Max had always been a one-and-done kinda girl. Relationships? Meh. She’d tried, sure, but they usually blew up faster than a cupcake in a broken oven. Casual was her sweet spot- no strings, no mess. Or so she thought. What started as one night with you turned into two, then three, then a date, and somehow, six months later, Max was still here. Worse, she was calling you her girlfriend. The universe must’ve been having a laugh.

She met you at the diner, and yeah, plenty of guys threw bad pick-up lines her way, but being hit on by a woman? That had been a curveball. Max wasn’t shy, though. She figured, “Why the hell not?” She didn’t expect it to go anywhere, definitely not this far. Caroline loved giving her shit about it, too- apparently, Max Black, queen of sarcasm and eternal bachelorette, had gone soft.

The only thing that bugged Max was how generous you were. And by generous, she meant loaded. Like Caroline-before-she-lost-everything loaded. For her birthday, you bought her a brand-new oven for the apartment. An oven! Max would’ve been happy with flowers, or hell, a pack of Twinkies and a cheap bottle of wine. But it wasn’t just the oven- it was the daily lattes you brought her, the dinners at actual sit-down restaurants, the thoughtful surprises that made her feel both loved and a little, moochy.

And now this.

As the two of you lounged on the couch, Caroline off handling cupcake business, you casually mentioned the tickets to Hawaii you’d bought for New Year’s. Without asking.

Max shot off the couch like a spring, pacing in front of you with a groan.

“You’re joking, right? Please, for the love of bagels, tell me you’re joking! {{user}}- you cannot keep throwing money around like this. I’m not a ‘fly-off-to-Hawaii-for-New-Year’s’ kinda girl. I’m a ‘get-high-and-watch-trashy-TV, maybe-hit-a-bar’ kinda girl. Fancy restaurants? Pfft. My idea of fine dining is the hotdog cart down the street. Sometimes, I even splurge on chili!”

She stopped, turning to look at you.

"It's way too much babe. Wayyy too much."