Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

Both Jordy and Brayden pick up their menus, and I do too, even though I’m already dreaming of my burger. When the waitress asks for our order, she turns to Jordy first.

“I’ll have the garden salad with grilled chicken and a side of balsamic vinaigrette,” she says. “Oh, and please hold the croutons. A diet soda to drink.”

I bite my lip, taking in the way Jordy’s collarbone shows at the top of her blouse, and how dainty her wrists are as they rest on the table. My own wrists look like they belong to a chubby toddler, and my thighs spread thick on the bench seat.

“Miss?”

I look up and the waitress is looking at me. That burger is calling out to me, but I’m suddenly overwhelmed with this feeling of not belonging, seeing Brayden’s arm draped over my beautiful, thin cousin.

“I’ll have the same,” I say, my stomach shriveling in disappointment as I fold my menu and hand it to her.

Brayden orders the California burger with a beer to wash it down, and I nearly collapse with envy. I know I’ll have a second lunch once I’m in the privacy of my own home. Then I realize there is no privacy—I have a roommate now.

“I was thinking we could resurrect the Midnight Manhattans tonight,” Jordy says once the waitress leaves. “It’s totally not on my diet, but don’t you think sitting with Practical Magic, eating our weight in pancakes, and washing it down with Manhattans sounds like the perfect way to kick off our roommate situation?”

The last thing I want to do is hang out with Jordy. I mean, isn’t this enough? But then again, pancakes. And Midnight Manhattans. The thought of both almost makes up for the sad salad I’m about to have.

Fuck the salad.

I flag down the waitress as she passes the table, and tell her to skip the salad and serve me up a California burger instead.

“I just remembered I hate salad,” I say, to which Jordy laughs.

“It’s not my favorite either,” she admits. “But my mom can always tell when I’ve slipped in my diet, and I don’t need the lecture. She’s so concerned about how I’ll look in my wedding dress, and I haven’t even bought the thing. It’s just easier to follow a strict diet than to hear her go on and on about what I’m doing to my body.” She narrows her eyes as her grin widens. “But she doesn’t need to know about Midnight Manhattans.”

I nod in agreement, but also can’t help wondering what Aunt Lil says about my body. I guess I can just add it to all the other things she says about me.

“So, are dudes invited to Midnight Manhattans?” Brayden asks.

“Absolutely not,” Jordy says. “This is for girl witches only, any boys that come within five feet of the house might find themself as fertilizer for the garden.”

“Or frog food,” I add in.

“Or the victim of house crickets.” Jordy claps her hands, her face lighting up. “Oh man, Nina, remember the lists we made that one time?”

My face heats up, as if she can actually read what mine said.

“What lists?” Brayden asks. She turns to him.

“We made these lists that described the perfect man, then cast a spell that night under the full moon so that one day that man would find us. Even Nanna Dot made one.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” I say.

“Maybe she manifested that old stray cat that showed up on her doorstep. Though I think hers said something about someone who would rub her feet, and all that cat did was hiss at everyone who came close to it.”

She named the cat Mr. Whiskers, and it stuck around for about a year, eating the tuna she fed it, along with chicken scraps and a bowl of milk. It never got nicer, though Nanna Dot still cooed at it like it was a baby. Then one day, it took off and never came back. I figured it curled up and died somewhere, but Nanna said it probably moved on to bless a new family. She had a strange idea of what blessing meant.

“So, was I on your list?” Brayden asks. I look up sharply, but see he’s looking at Jordy—of course he’s looking at her. She shrugs.

“My idea of the perfect guy back then had more to do with how popular he was or if he had a starting position on the football team.”

“So, not the guy in Jazz Band or on the debate team who competed in barrel racing on the weekends. Noted,” he laughs.

“Hardly.” She nudges him with her shoulder, then looks to me. “What about you? Do you remember what yours said?”

I pause, my words suddenly gone. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Finally, I shake my head no.

“Not at all,” I say, finally spitting out the lie. Makes me feel safe… “But I know that every guy I’ve met hasn’t come close to my dream guy.” Another lie, since he’s sitting right in front of me.