"I freaking knew it."

My fork was now on the table, instead of held gingerly in my hand, as it was only a minute ago. Heat flashed upwards, flushing my neck and face, eliminating any possibility of playing it cool.

"Unbelievable. For weeks, all you've been saying is how you're better off without him and you're so jazzed he's finally gone. But all I had to do was say his name, and you drop your freaking fork? Are you kidding me?"

It was pointless to say that the uttering of his name and the dropping of my fork were two separate, unrelated events, but she knew me too well for that kind of bull.

"It's not a big deal." Even my muttering was unconvincing.

She smirked. "Whatever, hon. You do you. But you might want to let your mental state catch up with all this "better off" crap you keep spouting. You do know that C—"

"Please don't say it again." I whispered, the plead in my tone coming through a little too strongly for my liking.

She barked a hollow laugh. "Fine. He-who-shall-not-be-named is out there living his life, probably stringing along another half dozen girls, without a care in the world. And you owe it to yourself to get to the point where you can hear his name and manage to hold onto your eating utensils."