Dean just turns back to the computer and says "I just hope you learned your lesson."

  Jessie makes a heart with both hands and goes back to work, and I do the same. I have one unread message titled with nine pictures and fortyfive . This is gonna be a fun day.

  The day goes by between changing the bride's lipstick tone and two thermoses of mate, and suddenly it's eight pm and I'm just uploading the files with everything done. "Guys, I'm uploading my part to the cloud. What about you?"

  I hear behind me Jessie's voice. "I'm saving the last file. Why am I about to cry?"

  Dean rolls his chair next to hers to give her a comfort hug. "It's okay, it's been very traumatizing." Patting her back very softly. She releases a little whimper. Then he wheels back to his desk. "I'm uploading my files too. If I never see another wedding video again, it'll be too soon."

  Jess is already starting to dream. "Do you guys think that is finally done?.”

  There's a moment of silence.

  "Let's not celebrate being done," Dean says carefully. "Let's celebrate making it through today. That way when they send more notes tomorrow, we won't feel betrayed by the universe."

  I laugh "Celebrate the worst case scenario kind of thing?. Okay, I like that."

  Jessie, completely defeated. "I can totally get drunk after this day."

  "Do you guys wanna go to Daniel's bar? He’s working tonight. It's kind of far but we drink for free." I suggest.

  "Yes," Jessie says, already standing up to get her coat. Dean just raises his hand in agreement, eyes still fixed on the upload progress bar.

  Jess is even making little claps. "You know I actually really like The Sunrise!".

  I'm kind of surprised, Daniel’s been working there since forever and she has never mentioned it. "Really? Why didn't you tell me?. You know you can go there and drink for free because of Daniel, he super likes you guys." Okay, might be an overstatement. He is okay with them. To be honest Daniel has never shown interest in my friends.

  Jessie makes one of her cute, dramatically sad faces and puts her index fingers together. "I don't like to bother, I know it's a very popular bar, usually impossible to get in."

  "You're not bothering anyone," I reassure her. "Just tell me whenever you wanna go, and you have a table for sure."

  She smiles "Okay, thank you," dropping the dramatic act for a moment.

  On the way to the bar, we laugh at some insane notes we received that day. Jessie got the funniest one saying,

  From the corner we can already see that the front of the bar is packed with people trying to get in.

  "Wow, look at this line." I blink at the crowd.

  Jessie says, fixing her bangs, "It got huge after that actor from 'Neon Lights' came for his birthday and went live from here. Now it's everyone's favorite place."

  “Oh, I remember now, Daniel totally talked about that night, but didn't really imagine this.”

  Dean lets out a low whistle. "Damn, business is booming."

  We’re moving toward the door when I text Daniel to come get us—I don't think I know any of these security guards, and they look intimidating. I overheard a couple of girls insisting they just needed to use the bathroom and would leave right after. The guards just laughed at them. My ‘I know someone who works here' story would probably sound just as desperate.

  "Daniel's coming for us," I let the guys know.

  A couple of minutes later, I see my warrior in shining armor—blue jeans, white shirt—pushing through the door. He waves me over and says something to one of the guards, pointing at us. The guard nods, unclips the velvet rope, and lets us through.

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  "Hey," I say, and my voice cracks on the vowel.

  Jessie is already beaming—long dark brown wavy hair catching the bar's dim lighting, tan skin glowing, those almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the corners with her smile. I love her cute energy. "Hii."

  Dean, king of the unnecessary handshake, gives Daniel a "Sup" nod and immediately starts scanning the shelves behind him, probably counting the types of whiskey. He's a subtle snob.

  Daniel leans over, dropping his volume. "So, are you guys pre-gaming something, or is this the event?"

  "The event," Jessie says. "We just survived the wedding project from hell"

  He nods like he understands everything, but I haven't really talked about it with him. "Alright, I'll take care of you for the night. I'll make your alcohol dreams come true."

  "I'm dreaming of a Mojito," I say immediately. He shoots me a quick smile—he knows—then looks at Dean.

  "House craft beer," Dean says.

  Jessie says “Surprise me,” and makes a magic movement with her hands.

  We stay next to the bar waiting, and minutes later Daniel leaves our drinks with me and goes away to talk to another customer. I have my mojito, I pass Dean his beer, and Jessie has a mysterious pink thing served in a martini glass with a raspberry floating around. We go to sit on a table next to the window.

  I look at the guys, I sip my drink and suddenly, like creeping in, the increasing burden of having to create conversation. I start to think that I haven't gone out with them in so long. I don't know what any of them are up to, outside of our dramas at work. The music is good but is not loud enough to cover the blank space I'm feeling.

  They check their phones. I mean, I know things about them, . I try to inventory what I actually know about my friends. Jessie—I know she has a black cat, the allergy to kiwi, the high tolerance to spicy food for being Thai. Dean is afraid of roaches, he just eats strawberry ice cream, the low tolerance to spicy food for being Canadian and... actually, what else?

  Jessie asks on top of the music, "Dean, how's your cousin?"

  Okay, new information, he has a cousin.

  "Fine, she's adapting herself really well to the city actually."

  She moved here recently.

  Jessie makes a heart with her hands and says, "We have to visit another cafe because that one was a failure."

  Dean groans so theatrically it makes her laugh. They start to tell me about this super trendy coffee shop downtown they visited, where everything was pretty — "But the coffee tastes like someone soaked burnt toast in dishwater." according to Dean.

  Jessie nods. "Oh, the maple-cashew latte! It looked so aesthetic, but—" She makes a face.

  "It's like someone wanted to prank vegans and charge them eight dollars for it," Dean adds, grabbing the bridge of his nose. "I still have dreams about that $13 pour-over."

  "But the barista called you ,remember? You didn't hate that."

  He blushes. "I did not hate it, but the was served an actual cup of warm sadness."

  I smile. I love their dynamic but I feel strange, like out of the loop. I have this idea of our relationship, I mean I've always assumed that we were so good friends and so close, but I'm feeling really far away from them, which is why tonight my inability to jump into the current stings a little.

  Jessie chokes with her drink at Dean's story about a job interview where he was asked to recite the company's mission statement, and instead offered them a critique of their typography. I laugh but I’m not really in it. When was the last time I asked them something personal?. We've known each other for four years now. Maybe longer and some days I look at them and wonder if we're more coworkers than friends. I don't even know if they are dating someone. And out of nowhere the tick tock starts softly in the back of my head, muffled by the alcohol.

  I should just start there.

  "So, Jess," I say, "are you seeing anyone? Like, in the off hours?". Wink wink.

  Dean makes a "woo-oooh" noise, but not even mockingly.

  Jessie blushes, then answers, "Actually, yeah. Sort of. It's recent. It's weird."

  "Weird how?" I say already smiling.

  "Like, I think I like him, but also he does escape rooms competitively, and that's just a lot."

  There is a full second of silence, then Dean and I lose it.

  "Oh my god," he says, "does he make you do puzzles on the date?"

  "Only sometimes," Jessie admits. "He's good at them. Like, scary good."

  I cackle. "What's his sign?"

  "‘Doesn't believe in astrology, but secretly a Virgo'," Jessie retorted, taking a gulp of her drink. "He's very on time. It's disconcerting."

  I find myself laughing for real, and the conversation unspools. We do a rapid-fire session of 'Jessie's boyfriend, hero or menace,' and for every odd habit she confesses, Dean and I try to top it with a hypothetical partner even worse.

  I, emboldened, share, "Daniel once made a spreadsheet to optimize our vacation time, and then color-coded our sex."

  Dean looks impressed. "I'd love to see the conditional formatting on that."

  The server drops off a fresh round, and now the table is sticky with condensation and stray citrus, but nobody minds.

  I look at them with a momentary sense of courage and ask, "Do you guys, like, ever regret quitting the agency?"

  Dean shrugs. "Every day. But also never. It's like, if you're going to be crushed by late capitalism, better to be your own boss while it happens."

  Jessie giggled. "That should go on our website. ‘Now with 50% more existential dread, but at least it's ours.'"

  I laugh. "And we can add ‘help to pay for our therapy.’" We chuckle.

  We pivot to gossip, to war stories from old clients, and the drinks keep coming. We're getting drunk now, and the conversation circles back to the wedding from hell and Robert.

  Dean proposes, "We rent a marching band to play outside his apartment. At seven am."

  Jessie's voice is dreamy: "Can you imagine his face?"

  We all stop one moment to imagine it.

  I grab my phone to check the time—eleven pm and a message. Like we called the Devil: Robert. I read silently and gasp.