90s Fine

Word Count: 2718

 

 

“Your neighbors are here,” the host said.

She leaned in so close to Lola’s shoulder that Lola caught the sharp, citrus bite of her cleaning spray.

Lola glanced up out of habit.

Her breath snagged.

Perri.

The world didn’t slow. It didn’t dim. But something inside Lola shifted—quiet, irreversible—like a truth she’d been outrunning had finally sat down beside her.

Perri slid onto the booth seat so close their arms almost touched. Her face held no surprise, but her eyes carried a heaviness Lola hadn’t seen since the last night they were together.

Alia took the chair beside her, still mid-laugh. She set her phone down between the two tables, practically on Lola’s napkin, without noticing anything off.

Across from Lola, Caiya lifted her lavender spritz, still blissfully unaware. “This is beautiful,” she said, admiring the drink.

For a beat, the room blurred. Then the details rushed back in. Lola didn’t know yet that by the end of brunch, everyone at the table would leave in different directions.

They’d ordered quickly. Basil lemonade for Lola, lavender spritz for Caiya, and the infamous avocado toast the entire Palisades seemed obsessed with. Caiya had leaned back once the server walked away, legs crossed, eyes bright, finally relaxed.

For a moment, Lola had let herself believe the day might go smoothly.

And then the host had appeared with two menus and that sentence.

Now Perri finally looked over.

The glance was quick, contained, but it hit Lola with the force of everything she’d been avoiding.

Alia noticed Caiya then. “Caiya? Oh my God, hi!” She leaned across the narrow gap, hair brushing Lola’s arm. “What are the odds?”

Caiya grinned. “Look at this place pulling the whole city today.”

Lola stared into her glass, pulse unsteady.

Alia tapped Perri’s hand. “Perri, this is Caiya. We’ve been doing a little Sunday brunch tour.”

Caiya smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” Perri said softly—then her eyes flicked back to Lola, carrying more truth than any word.

Caiya’s expression shifted. Not anger. Just awareness sharpening at the edges.

Lauryn Hill drifted over the hum of the room, the start of a line about how simple things could be. The lyric felt exposed, almost intentional.

And Lola felt the floor tilt.

Perri stayed quiet while the server finished setting drinks on both tables. The lavender spritz on Caiya’s side glowed softly in the sun. Perri’s drink arrived too, something with mint and lime she acknowledged with a small nod before folding her hands in her lap.

The tables were so close their napkins nearly overlapped. Lola could feel the warmth of Perri’s shoulder even without touching her.

Caiya didn’t notice any of that yet. She inhaled her spritz. “This smells like vacation.”

Alia laughed. “Palisades Collective takes presentation too seriously. Look at this.” She tilted her drink to show a slice of dried blood orange. “It’s doing the most, but I’m not mad.”

She rummaged in her bag for her phone, elbows brushing Lola’s side more than once. “I’m getting a picture before we ruin these.”

Perri didn’t reach for her drink. She sat very still, eyes lowering to the condensation sliding down the glass. Her breathing was controlled.

Lola felt every detail she shouldn’t be aware of.

“Whoever designed this place deserves a raise,” Caiya said, glancing around the room. Sunlight hit her cheekbone softly. She looked content, at ease.

Lola wanted to stay in that moment with her. Just that one.

Alia inhaled sharply. “Oh—did y’all order the avocado toast? Everyone’s been posting it all week. I heard it comes with chili honey.”

“Yeah,” Caiya said. “We had to try it once.”

“That’s the one thing Perri doesn’t play about,” Alia said. “She’ll judge it like she’s interviewing the chef.”

Perri almost smiled. “I’m not that bad.”

“You are,” Alia said, nudging her. “You and your standards.”

Perri rolled her eyes gently. The kind of small moment Lola remembered too clearly.

Caiya didn’t catch the nuance, but she caught something. She leaned back, her attention drifting. Not suspicion. Just a shift.

The music changed. D’Angelo’s “Brown Sugar” pulsed low and warm. Someone behind them said, “Oh, this my jam,” loud enough to carry.

Alia hummed along. Perri lowered her eyes. Lola’s chest pinched.

Caiya looked at Lola. A soft glance, but searching.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Lola said quickly. “Just hot.”

“It is warm,” Caiya said, fanning herself. “These windows don’t play.”

Perri shifted at the same time Lola did. Their movements mirrored each other for a single second.

Lola’s throat tightened.

Alia scrolled, oblivious. “Every person I follow has been here,” she said, turning her phone. “Look at these pancakes.”

“Oh my God,” Caiya laughed. “Ridiculous.”

Lola tried to join in, but her smile lagged.

Perri looked away, jaw tightening in that subtle, familiar way.

The server returned with plates. She slid the avocado toasts onto both tables—the plates nearly clinking from how close the tables were.

Everyone murmured thank you.

For a brief moment, it felt normal.

Then Alia took the first bite and moaned dramatically. “This is insane. Lola, taste this chili honey.”

Perri’s eyes lifted at Lola’s name.

Caiya noticed Perri’s gaze. Not confrontational. Just curious.

Lola felt her pulse.

She cut her toast into small, precise pieces.

Lauryn Hill floated back through the speakers—another song, another confession. The words hung like a secret no one wanted to name.

Still, nothing had been said.

But everything had shifted.

Caiya hummed her approval as she cut into her toast. “Oh wow.” She lifted a forkful toward Lola—her ritual.

Lola leaned forward, but her hand brushed Perri’s forearm first. Barely anything. Still, Perri went still for a beat too long.

Caiya noticed the pause, not the cause.

“You okay?” she asked Perri.

Perri nodded after a breath. “Yeah. Just… crowded.”

“It really is,” Caiya laughed, hugging her elbows in. “I feel like we all know each other by force.”

Alia’s phone chimed, stealing her attention.

Perri finally took a sip of her drink, slow, like she needed the time. Lola watched her throat move. She wished she hadn’t.

Caiya shifted her chair an inch away, though the space didn’t change. Her eyes lingered on Perri again—curious still, but sharper.

“So how’d y’all pick this place?” she asked Alia.

“I dragged Perri out,” Alia said. “She didn’t want to come, but I needed cute drinks and sunlight.”

Perri’s jaw flexed. Something vulnerable flickered.

Caiya saw it. “Everything okay?”

Alia answered. “She’s fine. She’s just been having a weird month.”

Lola’s stomach flipped.

“Alia,” Perri murmured.

“What? You have. The dating pool been stressing you out.”

Perri pressed her lips together.

Caiya didn’t miss the silence.

Lola lifted her drink, but her hand trembled enough to clink the ice.

The server walked by, stirring perfume into the air. Warm, floral, familiar. Lola’s chest went tight.

Alia flipped her camera inward. “Everyone look cute,” she said. “Lighting is perfect.”

Caiya leaned into frame. Lola smiled thinly.

Perri didn’t pose. When Alia snapped anyway, Perri exhaled once.

“You’re impossible,” Alia teased.

Perri offered a brittle half-smile.

Lola tried focusing on her food, but her fork scraped the plate too loudly. She set it down. Her fingers felt foreign.

Perri’s plate stayed untouched. The yolk trembled each time someone bumped the booth.

Alia scrolled. “I think this angle makes my jawline look elite,” she announced. “Perri, look.”

Perri lifted her gaze slowly for Alia—eyes flickering toward Lola in the process, quick and unguarded.

Lola felt it in her chest.

“You’re not eating,” Caiya said.

“I am.”

“You haven’t taken one bite.”

Lola picked up her fork. Her fingers tightened, loosened, tightened.

“I’m just… hot,” she whispered.

“Here.” Caiya leaned forward and tucked a strand behind Lola’s ear, smoothing it back. “Drink some water, baby.”

Perri’s shoulders stiffened.

Lola caught it.

And Caiya caught Lola catching it.

Alia kept narrating for social media. “Spritz or toast first?” She angled her phone again, tugging Perri into frame.

Perri resisted, then tilted politely. Her jaw clenched when her arm brushed Lola’s—too close, too familiar.

She turned sharply toward the window.

“You good?” Alia asked.

“Fine,” Perri said.

Practiced fine.

The server walked by again. “Y’all doing okay?”

Everyone nodded.

Perri said nothing.

Caiya took another bite of toast, but her eyes stayed on Lola—calibrating.

“You really sure you’re okay?” she asked.

Lola nodded too fast.

Perri lifted her drink. Her hand shook once. She set the glass down carefully.

Their eyes almost met before Perri forced hers away.

Lauryn Hill faded.

A low bassline rose.

Sade’s “No Ordinary Love” washed through the room in a velvet wave.

A few people groaned.

Perri inhaled sharply—only Lola noticed.

Caiya noticed Lola noticing.

The air thickened.

Alia posed for another picture. “These came out cute.”

Perri smoothed her napkin’s edge. Once. Twice. Over and over.

Lola’s appetite vanished.

Everything unspoken pressed up against the sunlight and syrupy vocals.

The morning was still polite.

Still brunch.

But something fragile was straining.

The smallest shift would break it.

Lola stood. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She slid out of the booth, almost colliding with a server. She murmured an apology and rushed toward the neon “Bathroom Downstairs” sign.

The noise softened as she descended. The air smelled like hand soap and industrial lavender. She gripped the sink, breathing hard.

Her reflection looked exactly as guilty as she felt.

Cold water ran over her wrists, but nothing cooled her.

The door creaked.

She didn’t need to look.

Perri stepped in, the door half-open but her presence closing the room.

“You shouldn’t be down here,” Lola said.

Perri let out a shallow breath. “Neither should you.”

“Please don’t start.”

“Start what?” Perri stepped closer. “Start asking why you disappeared? Or why you let me fall when you had a whole girlfriend?”

Lola flinched. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t tell me,” Perri cut in. “Not once.”

Not loud. Worse because it wasn’t.

Lola turned.

The space collapsed.

Perri’s lips were full, lush—dangerous up close. She looked at Lola like hurt was lodged beneath her skin.

“You blindsided me. Do you understand that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Perri whispered, stepping closer. “You’re not.”

Lola tried to back up, but the sink trapped her.

Perri’s eyes drifted to her mouth. Not subtle. Not accidental.

“I still want you,” Perri said, voice low. “And I hate that.”

Lola’s pulse stumbled.

Perri fought something inside herself. Then:

“If I tried to kiss you… would you let me?”

The air shifted.

Lola’s lips parted.

Her breath caught.

Her chin lifted—barely.

Perri leaned in, not touching, but close enough for Lola to feel the heat of her mouth.

Close enough that Lola could almost taste her.

“Tell me the truth,” Perri murmured.

Lola trembled.

Perri’s lips brushed the space above Lola’s—searing without touching.

“You would,” she whispered. “I can see it.”

She lingered near Lola’s cheek. “And that pisses me off most.”

“Perri…”

Perri froze. Hurt snapped back into place.

She pulled away sharply. “I’m done. Let’s just… get through upstairs.”

She left before Lola could answer.

Lola’s breath trembled as she steadied herself, the ghost of a kiss burning on her skin.

Upstairs, Caiya saw her first. Relief flickered—then sharpened. She sat straighter, tracking Lola’s approach.

Perri was already seated, newly composed—but Lola knew what that composure cost.

Alia was mid-story, loud enough for half the block. “—and I told her: you cannot be crying over somebody who doesn’t text back!”

Caiya blinked. “Wait… who was crying?”

Alia lit up. “Perri, girl! She swears she’s a thug, but she’s soft as pound cake.”

Perri closed her eyes briefly.

Lola’s stomach dropped.

Caiya looked from Alia to Perri to Lola. “You okay?” she asked Perri.

“Fine,” Perri said, stiff.

“She is not fine,” Alia said. “She was on the couch with wine and gummies listening to sad girl music from the nineties. I thought somebody died.”

“Alia,” Perri warned.

“What? It’s not a secret she got her little heart stomped on. We’re in a healing era.”

The server dropped both checks and vanished.

But Alia kept going. “She really thought that girl was serious. Talking future, sharing playlists—then the girl ghosted her like she never—”

Perri’s fork hit the plate.

Hard.

Caiya stilled. “Who ghosted you?”

Before anyone could answer, the overhead speakers shifted.

A soft keyboard chord.

A swell of synth.

Then Troop’s “I Will Always Love You.”

Three women groaned.

Someone whispered, “Oh shiiit, not this one.”

Perri looked at Lola.

Slow.

Wounded.

Direct.

Caiya caught it.

“Lola?” Alia said. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Perri flinched.

Lola’s eyes closed—too long.

The singer strained to find a pathway back to someone he’d lost.

Caiya’s breath hitched.

“Do you know her?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Caiya… not here.”

“No. Here.”

Perri wiped her palms on her jeans. “She knows me.”

Alia’s jaw dropped. “Wait—she’s the one?”

“Caiya—” Lola started.

The harmonies rose—break me down in little pieces.

Caiya stared like the ground shifted. “Did. You. Cheat. On. Me.”

“It wasn’t—”

“Don’t,” Perri said quietly. “Don’t lie again.”

Lola’s throat closed. “Perri, please—”

“You let me fall,” Perri whispered. “You let me… God.”

“Lola,” Caiya breathed. “How long?”

“It was emotional. It was—”

“It was real,” Perri said.

The chorus swelled.

“Emotional?” Caiya choked. “You told her things you didn’t tell me?”

Lola couldn’t speak.

“She told me things she was scared to admit to herself,” Perri said.

Caiya staggered back.

“Did you love her?” she whispered.

Lola froze.

Perri looked at her.

“You did.” Perri said. Matter-of-fact.

“Perri—” Lola started.

The background vocals rose like a choir.

Caiya shook her head. “I can’t do this.”

“Baby, please—” Lola was wounded, her eyes panicked and moist.

“No,” Caiya said. “Don’t call me that.”

She set her fork down gently, leaving one last bite of avocado toast—like a line she refused to cross.

Then she walked away.

Sunlight swallowed her.

The last chorus chased her toward the door.

Lola sat in the wreckage she created.

The space she’d taken up collapsed.

 

But only for a beat.

A crisp bassline.

Snare taps.

Brandy’s “Sittin’ Up in My Room.”

Lola closed her eyes.

Of all songs.

Alia gasped. “Oh my GOD—they do not have good timing here.”

Perri said nothing.

She sat and trembled once, jaw clenched. She looked carved out—glass and grief.

Brandy circled the hook—thinkin’ ’bout you.

Lola felt it like a punch.

“This is ridiculous,” Perri breathed.

“This is disrespectful,” Alia said, furious.

But Perri wasn’t smiling.

She slowly stood. “I’m done, Alia. Let’s go.”

“Wait—” Lola reached out.

Perri stepped back—not dramatic, but definitive.

“Don’t touch me.”

Brandy looped—sittin’ up in my room.

Perri looked at Lola.

Not soft.

Not longing.

Grieving.

“You know what’s wild?” Perri said. “I really was that girl. Waiting around. Thinking about you. Hoping you’d choose me.”

Lola blinked fast, tears spilling.

“And the whole time,” Perri said, “you were somebody’s girlfriend. Making me look stupid. Making yourself look worse.”

“Perri…” Lola whispered.

“I was a fool for you,” Perri said, voice cracking. “You turned me into that.”

“Please don’t leave like this.”

“Leave like what? Lola… this is the end. We can’t go backward. And we damn sure can’t go forward.”

Alia touched her arm. “Come on.”

Perri exhaled, then whispered:

“You didn’t just break her heart.

You broke mine too.”

She turned.

Alia followed, giving Lola one last devastated look.

They wove through the crowd as Brandy kept singing to someone who didn’t deserve it.

The brunch crowd parted.

Whispers rose.

“Lord, that poor girl…”

The door opened.

Closed.

Lola sat alone now—sunlight, strangers, Brandy echoing overhead.

She pressed her hands to her face.

When she lowered them, the table looked different.

What was left of the avocado toast sat between her and where Caiya had been—edges drying, yolk gone slack, crumbs scattered where their easy ritual used to be.

And Lola knew:

This wasn’t something she could charm her way out of.

Or cry her way out of.

Or explain.

They didn’t leave together.

They didn’t even leave at the same time.

They left in opposite directions — and Lola stayed behind.

This was the kind of loss people don’t bounce back from in one afternoon.

She wasn’t just sitting in a booth.

She was sitting in the ruins.