Diplomats

Our friends turned into diplomats. Two countries. One group chat.

Jake and I broke up in June, and by July, everyone had chosen a side without admitting it. Priya got me Mondays and Wednesdays. Someone named Callum got him on weekends. My friend Beth just said, "I love you both," which is the most useless thing a person can say.

At parties, they'd whisper, "He's not coming, don't worry." Or, "Is it okay if I invite him?" Like I owned the building.

The weirdest part was how much I wanted updates. I'd casually ask Priya, "So, how's everyone?" and she'd say, "Oh, you know. Fine." I'd say, "Cool, cool," while internally screaming WHO IS HE SEEING.

Last night, Priya was a few glasses in and I was helping her to the bathroom when she blurted it out.

"He asks about you every week, you know."

I froze.

"Every Sunday. 'How's she doing? Is she okay?' And I always say you're thriving. Like, glowing."

I wasn't thriving. I'd cried at a Pret that morning.

"And what does he say?"

She hiccupped. "He always asks, 'Are you sure?'"

I stood there with a girl leaning on my shoulder and my heart in my throat.

He doesn't get to check on me anymore.

But every Sunday, he does. Through other people.