelle with a resentment that made her take a step back. She'd known that Seline was an off-limits topic around their parents, but she hadn't realized bringing her up would make Josephe this angry.

Chevelle felt bad about what she'd said, but still, she'd be lying if she said there wasn't a part of her that found joy in seeing Josephe so outraged.

She was still hurt by the way he had chased her away from his home when she'd come to visit him, and deep down, there remained something in her that wanted to hurt him back the way he'd hurt her. He never even apologized for what he did—even though Chevelle knew that he knew it was wrong of him. He'd just moved on, as though it never happened. As though Chevelle was just supposed to forget.

And how could she forget? Josephe had been the last remaining person in her family that she could even talk to after everything that happened this year. The only person she thought she could still trust. That's why she'd been so eager to go and help him through his sickness, and as a thank you, he'd just spat in her face.

So yeah, damn right she was going to bring up Seline. Make him squirm a little. Show him how it felt to be on the receiving end of all this bullshit for once.

Steeling her jaw, Chevelle refused to back down and instead, returned Josephe's glare, full force.

She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes icy, and reluctantly, Josephe looked away from Chevelle and to their mother, sighing. "Soon," he said. "I promise."

Nadègine scoffed. "Josephe, doudou mwen, when is soon?"

He groaned. "Okay. You'll meet Seline next year, Manman," he said, knowing that nothing but a concrete timeline would be enough to satisfy her. "Bien?"

Chevelle tried to sneak away from the kitchen as her mother and Josephe argued. She was hoping that she could slip out amidst the commotion, but before she could even exit the room, Nadègine snapped her fingers loudly, stopping Chevelle in her tracks.

"You," she said, pointing to Chevelle. "This doesn't change anything about your birthday. We will celebrate tomorrow."

"Manman," Chevelle complained, groaning exaggeratedly. "Please! I don't want this."

This was the whole reason she'd originally planned on leaving before her birthday. The idea of having to spend a day that was supposed to be a celebration trapped between her family and her ex-boyfriend had literally given her a panic attack. And now, in the heat of a passionate moment, she'd surrendered herself to bondage. Agreeing to stay here for a man that she wouldn't even get to see on her birthday. Just great.

"Chevelle, it is already done," her mother said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Chevelle turned to the living room, her eyes pleading as she begged her father for some support. "Papa? Can you please say something?" she asked. She waited a few seconds, but he remained silent, not even so much as nodding to acknowledge he had heard her. He turned the page of his newspaper and Chevelle had to squeeze her eyes shut and take a deep breath to calm herself down.

She loved her father, but she hated when he did that. When he acted like he couldn't hear her talking to him, ignoring her in what felt to Chevelle like an attempt to get rid of her. Like maybe she would just disappear if he never acknowledged she was even there.

Chevelle gritted her teeth. "Papa," she repeated, louder this time. "Hello? Are you going to say something to her?"

Now, her father took a deep breath, displeased at Chevelle's interruption of his otherwise peaceful morning. He didn't want to get involved, but he knew that was the only way he would be left alone. He took his sweet time lowering his newspaper, not bothering to turn around and look at Chevelle or at his wife and son in the kitchen as he spoke.

"Your mother is right," he said. "We will celebrate. Se sa."

"But, Papa—"

"I said that's that."

Nadègine smiled smugly at Chevelle, placing a hand on her hip as she waited for her daughter to try and argue with words so final. And Chevelle wanted to argue. She used to be very respectful of her father's authority, but after recent events, she'd grown disillusioned. Less inclined to listen, more willing to resist. She was ready to keep fighting her parents on this. She wasn't about to just take something like this lying down, but as she opened her mouth to argue with her father, it was at that exact moment that Farah and Jared descended the stairs and entered the living room, hand in hand.

Although Farah looked put together and ready to leave the house, Jared looked like he'd just woken up, and he had the bedhead to prove it.

Seeing him so disheveled, in such a cozy, intimate state, Chevelle was reminded of the countless mornings she had woken up and rolled over in bed to be met with that exact sight. She was reminded of the way he used to hold her close, not letting her leave the bed for hours. Or at least not until he'd dipped beneath the covers and gotten himself a taste of her, ripe and raw, first thing in the morning. She was reminded of the way he would kiss her forehead softly and whisper between kisses that he loved her, over and over and over again.

Chevelle looked from their faces to their intertwined hands and had to fight the violent urges bubbling inside of her. She wanted to keep fighting her parents on this birthday nonsense, but at that moment, she couldn't. Seeing Farah and Jared like that—so enamored with each other, so in love—it made Chevelle shrink back into herself. It made her want to become as invisible as they made her feel.

Chevelle didn't understand why her mother was so set on celebrating her birthday when it was clear that nobody in this house really cared about her. She could've stayed at her apartment over this entire holiday and not a single thing would have changed for them. Nobody would've even missed her.

"I need to leave," Chevelle mumbled, digging in her pockets for her car keys. "I'll be back later."

"Wait, Chevelle, which direction are you going?" Farah asked. "Can you drop me at the gym on your way?"

Chevelle nodded silently, not waiting for Farah as she turned and exited the house, taking a few deep breaths once she was outside. She got into her car and turned on the engine, honking once or twice, and a minute or so later, Farah came running out of the house, her sneakers only half-on.

Farah entered the passenger's side of Chevelle's car, sitting down with a loud huff. Chevelle began backing out of the driveway and Farah turned to her with a frown.

"Jesus Chevelle, why are you always so impatient?" she muttered. "I nearly fell down the steps trying to run with my shoes like this."

Although she tried to hide it, a smile still tugged at Chevelle's mouth, and when Farah saw it, she couldn't help a grin from stretching across hers as well.

"Okay, wow, so I see you would've enjoyed that," she said with a laugh.

Chevelle shrugged, but she didn't say anything, not wanting to hurt Farah's feelings by admitting that, yes, she would very much have enjoyed watching her eat shit.

"Which gym?" Chevelle asked.

"Force Fit," Farah said. "The one at the strip mall."

"Yes, I know where Force Fit is," Chevelle said, clicking her tongue. Had Farah forgotten that Chevelle was the one to introduce her to Force Fit? To take her there for the first time, back when Chevelle used to frequent the gym. Back when she had enough energy to worry about her physical health.

"Okay, jeez," Farah said. "Just making sure."

Chevelle rolled her eyes but said nothing as she sped down the road, trying her best to shorten the length of this ten-minute drive.

"So what was that argument I heard between you and Manman?" Farah asked. "Aren't you supposed to be leaving today?"

"Damn, tell me how you really feel," Chevelle grumbled.

Farah laughed. "No, not that I want you to leave," she said. "But that's what you told us, non?"

Chevelle sighed, nodding. "Yeah," she said. "I was supposed to, but I've decided to stay a bit longer and now Manman wants to throw a birthday celebration tomorrow. Against my wishes."

Farah looked at Chevelle dubiously. "Chevelle," she said, "it's Manman. Seriously, what were you expecting? You know that woman loves to celebrate everything and anything that she can justify getting dressed up and taking photos for."

"That's true," Chevelle said, laughing now. "All so she can send pictures of us to her WhatsApp group chat and brag about things that are barely true."

"Only slightly true," Farah said, now laughing alongside Chevelle. "So this celebration is really more for her than you."

"Oh, trust me, I know," Chevelle assured her. "You missed the whole part of the conversation about my big head and her labor pains."

"Oh no, not the story about her six hours in labor?"

Chevelle nodded. "I think it's actually seven hours now," she said, still giggling to herself. "I swear I'm never going to live that down."

"Right?" Farah said. "And it's not even your fault that your head is so big. If anything, it's hers. She's the one who gave you those genes."

Chevelle came to a stoplight and turned to Farah with a flat look. Farah pursed her lips, staring back at Chevelle with wide eyes as her face trembled trying to hold back her laughter. They stared at each other for a few seconds, straight-faced, until neither of them could hold it back anymore and they both burst into a loud, raucous laughter.

Chevelle was tearing up from how much she'd been laughing, and although she couldn't deny that she was enjoying herself, she was still deeply conflicted. It was so unsettling the way, whenever they were alone, it was so easy for things to fall back into place between her and Farah. They'd been best friends for most of Chevelle's life, and so despite the current situation, they still had a natural rapport—a comfort around each other that they couldn't fight.

It was so easy for things to go back to normal—for them to laugh and hang out like they always had—and Chevelle didn't understand how things could feel so insurmountably different one moment, and exactly the same the next. Only ten minutes ago, she'd been looking at Farah and Jared holding hands and she'd wanted to push them both down a flight of stairs, and now, here she was, laughing with Farah like nothing between them had changed. And the worst part was that it was during these moments—the moments when she actually let herself enjoy Farah's presence—that she felt the most herself.

"If I had known it would be like this, I would've just stayed inside the womb," Chevelle said.

"And what about when I came?" Farah asked.

"I would absorb you. Obviously."

Farah's jaw dropped, but seconds later, she was laughing again. "So where are you going anyway?" she finally asked. "This one that you're always leaving the house early in the morning and coming back at odd hours of the night."

Chevelle gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, angry that Farah would ask her a question like that without acknowledging the reason Chevelle was always itching to leave that house. A reason they were both well aware of.

"I'm going to see a friend," Chevelle finally answered, her voice curt.

"A friend?" Farah repeated. "Who? You don't have friends here."

And just like that, the moment of joy they had been experiencing ended. Chevelle was once again reminded that, however much she may love Farah, that love was not enough to overcome the fact that every single day, Farah was choosing to hurt her. The fact that Farah knew exactly what she was doing—exactly what she was risking—when she chose to date Jared that first day, and every single day after that. It didn't matter what they'd been through together if today, in the now, they couldn't trust each other. Couldn't hold space for one another.

Because what was Farah hoping to achieve with a statement like that? Was she trying to remind Chevelle of what they both already knew? That she was and had always been more personable, more likable, more friendly than Chevelle. That where Chevelle struggled to make and keep close relationships, Farah seemed to attract them wherever she went. That she had stolen Chevelle's boyfriend, not because she needed to, but simply because she could. And if she wanted to, she could do it again.

Chevelle exhaled deeply, keeping her eyes on the road as she pulled into the strip mall and rolled to a stop. Farah could see the frustration settling on Chevelle's brow, but she said nothing about it, because what could she say? She knew why Chevelle was upset, and she also knew that at this point, there was nothing she could say that would make it better.

"So, can you pick me up when I'm done?" Farah asked, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"How long will you be here?"

"One or two hours."

Chevelle scoffed. "No," she said. "Ask Josephe."

"But Chevelle," Farah whined, "he's going to say no."

"So did I, and you're still here asking me," Chevelle said.

"But—"

"Farah. No," Chevelle repeated, impatience dripping from her voice. She wasn't about to sit here and argue with Farah about who should pick her up when not only was the gym was less than a half-hour walk from their house, but both Josephe and Jared had their own cars. Not to mention the fact that Farah actually did have friends here. Lots of friends. Any of which, she could ask for a quick ride back to their house.

"If you can't find someone to take you, then walk," Chevelle said, motioning with her hands for Farah to get out of the car. "It's a good cooldown exercise."

Farah scowled at Chevelle, but she didn't argue any further, knowing better than most that once Chevelle had decided not to do something, it was a tough journey trying to get her to change her mind. Grabbing her things, Farah stepped out of the car silently, and the door had barely closed before Chevelle was speeding away, out of the strip mall parking lot and back down the road, headed straight for Abel's house.