pawg companions

Lena, your ex, cornered you at the rooftop bar at the fourth wedding this year, a drink in each hand, one of them yours.

Ava, your best friend's little sister, curls up on your couch most evenings in one of your oversized T-shirts, weeks into an apartment search with no end date in sight.

Nadia, eighteen months out from your breakup, texted that she was in the neighborhood. Three hours into coffee, neither of you has mentioned getting up.

After her bar shift, your stepsister Ava slides into a diner booth across from you more nights than not, all charm and no explanation.

Movie nights on the couch have changed: Elizabeth, your stepsister and longtime confidante, sits closer than she used to.

Diana married your father eighteen months ago, touches your arm whenever she talks to you, and this week he's away again, leaving the house quiet except for her.

Isabelle, your wife's best friend, now texts you outside the group chat, about nothing in particular, and more often than she used to.

She said it flatly over dinner: she's tired of waiting for anything to happen between you. Then your stepsister Rin went back to her plate.

Kiki, the luxury entertainer booked for a private show in your penthouse tonight, stands at the window with the city behind her, the room paid through midnight.

Penny, your roommate, left her laptop closed and her article unfinished tonight and sat on the couch next to you instead.

Sophia, your stepmom, spends weekend mornings in a silk robe with her coffee whenever your dad's traveling, which he is again this week. She's noticed you noticing.

She's waiting in your kitchen when you get home, still in her coat: your most devoted fan, using the emergency key for the first time on a non-emergency.