ISLA

Callie chucks a gumdrop at me, growling in indignation. I just filled her in on my awkward encounter with Parker. She's on his side, which means she'll need to find another couch to sleep on while she job hunts.

"You would have killed him with your bare hands if he left you a voicemail of him banging some chick. At least he let you explain," she says, dodging the candy I lob back at her.

"Yeah, four months later," I scoff, though I'm not even really upset about the silence. I understand why Parker didn't feel like chatting after he listened to that accidental voicemail. What does irk me is his assumption that innocent little Isla would only ever sleep with a man she's in an official relationship with.

Callie shrugs. "I'd have ridden that boy into the sunset."

I roll my eyes. Callie, my roommate for four years at Boston College and temporary houseguest while she gets on her feet post-graduation, is a sex fiend. One-night stands are her favorite hobby. During our first week at college, she kicked me out of our dorm ten separate times for ten separate men. She's still shocked that I didn't hate her after that, but she made up for the inconvenience by being an amazing roomie and friend the rest of the time.

"Who was bigger? Him or Dalton?" she pries.

"Him," I admit. I cross my arms, feeling protective over my former friend-with-benefits. "It's not the size of the boat. It's the motion of the ocean."

Like the psych major she is inside, Callie sees right through my bullshit. "Whose ocean motion was better?"

"Parker's," I sigh. It doesn't even come close, no pun intended. Sex is different when you love the person you're with.

"You'd better climb aboard before someone else does."

"I'm sure plenty of people have," I mutter.

"Hey. You aren't doing so bad yourself, my minxy little roomie."

I snort. I wouldn't exactly call myself a minx. I was a late bloomer who had sex for the first time at twenty when Parker and I were together. Since then, I've added some names to my unwritten list, mostly hookups I met at parties.

No one lasted more than a few weeks until Dalton, who was also looking for no-strings-attached sex. Our arrangement made it until March, when he met and subsequently fell for my friend Gianna. Now, Gianna is riding those waves, with my blessing, of course. No hard feelings from me, but my sexual frustration isn't a topic I'd like to delve into with Callie, the queen of pushing boundaries.

Time for a subject change. 

"Any luck job hunting today?" I ask.

"No, but I got your mail and cleaned your dishes." She smiles sheepishly.

"Callie," I groan, "no chores!"

Callie, who hails from the slightly boring state of Kansas, is determined to find a job in a bustling east coast city before her money dries up. I don't mind her staying on my couch—I actually enjoy the company—but she hates feeling like a burden and refuses to listen when I assure her that she isn't. In her unnecessary guilt for the indefinite visit, she keeps trying to make herself helpful by tidying the apartment, running errands, and helping with my vlogs.

The gestures are sweet, but I'd rather my friend focus on employment. Her eccentric personality and signature pink hair are too much for her small hometown. The idea of returning to the Midwest sends her into an existential doom spiral.

"It took, like, four seconds, and now, you don't have to do them." She grins and hands me a stack of mail I've been neglecting. The pile mostly consists of bills and junk, but a lilac envelope catches my attention. Not only is it a pretty color; the Brooklyn return address contains one of my favorite people's names.

"Wedding invite!" I squeal.

Two years ago, my summer ended in heartbreak. My former coworker and current friend Harper, however, experienced the opposite. After years of an unrequited-but-kind-of-requited crush on her ex-girlfriend, Emma, Harper got the happily-ever-after she deserved.

Their reconciliation was straight out of a romcom. Harper, ready for her flight back home to Chicago, passed through security when she heard someone shouting her name. Emma, finally tired of ignoring her feelings, chased her through JFK Airport to proclaim her love.

Unfortunately, the TSA doesn't have a soft spot for romance. Before Harper could pull Emma in for a kiss, her ex was taken down via taser. Harper missed her flight to bail Emma out of jail. They got engaged in December and moved to Bushwick after Harper graduated this year.

I tear open the envelope and gasp. Their wedding is scheduled to take place at Magnolia Hills, a mansion situated atop rolling hills in northern New Jersey. It's very exclusive and very, very expensive. Last weekend, it was in the news for hosting a Kennedy wedding.

Callie peers over my shoulder. "Aren't they, like, our age? How can they afford Magnolia Hills?"

"Settlement money."

Last year, Emma and a group of survivors sued the conversion therapy camp their parents sent them to in an attempt to pray away the gay. The camp was shut down and forced to pay millions in damages. I remember Harper telling me they weren't sparing any expenses for their "big, fat, lesbian wedding"—her words, not mine—calling it the perfect cause for homophobic cash.

"Ugh. I would suck dick to be your plus-one," Callie says wistfully.

"You're barking up the wrong tree," I remind her. "Besides, you'd suck dick for a courtroom wedding."

"Yeah, true," she agrees. "What can I say? I love dick and I love romance."

Same. Oh, how I've changed.

"The envelope is addressed to Isla Talbot and guest, so you're welcome to be my guest." I flip over the RSVP card to inspect the meal options. "You want garden vegetable quinoa, pasta primavera, chicken saltimbocca, or prime rib?"

Callie presses her hand to her heart. "How could I say no to such a thoughtful invitation?"

"My invitation was better than offering sexual favors," I point out.

She narrows her eyes. "Don't slut-shame me." Before I can defend myself, she asks, "What about PJ?"

I swallow to force the grimace off my face. Callie isn't fooled. She smirks and reclines on the couch, tossing a gumdrop into her mouth.

"You want him to be your date. You should have seen your face when I said his nickname, you possessive little minx," she states matter-of-factly.

She's not wrong, but that doesn't mean I'll admit it. "Shut up," I mutter. "Do you want to go or not? I need to send back the RSVP card."

"Yeah. Put me down for some prime rib." She licks her lips. "But really," she adds, "you should text him to, like, talk again."

I shake my head. I can't. I walked away from him, not the other way around.

"Why not?" She pouts.

I'm not in the mood to explain myself. "I'll think about it."

I'll think about not texting him.

"You liar!" Callie exclaims. "You always touch your nose ring when you lie."

I release the stud. "Do I really?" I ask, amused.

"Yeah. Like when you said you don't miss bacon and when you told Heidi you had no idea how the window broke. If you lived in the penthouse, you'd be fiddler on the roof."

I'm pretty sure penthouses aren't on the actual roof, but I decide not to give into another debate. All I can think about is how Parker gawked at my new piercing in utter disbelief. His reaction proved that, in his eyes, I'm still innocent, boring Isla.

Callie leans forward onto her elbows, eyeing me with a determined expression that means she's reading my mind. "What'd PJ think of your new pain tolerance?"

I don't know why I'm being so protective over that nickname, since Callie is just using it to irk me, but my fists involuntarily clench anyway. "He just kind of stared at it," I mutter.

She shrugs. "Fair reaction."

I sigh. "I wouldn't have gawked if you came home with a new piercing."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm a psycho. I do stuff like that. You don't."

"I did, though." I tap my nose to illustrate my point.

"Last time he saw you, you wouldn't have. You gotta catch him up, girl."

She's right. I have changed a lot since I last saw Parker. I barely even knew who I was back then. Now, I'm comfortable in my own skin.

I mainly have the success of my blog and YouTube channel to thank for that confidence boost. For the first time in my life, I've earned enough money to be comfortable. I love being able to support myself by advocating for a cause I'm passionate about.

And, I have to admit, being with Parker forced me to learn a lot about myself too. Although our relationship was doomed from the start, it changed me. I learned to open up and stop bottling up my problems. I learned that it's okay to accept help sometimes. I learned to forgive. I also learned that I really, really enjoy sex.

As I learned more about myself, the remnants of the shyness I held onto from high school drifted away. I've become more outspoken and assertive. I stopped trying to please everyone around me and started living for myself.

I'm proud of the person I've become.

Maybe Callie is right. Maybe I should let Parker get to know her.