I don’t know what to say or do. I have no idea how to explain Ashley to Justin. And now that we’re here, I don’t want them to get along. I don’t want him to fall for her. I don’t want him to look at her in a way he’d never look at me. I don’t want to be humiliated like that.

“So,” Justin says once Chrissy B has fanned out the menus and left us to our choices. “How do you two know each other?”

I can’t think of a single thing but the truth, which isn’t nearly good enough.

But A doesn’t hesitate. “Oh, it’s a funny story!” she says, and it’s like her voice already believes it’s a funny story, and is sure we’ll agree in about ten seconds. “My mom and her mom were best friends in high school. Then we moved away when I was eight. Mom couldn’t stand the cold, so we went to LA. My dad got a job working on movie sets, and Mom became a librarian at the downtown library. I didn’t think I’d get into the LA thing, but I totally did. When I was ten, I told my mom I wanted to do commercials—not that I wanted to be an actress, but that I wanted to do commercials! And from there I’ve done some bit parts and auditioned for a lot of TV shows. Nothing yet, but I’ve come close. And every few years, Mom and I make a trip back here, to see some family and old friends. Rhiannon and I see each other every couple of years—but it’s been a while this time, hasn’t it? Like, three or four years?”

“Yeah,” I say, because I sense I’m supposed to say something here. “I think it’s three.”

A is really getting into it. And she’s also really getting into Justin. I can see her leg brushing up against his. He doesn’t move into it, but he doesn’t move away.

This isn’t happening, I tell myself.

I knew I couldn’t compete with Ashley. So what did I do? I put myself in a competition.

I have no one to blame but myself.

“So have you been on any shows I would’ve seen?” Justin asks.

She starts to tell him about being a corpse on a medical investigation show, and being in a party scene on a “reality” show. And the stupid thing is—I’m believing it. I’m actually imagining her on that coroner’s slab, or joking with a D-list celebrity over a keg.

“But LA’s such a fake place,” Ashley confesses when she’s through with her résumé. “That’s why I’m glad I have real friends like Rhiannon.”

She gives my hand a little squeeze. I find that reassuring.

Our dinner arrives, and Ashley starts to talk about guys, including this one time she “shared a moment” with Jake Gyllenhaal at some château. As she’s talking about this encounter, she keeps touching Justin’s hand. I do not find that reassuring.

Luckily, Justin pulls away to get back to his lobster roll. I ask Ashley how her parents are doing. She answers flawlessly. Justin isn’t so interested in parents, which is good.

But then the food is done, and Justin’s hands are free, and Ashley goes full throttle again. Defensively, I reach for Justin’s hand myself. It feels like lobster roll. He doesn’t shake me off, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand why I’m holding it, either. I try to move my leg against his, but I’m at the wrong angle. It looks like I’m trying to get a napkin from under the table.

“How’s everything going?” Chrissy B comes over to ask, his eyes full of Ashley.

“Wonnnnnderful!” she purrs.

Who are you? I think.

Chrissy B bounces away, happy.

I want to ask for the check. I do not want any more courses of this. Justin isn’t looking at me. He’s not seeing me. He’s not getting the SOS I’m sending.

I need to calm down. If I start acting needy or emotional, it will only make Ashley more attractive.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I announce. I touch Justin on the arm. He gives me a look like, You do not need my permission to go to the bathroom, Rhiannon.

I don’t need to pee. I need to stare at myself in the mirror and ask myself what I really want. I need to splash water on my face and wake myself up…but I’m afraid someone will come in and see me doing it, so I stick with staring at myself in the mirror. I see a girl who isn’t ugly, but who will never, ever be Ashley. I see the girl Justin has grown used to. I see a girl who is deeply unexciting, and who dared her boyfriend to find someone better.

I am so stupid. So, so stupid.

And I am especially stupid for leaving them alone together.

I wash my hands even though I haven’t touched anything. Then I push myself back to the table. I can see their conversation has gotten real intense. Something is happening.

I interrupt. I don’t even wait until I’ve sat back down. I stand there and tell A, “I don’t want this. Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything!” Justin yells. But he looks guilty. “Your friend here is a little out of control.”

“I don’t want this,” I repeat, this time to both of them.

“It’s okay,” Ashley says. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be!” Justin tells her. “God, I don’t know how they do things in California, but here, you don’t act like that.”

He’s up now. I want to ask what happened. I don’t want to know what happened.

“I’m gonna go,” he says. Then, out of the blue, he kisses me. I want to believe it’s for me, but it’s for her. I know it’s for her.

I don’t want it.

“Thanks, baby,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That’s it. He’s not turning back. I watch him even after he’s gone.

I have done this. This was all me. Setting the trap, then getting caught in it.

I look at Ashley as I sit back down. She looks like she’s witnessed a car accident. Or maybe she was the driver.

“I’m sorry,” she tells me again.

“No,” I say, “it’s my fault. I should’ve known. I told you that you don’t understand. You can’t understand us.”

The waitress is back, asking if we want dessert. I say no, just the check. She has it ready.

“I’ll get it,” A says.

“It’s not your money,” I point out. “I’ll pay.”

I text Justin to say I’m sorry. I tell him I’ll call him as soon as I’m home. It’s awful, but I wish Ashley had driven herself. I wish we could stop the night here. I am grateful that A will wake up in another body tomorrow. I am grateful I’ll never have to see Ashley again.