Gina rolls her chair closer, undeterred. “Then we go nuclear. Stage one: constant contact. I’m talking fifty texts an hour minimum. Hearts, baby animal GIFs, those weird little animated stickers of bears doing yoga.”
Despite everything, I snort. “I might drive myself insane.”
“Stage two,” she continues, warming to her theme, “social media assault. Tag him in every post. Write paragraph-long captions about your eternal love. Make one of those couple accounts—‘#SashaAndArielForever.’ Post badly edited photos of your faces morphed together to see what your babies would look like.”
“He’s not even on social—” I start, then stop. “Actually, that’s perfect. Nothing says ‘unhinged’ like tagging a nonexistent account sixty times a day.”
“Now, you’re getting it!” Gina’s practically bouncing. “St
