Focus on Future Sophie. Okay, future her would publish more books. Future her would be able to wake up in the morning and not feel like a total failure. Future her would have a relationship that was happy and healthy and included the words I, love, and you. Those all felt like the goals she’d had in her mind since, well, forever.
Who are you now, Sophie? Ugh, she kind of hated this question. Who was she? Oh, she was many things: almost unemployed, aimless, feeling like a total fraud. Not actually all that far from the person Jewel had dated.
When she had been with Jewel, Sophie was newly out as pansexual. And, in an attempt to make their relationship work, she’d started doing yoga almost daily and taken on their vegan diet, even though she didn’t much care for either of those things. Sophie had been searching for who she was then—still working as a massage therapist and tinkering on a book—was it possible she was still searching for herself now, even after all this time?
Her cell buzzed in her pocket with a new text. She snapped out of her thoughts and pulled her phone out.
Carla: When do I get to see you?
Sophie should’ve been ecstatic: this was the moment where she could inch her foot into the door and prop it open to see if she and Carla could revisit their relationship. She’d fantasized about them reconciling for months after their breakup, and there was a possibility that it could happen. Maybe this was the love story she needed to fix her book.
But she was drained from yoga and trying to find meaning from Jewel’s words. So instead, she opened TikTok. She had writer’s block when it came to her book, but not when it came to recording a video.
“I live in LA, so of course I dated a yoga teacher.” She rolled her eyes to the camera. “I saw them today, and it was surprisingly nice to catch up.”
Sophie licked her lips before saying, “I asked why we didn’t work out, and they wouldn’t tell me. Instead, they told me to focus on who I am now.”
Sophie took a breath in. “But I don’t know who I am yet. And maybe that’s a bigger problem than I even understand.”
She bit her lip as she thought about her next words. “Maybe seeing these exes is helping. What do you all think, time for another ex meetup?”
She posted the video, exhaled sharply, and went into her inbox. She had a long line of new followers and likes to scroll through. But she stopped and her breath caught when she saw a new comment on her original response video.
@Ned967 Weird, since you told me you loved me.
She clicked into the profile and saw the unmistakable face of the first person she’d ever dated looking back at her.
6
DASH
Nothing changes if nothing changes, Dash posted in the comments on Sophie’s latest TikTok video. The video had five thousand views—not viral, but not nothing either—and she’d stuck to her goals and been brave enough to revisit a past relationship. He was proud of her, really.
Which was more than he could say for himself. He hadn’t made any progress on the one job he’d been given. Instead, he was parked in the driveway of his parents’ house, delaying the inevitable: the Montrose Sunday Roast, a weekly dinner he and his siblings had to attend unless there was work to be done on a film set.
Dash no longer had a career to spare him, though, so he hadn’t missed a family dinner in a very long time. He switched over to his DMs and found a new one from Cindy.
@craftycindy you haven’t posted this week. What’s up?
@tokcrafty2me just dealing with some family stuff.
@craftycindy Drama? Did they find out about the sober thing? Or the rehab?
@tokcrafty2me No, haven’t told them yet.
@craftycindy if you ever need to talk （or tok）， I’m here ??
Through their months of messaging, Dash had revealed to his TikTok friend that he’d gone through rehab and was newly sober. Telling an anonymous person on the platform felt safe, and he’d needed someone other than Chris to talk to. She didn’t know who he was and never would, so giving her a glimpse into his life didn’t feel like a risk. Still, he didn’t love when she brought it up, even if she was just checking in on him. He gave the message a like, then closed the app entirely.
His sister’s car was in the driveway, but his older brother’s was missing. Dash sighed. He was the middle child, even when it came to arriving for dinner. He killed the engine and got out of the car.
His parents’ house in Bel Air was what Architectural Digest had more aptly called a villa, perched at the top of a hill and overlooking the city, with views that stretched to the ocean. His shoes crunched along the white-pebbled driveway, past the Italian cyprus trees that lined the path. Two tall columns flanked the oak and iron front door, and Dash stood between them as he rang the bell.
His mom answered, wearing a cotton wrap dress and high heels. He rarely saw her in flats, even though she was taller than some NBA players and didn’t strictly need the additional height.
“How was the drive, then?” she asked as she hugged him. Her thick Irish accent made all the words lilt together like a nursery rhyme. “Did ya give the fuckers hell?”
He laughed. His mom was possibly the worst driver in all of California, and she had the traffic tickets to prove it. “I thought about running a red light, but then remembered that I like not being in car accidents.”
She raised a brow. “Your father is grilling. Something about the warm weather makes him feel very American, I guess.”
They walked through the entryway and into the living room, which had soaring eleven-foot iron and glass doors that looked out to the backyard. Their home had never been simply for living—it was an entertaining space for guests, with multiple brown mohair-velvet sofas, blue silk armchairs, and a massive cowhide-patterned carpet. Dash hadn’t been allowed to eat or drink in the living room as a child, yet his mom had held elaborate viewing parties of his father’s films there with live music, servers with trays of food, and multiple bartenders. Every event was a business opportunity, as she liked to say.
They walked through the open doors to the terra-cotta terrace and looked out. His dad was set up at the built-in outdoor grill next to the pool, and Poppy stood beside him. She looked up and grinned, raising the beer in her hand.
Dash leaned over the railing as he asked, “Need any help?”
Then Dash’s dad turned to him, metal spatula in hand. Like Dash, William was quite a bit shorter than Kitty and Poppy, but had a presence that filled up the room. His thick salt-and-pepper hair didn’t move, despite the breeze in the air. He lowered his glasses down his distinguished nose and the sky blue eyes that Dash had inherited glimmered back.
“This is a Sunday roast, Dash, of course we do.” His dad’s British accent always added a layer of dry humor to each sentence. “You can help by getting me another drink.”
Dash’s mouth opened, as if to say something, but nothing came out. After all, his family didn’t know he was sober. Thankfully, the doorbell rang, echoing through the house like choir bells, and his mom moved to go answer. But Dash held a hand up, he’d go. He needed to avoid the bar, and here was his excuse.
When Dash got to the door, though, his older brother was already inside.
“Let myself in.” Reece waved a key, then put it back into his wallet.