STEPHANIE
...

I’m in the middle of recording an ASMR video when the text comes in from Jeremiah.

I cut the video short, leaning back in my chair to check the message. It’s probably something mundane, but my gut still twists as I read it.

Jeremiah: Hey, I need a favor.

I blink, staring at the screen.

Me: okay.

Jeremiah: Could you stay with Mel for the weekend? I’ll be back by Sunday night. I’m leaving Friday morning. I have a thing.

My stomach drops. I wasn’t expecting this. The last thing I want is to spend an entire weekend with Mel. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate her or anything. She’s fine, I guess. But spending an extended period of time with her? That’s different.

I sigh, glancing at my ASMR setup. There’s a part of me that wants to ignore the text—pretend I didn’t see it and let it fade into the abyss of unanswered messages. But that would make me a terrible employee, and I’m not about to let Jeremiah down.

Me: Yeah, I can do it. I’ll keep an eye on her.

It’s not exactly an enthusiastic response, but it’s the best I can muster.

I toss my phone onto the bed and try to get back into the video, but my mind keeps wandering. I can’t help but think about what the weekend with Mel is going to be like.

What are we even supposed to do? I can already picture the awkward silences, the forced conversations, the quiet tension that always seems to hang in the air when we’re in the same room even when we try to coat it with jokes and sarcasm.

Eventually, I give in. I pick my phone back up and text Mel.

Me: Jeremiah going out?

It’s a simple question.

Her reply is icy.

Mel: Yeah.

That’s it. One word. No elaboration. No explanation. No excitement. Just yeah.

My shoulders slump. That’s not  the response I was hoping for. I imagined a little warmth, maybe some excitement. Instead, she’s just cold and indifferent.

I consider texting something else—maybe a joke, something to lighten the mood. A playful comment away from the topic.  Instead, I type:

Me: It’ll be like a girly sleepover or whatever.

I hit send before I can overthink it.
 
I

wait for a reply. And when it came, it was just a thumbs up emoji.

I stared at the screen for a moment. Did I do anything wrong? Last I checked we were almost besties.

I hate that she can make me feel so small with a single emoji.

I toss my phone aside and start pacing the room, trying to shake off the feeling. This weekend is going to suck—I already know it.

The rest of the day drags as I try to focus on anything but the upcoming weekend with Mel. I unpack a few more boxes in my apartment, setting up little things here and there to make it feel more like home.

I order some furniture online, just a few small pieces to fill the empty spaces. But nothing really eases the anxiety swirling in my stomach.

By the time evening rolls around, I decide I need to get out of here for a while. My thoughts are a mess of uncertainty, and I need some space to breathe. Grabbing my bag, I head over to Amber’s place.

Since I moved out, her place feels different. Less cluttered. More organized. And yet, when I walk through the door, it still feels like mine. It’s strange.

Amber is sitting on the couch when I arrive, scrolling through her phone. She doesn’t look up at first, but when she finally does, her gaze softens.

“Hey,” she says, a little too casually for my liking. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” I reply, taking a seat beside her. “Just needed to see you.”

She gives me a sidelong glance but doesn’t say anything. We sit in silence for a moment before I decide to bring it up.

“So,” I start, my voice shaky, “Jeremiah asked me to stay with Mel this weekend. Like, keep an eye on her or whatever.”

Amber snorts, clearly trying to hide her amusement. “Oh, really? You? Keeping an eye on Mel? Spicy!”

I glare at her, but she doesn’t take me seriously.

“If you’re asking me for permission to go out with Mel, you know I’m not the one to give it,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I clench my fists. Of course Amber would be like this. She has no idea what it’s like to be in my shoes, no idea how much this is rubbing on me so badly.

“I’m not asking for permission,” I snap. “I’m just saying, I don’t know if this is the best idea.”

She shrugs. “Whatever, you do you. I'm just not sure how Jeremiah might feel about it.”

"Good point."

That’s it. The end of the conversation. I don’t press further, and we drop it, moving on to dinner. It’s not much of a talk, but at least it gives me something else to focus on for a while.

But when Friday morning comes, the weight of the whole thing settles in again. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell I’m doing.

Should I back out now? Tell Jeremiah I can’t do it because I have a thing for school? But I can’t. I’ve already promised.

I throw my backpack on the bed and start packing. A few tops, some jeans, a couple of sweatshirts. I don’t need much. My apartment is only forty minutes away, so if I forget anything, I can always come back for it.

Still, I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

Taking a deep breath, I zip up the bag and sling it over my shoulder. I grab my bike keys and head out the door.

If nothing else, I’ll get through the weekend. But I have no idea what to expect.

And that's more unsettling.