“Dakota.” I shake her. “Are you hearing yourself? You are asking to apply for a job in Scotland.”
She grows serious, and even though her eyes are glazed over from the tequila, she looks down at her hands. “I know it’s been a year since Isabella broke up with me, but it’s been difficult to move on.”
Oh . . .
I lean in slightly to catch the distraught look on my friend’s face. Maybe this really isn’t about me but . . . about her.
Isabella was Dakota’s first girlfriend.
Yes. FIRST. GIRLFRIEND.
Isabella was the girl who helped Dakota finally identify with herself.
And then Isabella went and broke Dakota’s heart.
First love is hard enough.
But first love that brings on the realization that you’re gay . . . now, that’s a whole other level.
“I can understand that.” I reach over and give her hand a squeeze. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be in love and lose it.”
“It’s been hard.” She glances at her computer screen, moves the cursor over to “Apply,” and clicks on the link.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask, starting to panic that she might actually be serious about this.
“Applying.”
“Dakota—”
“Isn’t this exciting? We’re going to run a coffee shop in Scotland!” she says as she types her name into the application.
Wow, okay. I’ve heard of nervous breakdowns after serious breakups, but I’ve never witnessed one in person.
I need to proceed with caution.
“Oh, sweetie.” I pull her into a hug. “You’re delusional. Maybe I should lay you down and bring you some cake. I can put an order on DoorDash and have some sugary sweetness to you in twenty-five to thirty minutes.”
“I’m not delusion—”
“Shhh,” I whisper in her ear while gently pushing her back against the couch. “You poor dear. I should have seen the signs. Losing my job has really turned me into a blind friend, but I see you now.” I grab her chin and force her eyes to mine. “I see you, Dakota.” I pat her shoulder. “Now, you just lie here while I order the cake, and we can try to figure out how to handle all of this. Don’t worry—we’ll keep this mental crisis to ourselves.”
“I’m not having a mental crisis.”
“Oh, honey.” I wince. “That’s what everyone says when they’re going through a mental crisis.”
Grabbing my cheeks, Dakota brings me inches from her face, tequila fresh on her breath. “I’m not having a mental crisis. We are going to Scotland for six months, where we will take care of a coffee shop in a small town called Corsekelly.”
Carefully, I lower her hands from my face. “Honestly, I think you’ve lost your mind and you’re frightening me a bit. I’m unsure of what to do . . . should I call your parents? This seems like a ‘time to call the parents’ moment.”
Dakota sets her computer on the coffee table and turns toward me, frustration etched across her face. She can apparently sober up in an instant because she looks at me with clear, serious eyes. “The timing is perfect for both of us. You don’t have a job—”
“Well aware of my unemployment status.”
“We are being evicted.”
“Which I take full responsibility for.”
“And we both need a change,” she says, her voice growing soft now. “I can’t think of anything better than whisking off to Scotland for the summer.”
“What about your job?”
“You know I can do my graphic design work while we’re there.” True. She just rents a workspace so she doesn’t get stuck in our dank apartment trying to feel the creative flow while she hand draws pretty pictures on her tablet for multiple social media influencers. She’s paid well, she’s self-taught, and she can take it anywhere.
If only I were an artist like her—then all our problems would be solved and we wouldn’t be talking about moving across the world. Unfortunately, I’ve never truly found out what I’m good at. I was kind of hoping Los Angeles was going to help me with that, but all it’s taught me is that celebrities are particular about their coffee orders.
I scratch the side of my head. “But . . . we don’t know anything about Scotland.”
“We didn’t know much about Los Angeles, and we still moved here.” Yeah, and look where that got me. My parents’ disgruntled faces flash through my mind. I’ll never forget the looks they gave me when I told them I wasn’t going to college but instead pursuing a dream in the “business industry,” hopefully working my way to becoming a party planner or “something fun like that.” Yeah, used those exact words.