The seat cushion was too soft.

  Like it had absorbed a thousand deals over cocktails and inherited smugness.

  I crossed my legs, pced the gift bag beside me like it might explode, and fshed the same safe smile I’d perfected in undergrad, curved just enough to be polite, not enough to invite questions.

  Florence gestured toward the wine. “We ordered a bottle to start. You’re okay with white, right?”

  “Sure,” I said. “As long as it burns a little.”

  They ughed. Polite. Pity-adjacent.

  Neil raised his gss. “To old friends and new ventures.”

  I raised mine like I wasn’t thinking about how much I wanted to unch it at his forehead.

  “To haunting nostalgia,” I murmured.

  Grace blinked. “Sorry?”

  “To higher education,” I corrected, taking a long sip.

  Florence leaned in. “So, Aoi, what have you been up to these days? Still freencing?”

  “I’ve been working from home,” I said neutrally. “Digital projects. Community management. Content creation.”

  “Oh, like social media?” Haruka asked. “That’s so fun!”

  “It has… its moments.”

  Florence’s smile sharpened. “You were always good at managing people. And crises.”

  I took another sip.

  Crisis was currently me, in this chair, surrounded by ghosts wearing business casual.

  Neil tapped his fingers on the table. “Hey, how’s Emman doing?”

  The table quieted slightly, waiting for the update.

  I blinked once, slowly.

  “Oh. We divorced,” I said, with the calm of someone talking about a discontinued snack brand. “A while ago.”

  A pause.

  Haruka’s brows knit. “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah,” I said lightly, swiping a hand through the air. “It wasn’t dramatic. Just paperwork and silence. Not really worth a footnote.”

  Florence looked at me then—not surprised, exactly. But like she’d been piecing it together.

  “Oh,” Neil said, gncing awkwardly at his water.

  “I’m fine,” I added quickly, just to close the subject. “Really.”

  The silence was thick for half a beat, then Florence pivoted, bless her.

  “Well,” she said gently, “I’m gd you came tonight.”

  I nodded, mostly to give my hands something to do.

  Honestly? I wasn’t sure why I came.

  These weren’t bad people. They weren’t vilins. They were still, technically, my friends. People who once helped me cram for midterms and shared vending machine dinners and listened when I was scared about making the wrong choices.

  But life had kept moving for them. And for a while, it hadn’t moved at all for me.

  Somewhere along the line, I’d detached slowly, then all at once. Like a loose thread you keep tugging until there’s no hem left.

  And tonight?

  Tonight I was just trying to survive dinner.

  Florence caught my gaze again.

  "You’ve changed,” she said softly.

  “I had to,” I replied. “Turns out pretending to be fine only works until your internet bill’s due.”

  She smiled. Not unkindly.

  The table moved on to desserts, work gossip, someone’s toddler who could already say “algorithm”—but I stayed just slightly outside it.

  We’d just finished ughing about Neil’s cursed attempt at a startup called “Breadcoin” when someone asked what I’d name my hypothetical app.

  Without missing a beat, I said, “Something practical. Like ‘Cry Schedule.’ Built-in reminders for hydration and dramatic floor colpsing.”

  Florence choked on her wine.

  Haruka actually giggled. “That’s so specific.”

  “I’m a professional,” I said, grinning. “You can even upgrade to Cry Schedule Premium. No ads. Just vibes.”

  And for a moment we were all ughing.

  Not because things were perfect.

  But because sometimes, surviving dinner is enough to earn you a little ugh.