The Break-Up Pact

by Emma Lord

Levi’s ears are still tinged when he clears his throat and says, “Well, this is different. More literary fiction.” “Oh. That existentially fraught New York one?” Which, in my defense, is a slightly more polite way of saying “self-insert sad boy fan fiction.”

How I ever managed to be this close to someone who hated dessert enough that he once called arugula “too sweet” in my presence, I will never understand.

“That’s sweet. And I want to trust you with that task. But know that if you take me to another scream poetry reading, I will fake break up with you so loudly they’ll think I’m in the performance lineup.” Levi lets out a sharp, gratifying laugh. “I swear I thought the flier said slam poetry.” My lips curl as I remember the look of absolute bone-deep alarm on Levi’s face when the first poet took the stage and started bellowing about her cat sitter ghosting her at the top of her lungs. That was the last Friday night Levi was allowed to pick where we all hung out for a long time.

“You understand that frosting isn’t just god’s gift to our mouths,” I continue to impress upon Levi. “It’s what makes the cake architecturally sound. You ditch the frosting, you lose the very glue holding it together.”

The truth is, it’s almost impossible these days to meet people in a way that gives you time to be friends first, to feel each other out. Most people expect to know whether you’re attracted to them on the first or second date. But it’s never been like that for me. I’ve always had this strange feeling of not being able to keep up. I can’t run headfirst toward something without knowing there’s a solid foundation under my feet, and judging from all my friends’ stories about the dating out in the wild, I worry there aren’t a lot of people willing to wait for me to find