CLEO IS TERRIBLE at keeping secrets, apparently.

     "So you're into watching people when they sleep now, is it?"

     I choke on my wine, palm rushing to cover my mouth as a little red dribbles from the corner. "What?"

     "Remember when I told you that Noel's not gonna sue you? Well, if you keep it up, you're gonna have a sexual harassment lawsuit on your hands, and I can't help you."

     Despite her words of warning, there's a wicked glint of amusement in Natalya's mint green eyes as she toys with the straw of her Long Island Iced Tea.

     I'm still clearing my throat, clutching at my chest as I ignore the looks of concern our waiter is shooting in my direction. Nat takes another sip of her drink, unconcerned with my oncoming death.

     "I did not sexually harass him, oh my god. Did he actually say that? Seriously?"

     Those narrowed, dark brown eyes flash in my mind

     Nat chuckles, nodding, and tucks a golden blonde strand of hair behind her ear. "According to Mark, he insisted you were watching him while he was sleeping. Something about waking up with a blanket and that he wasn't stupid, and that you're a total creep, basically. Keep it up and you can finally cross getting a restraining order off your bucket list."

     "That's a stupid thing to have on a bucket list, and I am not getting one."

     As my brows drop and lips purse, Nat's dissolving into cheeky laughter once again. It seems her temporary Bridezilla persona has lost to her instinctive obligation to delight in my pain, and I take another spiteful mouth of Merlot. Still, it's one of the rare moments that her shoulders have finally relaxed under her pale blue blouse in months.

     And everyone always tries to tell me that day-drinking is irresponsible.

     "I wasn't watching him, okay? I put a blanket over him when I got up to get a glass of water because I'm a kind and generous person. I'm practically a saint!" I insist to Nat's unsympathetic grin, and the wine almost jumps passed the rim as I shake my glass for emphasis. "A saint!"

     In the back of my mind, I'm reminded of my lingering presence crouched in front of his sleeping figure, along with Cleo's calculated feline glare. But there's no way that he could've known.

     Unless Noel's learned the ability to literally talk to his cat. Which, honestly, I can't even say I'd be surprised by.

     I mentally curse Cleo. Does sisters before misters mean nothing to her?

     "I'm just repeating what Mark told me. I told you to make nice, not get yourself arrested, Vika. Or should I say, arrested again," Nat says, snickering.

     "One time! You drunkenly swim around a fountain one time and no one will forget about it! And it was a misdemeanor, come on. You guys never let anything go."

     "Well, either way, you better keep your ass out of prison until the wedding because we've already paid for your dinner and of course, for Mark's family, no expense could be spared." She rolls her eyes.

     I lean forward with my elbows against the patio table, chin tucked in the heels of my palms."God, I still can't believe you're actually getting married."

     The gravity of my words weighs on my shoulders, and I draw a deep breath, nose pinching. I can't ignore how heavy my chest feels.

     "Excuse you, I'll have you know many men have tried to take me off the market for years, okay?" she says, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm some premium wife material."

     I snort. "I just mean, you're only twenty-five. I love Mark and all, but we're still pretty young, you know? There's so much out there."

     I'm called back to high school, giggling with Nat until three in the morning, conceiving one ridiculous fantasy after another about our near adult lives. Somehow broke, unemployed, and essentially homeless never factored into my plan, and yet, here I am, savouring sips from the cheapest wine on the menu and pointedly ignoring all my glaring responsibilities.

     A thoughtful expression crosses her face. "Honestly, I never thought I'd get married this early either, but with Mark it just seems... right. I mean, I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else."

     "Fine, Nat! Just rub it in my face! I'll never be enough for you! I get it!"

     Nat shoots me a knowing look, flashing the glittering rock on her ring finger with a too-broad grin slapped across her face. "I'm sorry, can you afford this?"

     "Ha-ha," I deadpan, fixing her with a half-hearted glare. "I thought I was the escort here, not you."

     She laughs and I can't help but join her,  always infectious in the way that only hers can be.

     Still, Noel's disgruntled brows are burning in the back of my mind. I can't decide if it's my lack of current excitement or just our ridiculous interactions, but I can't stop my thoughts from wandering to the man in the suit. His dark eyes and tousled hair seem to have set up a semi-permanent residency in my head. I reassure myself that his weirdness is completely to blame.

     Nat's eyes drift to the watch clutched around her wrist, and I can tell she's gauging how much time she has until she'll really get in trouble for extending her lunch break. "On that subject, have you gotten any interviews? You know that Mark and I are moving into that new place when we come back from our honeymoon, so time's a-ticking, Vika."

     I purposely avert my eyes. "That wasn't on the subject at all." I take another gulp of the red wine, and I try to convince myself the pursing of my lips is from the bitter taste, and not because of the way her green eyes are shining with concern.

     "Come on, you know you can't live with Mark and I forever. Don't you want your own place? You need to work somewhere, for now at least. To save up."

     I lean into my palms as my eyes fall over her shoulder. "I've still got some savings from that shitty telemarketing gig. And, well, I have been working." It doesn't even sound convincing to me.

     "Working as in actually receiving paychecks, Vika," Nat says, voice dry, sharp eyes immediately exposing me. "I'm only doing this because I love you, you know? I don't want you to die or something. It worries me, sometimes."

     She reaches out and gently touches my wrist, borrowing my gaze.

     "I know," I admit, begrudgingly, with a defeated sigh. "I promise, I'll actually put out some resumes and everything tomorrow. Pinky promise."

     I hold out my pinky, grinning.

     Nat rolls her eyes, hooking her finger with mine, a smile tugging on the corner of her mouth. "Even better, you can promise me that if next week I set you up with an interview, you'll go."

     "Interview?" I echo, eyes wide. "Wait, what?"

     She beams, nodding and seemingly barely containing herself in her seat. "Mark's cousin owns this breakfast place that's across town- they're looking for a new server. It's a pretty expensive place, so you'll make enough tips to get by, probably. Oh, and I lied and said you had serving experience, but I'm sure you'll be able to bullshit your way through."

     The grin that's curved on her face is a touch mischievous and all Natalya. I can only gape as she takes another sip from her iced tea, nonchalance deceived by the bright spark in her eyes.

     "What? Where did this come from? Why didn't you start with that?" My jaw hangs open shamelessly.

     I pointedly ignore the older ladies at the table next to us that are throwing narrow looks at my outburst. I'm too busy gathering my thoughts to even care. The idea of an actual job seemed so far on the horizon, a career seemingly just an ethereal illusion constructed by everyone around me to be ridiculously rude. Yet here we are.

     A coy smirk digs into her cheek as she swirls her straw around her cup. "Well, I wanted to end with good news, so I thought I'd start with getting the whole stalking thing out of the way."

     I bristle. "It wasn't stalking."

     "Noel feels very different," she sing-songs. "And I suggest you make up with Noel as quick as possible, and I mean it this time, because apparently he loves getting breakfast at this place and I don't think Mark's cousin will be too keen on you assaulting his patrons. Also, he's the Best Man."

     I slump in my seat, brows furrowing. "Why does everyone act like I'm the big bad bully and he's some poor little kid that can't defend himself? He can be very mean when he wants to, okay? Why doesn't he have to make nice with me?" I can't help the whine that forms around my words as I fold my arms over my chest.

     I willfully ignore how easily Noel, even miles and miles away, reverts me back to a huffy seven-year-old.

     "I don't know if you remember, but there was that time you practically slapped a glass at him," she says, pointing her straw at me. "He's still a little bitter over that, apparently."

      I roll my eyes. "Oh my god, can no one ever let anything go?"

     She grins. "Nope, so next time I'd suggest keeping your hands to yourself, because your job might depend on it."

     A concentrated ball of emotion swirls precariously in my chest as we lock eyes. I can feel a prickle at the back of my throat, only further spurred by the soft smile that graces Nat's face, but I swallow it down. The almost tangible reality of an actual job seems to crash into me all at once, and I have to restrain myself from jumping over the table and capturing her in a death hold of a hug.

     When the waiter drops the bill on the table, she slaps it at lightning speeds and pulls it towards her. "If you cry, I swear Vika, I'll cancel it right now. Don't do it. I got this one, but next one's on you."

     I nod my head, not trusting my words, and down the rest of my drink, allowing the subtle buzz to soothe my nerves.

     The ball lingers in my throat all the way home, until I'm in the shower, allowing the water to rinse the day off my skin. In my mind, the sympathy shining in Nat's eyes echoes back to middle school days. Unconsciously, my thoughts travel to my parents.

     Despite my keen ability to float unbothered through life, there is still that immigrant parent pressure I can recall being drilled into me since kindergarten- that unachievable expectation to succeed breathing down my neck. Even without their disappointed eyes drilling into the back of my head, the same as when I'd been day drinking behind the bleachers with boys I had no busy being with, the sense still lingers.

     I can't help but wonder how different things would've been if they hadn't gotten into that car, a thought that's plagued me ever since it happened. Years and years later, I still can't shake it.

     Still, I swallow, collecting myself together again under the showerhead. A job is a job, a step in the right direction, and I focus on that. The flexibility of serving helps, especially with idle thoughts that draw back to the half-written book waiting on my laptop. There's a little bundle of hope beginning in the pit of my stomach.

     My shoulders feel a little lighter when I wrap the fluffy white towel around my body. It's a little short. I don't even want to wonder how much Mark paid for smaller towels, but when I check my phone, I see no texts from him, and deem it safe to make a mad-dash for the guest room.

     Peeking open the door, silence greets me.

     I tip-toe down the hallway with gingerly steps, clutching the towel tight to my body. My door is wide open.

     Just as relaxation touches my shoulders, and I loosen my grasp, a voice echoes through the hall.

     "Didn't I say to wear more clothes?"

     I scream.

     And I drop the towel.