I avert my gaze as they share a long, movie-screen-worthy kiss, my annoyance flaring. Normally I wouldn’t care, but tonight, after the day I’ve had, I needed my best friend’s undivided attention, just this once.

“Heard about the job, Callie. That sucks.”

At six foot four, even in my heels Aaron towers over me. I have to tip my head back to meet his inky blue eyes. “It does. But it’s just a job, right?” Funny how that line comes out a little more easily, now that I have the distraction of my father to focus on.

“I wish I’d get canned with four months’ pay,” Diana laments. She works as a paralegal at a midsized law firm and hates every second of it, which I’m guessing is part of the reason she puts so much energy into our side project.

“My buddy’s a headhunter for the banks. He’ll hook you up with a new job right away,” Aaron offers.

“Thanks.” I sigh, pushing aside my dour mood. “Nice beard, by the way.”

He smooths a palm over the well-trimmed licorice-black hair that coats his jaw. “It’s holding up pretty good, eh?”

“It is,” I agree, admiring the sharp lines. “Where on earth did you ever find such a talented barber?”

“It was a barberette, actually.” He grins. “A smoking-hot -barberette—”

“Stop hitting on my best friend. And making up words.” Diana shoots him a stern look, but she follows it up with a wink.

Two months ago, Diana decided that we needed to do a post called “Turn Your Bushman Boyfriend into an Urban Gentleman.” For the good of all womankind, she insisted. Or, at least, for the girlfriend of the attractive but hairy and unkempt server who plied us with copious amounts of wine and spanakopita at the Greek restaurant on the Danforth.

So she roped in Aaron to be our guinea pig for a live demo. Being the supportive boyfriend that he is, the baby-faced Aaron went without shaving, complaining only a hundred times. But he surprised us—and himself—by growing a respectably thick layer of hair.

Neither Diana nor I had ever shaved a man’s face before, but I have more experience with clippers, given that I’d volunteered at an animal shelter for credit during high school and spent a semester beautifying bedraggled dogs to up their chances of adoption. So we decided I was up for the task. I devoured dozens of tutorials on YouTube, in preparation. And last weekend, under the watchful lens of Diana’s iPhone camera, I transformed Aaron’s shabby scruff into magazine-model-worthy beard status.

Aaron finally looks like a twenty-eight-year-old man instead of an eighteen-year-old boy.

Diana reaches up to draw dainty fingers along his jaw. “That was the most popular post we’ve done yet. All those thirsty -females . . .”

Those thirsty females, and the fact that the company whose tools Diana bought featured our video in their social media, after we tagged them. My ears were ringing for a good half hour after Diana called me, squealing with hysteria.

Aaron grins, earning another eye roll from Diana. He’s read every last comment on that post, his ego basking in the glory. “I was hoping Calla could freshen it up this—”

“No.” Diana gives him a pointed look.

“But she’s already done it once—”

“For Calla & Dee. But that’s it. It’s too intimate. Right, Calla?”

“I guess?” Aaron and I share a frown. “I mean, it didn’t feel that way to me, but—”

“Besides, she’s going to Alaska on Sunday.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I start to say, but Diana has already leaned in to Aaron’s ear to reiterate the phone call from Agnes.

I watch his face fall. “I’m sorry, Calla. Man, you’ve had a shitty day.”

“Cheers to that!” I lift my martini in the air.

“Well . . . my friend went to Alaska a few years ago and he still raves about it. I’m sure it’ll be an experience, even if the reason behind it sucks.”

“Did you know Calla was born in Alaska? Yeah, her dad owns a freaking airline!”

“It’s more like a charter plane company.” I think?

“Like, a hundred planes!”

“A couple dozen small planes, maybe,” I guess, because I have no idea and the last time I tried trolling my dad on the internet, I found little more than a directory listing and an Alaska Wild landing page that said “check back soon.”

“She’s going to make her dad’s pilots fly her all over the place so she can take cool shots for the site.”

“Awesome.” Aaron points to my half-finished martini. “I’ll get you ladies another round.” Though he has never said a word about it, I’m sure he’d be happy to not hear Diana talk about Calla & Dee for one night.

Stealing a quick kiss from her lips—because he always kisses Diana whenever he’s stepping away from her, just like Corey used to—Aaron weaves through the crowd toward the bar.

“I fucking love this club!” Diana hollers, shimmying her shoulders to the music. The number of “fucks” she voices is in direct proportion to how many drinks she’s had. She must be starting to feel the alcohol. I know I am.

“Really? I was just thinking it’s getting a bit stale.” I sip at my drink and let my gaze wander over the crowd again, wondering how many people they’ve packed in here. Five hundred? A thousand? It’s hard to tell. I used to feel a rush as I stepped through these doors. I’d get giddy as the music vibrated through my limbs and all around me, a sea of revelers dancing, drinking, laughing, kissing.