For the Love of Friends

by Confino, Sara Goodman

  Instead of arguing, I nodded, thanked her, and kissed her on the cheek when I rose to leave. She grabbed me in a tight hug and whispered in my ear, “They conquer who believe they can.” My mother was a paradox to the last—make a Shakespeare reference and she told you to speak English, yet here she was, whispering a quote from a two-thousand-years-dead philosopher. And if I mentioned Virgil, she would respond, “Who? I saw that on a pillow at Home Goods.”

  She would never acknowledge the rest of what I said. It would have confused her own sense of self. But this was enough for now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  I still couldn’t bring myself to call Megan, so I called my grandmother from my parents’ driveway.

  “It’s Lily,” I said.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Apparently I only call my eldest granddaughter Joan.”

  “Can I come over?”

  “Why? Do you need more material? Should I invite my mah-jongg club over too so you can write about them?”

  “Please, Grandma?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  But despite the attitude over the phone, her front door was open behind the screen door when I arrived, as it always was when I was expected.

  “Grandma?” I called as I came in.

  “In the kitchen, Joan.” I didn’t correct her. “Are you hungry? I made a cake.” She was sitting at the table, reading glasses on the bridge of her nose, the newspaper in front of her.

  I started to refuse, then realized I was famished and said I would love a slice. She stood, but I told her I would get it, and I cut one for each of us, then brought them over on two tea plates.

  “I’m really sorry, Grandma.”

  “For what, darling?”

  I was genuinely confused—did she not remember? That happened sometimes with her, but my mother always assured us it was just old age, not Alzheimer’s—the same way she didn’t ever remember our names. Or was she being difficult and planning to extract a more detailed apology by playing dumb?

  “For—the blog.”

  “You got stuck in a bog?”

  “Blog. The—the thing I wrote?”

  “Oh, the Google thing your mother sent me?”

  “I—uh—yeah, probably.”

  “It was very nice. But I don’t understand what a blog is.”

  “It’s a—oh God, how do I explain it? It’s kind of like a place where you can publish the stuff you write for people to read on the internet?”

  “Like the Facebook?”

  “No—not exactly—I mean—” How to explain it to a woman who called the internet “the Google” and who insisted, when she had me make her a Facebook page, that I use a picture of her from when she was a dozen years younger than I was now because she looked too old in all the others? “Yes, it’s like Facebook. But for longer stuff that you write.”

  “In my day, we wrote letters.”

  I debated explaining that this was much more public, but that wouldn’t help my cause any. “Um. Yeah. But I wanted to apologize for what I wrote.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I wasn’t very nice in it.”

  “It sounds like those girls owe you apologies, not the other way around.”

  “I meant for the parts about you.”

  She tilted her head at me. “I don’t follow.”

  “I shouldn’t have made fun of you.”

  “Who made fun? You wrote what Louise and I did.”

  “But it wasn’t nice.”

  “You keep saying that—who cares if it’s nice if it’s true?”

  “I—” This wasn’t going how I expected it to at all. “Mom said you were mad at me.”

  She waved a hand in the air. “Your mother says a lot of things. How I raised such an uptight daughter, I will never understand.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Honey, at my age, who has time to be mad about things like that?” She took a bite of cake and gestured for me to do the same. “Is that why you came over?”

  “I—well—yeah.”

  “You could come visit without thinking I’m mad or that you need to babysit me on an airplane, you know.” I tried to remember the last time I had been to her house other than picking her up and dropping her back home for the Mexico trip. I had seen her, of course, at my mother’s house and when she came dress shopping. But the last time I came by just for a visit was well before people started getting engaged. Which meant it had been at least a year. And given her age, the opportunities to spend time with her were getting more and more limited by the day.

  “You’re right,” I nodded. “You’re really not mad?”

  “Did you kill anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Steal anything?”

  “No.”

  “Then no. I’ll be a little miffed if you don’t finish that piece of cake though.” I took a bite, feeling somewhat lighter. “Your mother sounded pretty upset, but I don’t put much stock in that. Raises my blood pressure too much. I just take my hearing aids out when she starts going on.”

  “Why did you act like you were mad over the phone then?”

  She winked at me. “It got you to come visit, didn’t it?” I mentally kicked myself again. But one of my grandmother’s best qualities was that she genuinely didn’t hold grudges. Yes, she might say anything and everything that popped into her head, no matter how inappropriate, but once she had said it, she was done. My weekends might be booked solid for the next month (or might not be, depending on how my friends took my apologies), but I promised myself I would be better about coming to see Grandma as soon as the weddings were done. “But you seem upset. Explain to me why this blog thing is such a big deal.”

  “A lot of people saw it. And I didn’t have my name on it, so I didn’t think anyone would know it was me, but then people figured it out.”

  “Well of course it was you! Who else is in five weddings at once?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t think that through so well.”

  “Why are you friends with those girls anyway? It doesn’t seem like you like them very much.”

  “I do—well—normally. The weddings have kind of spun out of control.”

  “I don’t understand you all with weddings. In my day, the mother planned everything. Your sisters were your bridesmaids and that was that.”

  “Can you imagine if Mom planned Amy’s wedding?”

  “Oh God no, your mother has terrible taste. She didn’t get that from me either.” I looked around and suppressed a grin. My grandmother still had brightly colored fruit-themed wallpaper from the seventies in her kitchen and had almost enough kitschy knickknacks to qualify as a hoarder.

  She patted my hand on the table. “It’ll all blow over, dear. Nothing lasts forever. Well, except herpes.” My eyes widened in horror, but she didn’t notice. “Do you like the cake? It’s a new recipe.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I still didn’t want to talk to Megan when I got home, but I knew it was time.

  Before I pushed the button on my phone to call her, though, I turned to the next page of the notepad with my apology list and bulleted out some things I needed to say.

  “Talk,” she said when I called.

  “Hello to you too.”

  “Seriously, Lily, what the hell?”

  “Well,” I said haltingly. “You were the one who told me to write a book about my ridiculous life.”

  “Okay. Call me back when you’re ready to be serious. I don’t have time for this right now.”

  I sighed. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Uh, that you’re sorry? That’d be a great start.”

  “I’m sorry.” I paused. “But—”

  “Everything before the ‘but’ is bullshit.”

  I didn’t respond immediately. “I’m not ready to apologize without a ‘but’ yet.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I need to say a few things before I can apologize. If you don’t want to listen, then
we don’t have to talk yet.”

  She was quiet so long I thought she might have hung up. “Fine. Talk.”

  “Okay.” I picked up my list.

  “Don’t tell me you made a list to talk to me.”

  She knew me too well. “I did. I don’t want to mess up.”

  “It’s me, Lily.”

  “Yeah. I know. That’s why it’s important.” She didn’t respond. “Okay. I love you to death. I need to say that. I know you’re rolling your eyes right now, but I wanted to start with that. Number two: I didn’t actually think you’d mind the blog.”

  “I—”

  “Wait, please, let me finish, okay?” She stopped. “Number three: It really hurt my feelings when you said you wanted me to wear the minimizing bra to your wedding too. You’re my best friend, and I always thought you were the one person who loved me exactly as I was, and that sucked. A lot. Number four: I couldn’t believe you told me to re-dye my hair for your wedding. I don’t even want this stupid hair color, but why are you making me change how I look?” I took a deep breath.

  “Can I talk now?”

  “No. I have one more and it’s the big one.”

  “Okay.”

  “You killed me when you said I couldn’t date Alex.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t—”

  “You did though. You said I didn’t do relationships so I needed to not mess around with Tim’s friends. And that wasn’t fair. Because it wasn’t messing around with Alex. It was—well, it doesn’t matter now because he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. But it was real.”

  She was quiet. “Now can I respond?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Look at the Alex thing from my point of view for a minute. The night of my engagement party, you—”

  “I know.”

  “And then Alex went around telling everyone that you and he—”

  “I know that too.”

  “And then you said Alex was saying that because Justin was trying to sleep with you. And it just looked like you were creating a lot of drama for no reason.”

  “I think I’m done creating drama for a while.”

  “I think that blog says otherwise.”

  “I deleted it. It’s gone.”

  “Nothing is ever gone. That Buzzfeed post is still a thing.”

  “It’s Buzzfeed, Megs. Name one Buzzfeed thing you remember from before this. Other than a quiz about which type of French fry you are.”

  Neither of us said anything for a long time. “You don’t have to wear the bra. Or change your hair,” she said finally.

  “Well I do have to wear the bra now, because the dress won’t fit if I don’t and it’s too late to get it re-tailored. But thank you. And I already have the appointment to re-dye my hair.”

  “I actually kind of like it how it is. It’s subtle. And I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “It’s not me though.”

  There was another silence. We had never had an awkward pause in twenty-five years of friendship before this conversation.

  “Do you want to be with Alex?”

  “It’s a moot point now.”

  “I’m not taking the blame for that. You did that yourself.”

  “I know.” Pause. “I’m sorry, Megs.”

  “No more ‘buts’?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I’m still annoyed. That isn’t going to go away overnight. But you’re my best friend. What am I going to do? Kick you out of my wed—oh shit, are other people kicking you out of their weddings?”

  “I don’t know. Amy isn’t. Sharon said she’s got to think about it. Caryn isn’t talking to me yet.”

  “Isn’t Caryn’s this weekend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s got to be flipping out right now. She’s so worried about appearances, and if she cuts you out, everyone will know why.”

  “It would probably be a relief if she did. I wouldn’t have to face her coven of bridesmaids.”

  “They’re totally doing incantations about you right now.”

  “I know.”

  “Which way do you think Sharon will go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you going to be in trouble at work?”

  “I assume I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  Megan went quiet again. “Lil—why didn’t you tell me you actually liked Alex?”

  I closed my eyes. “I think I was in denial. If I didn’t admit it to myself, I couldn’t get hurt.”

  “How’d that work out?” I didn’t respond and she didn’t press it. “Let me know what happens tomorrow?” I told her I would. “Your maid of honor speech better be amazing, now that I’ve seen your writing.”

  “Ha. I’ll get right on that. I may have two of the next three weekends free.”

  “Good. You can help me finish favors.”

  I smiled faintly.

  “I still love you, you know. Even though this was a horrible friend move.”

  “I love you too. Even if I suck at showing it.” I started to say goodbye, then realized I had forgotten about Tim’s sister’s threat to not be in the wedding if I was. “Wait, what about Claire?”

  “She’s all talk. There’s no way she’d miss the chance to snub you at the wedding.”

  “Great. Something to look forward to.” I hesitated. “I know I don’t have any right to ask this, but you won’t make me walk down the aisle with Alex, right?”

  “It would be a fitting punishment.”

  “Megan, please.”

  “You’re not. You’re with the best man. You’re all at the same table at the reception though. It’d look weird if I had one bridesmaid somewhere else.”

  “Okay, that’s fine. I just—I can’t walk down the aisle with him. And I know this is what you were trying to avoid, and I’m sorry, but I can’t—”

  “How many times have you said those words today? ‘I’m sorry.’”

  “More than I think I have in my entire life.”

  “Have a glass of wine and get some sleep. It sounds like tomorrow might be a rough one too.”

  I agreed and we said good night.

  I had one last apology to send that night. I was lying in bed, where I always texted him before I went to sleep. I opened the conversation with Alex, then typed the same two words that I had been saying all day. No buts. Just, I’m sorry.

  The three dots appeared to show he was typing, then disappeared. They didn’t reappear.

  I turned my phone facedown and cried, one more time, knowing it was really and truly over.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Caryn still hadn’t returned my messages by the time I stopped crying and settled in to try to sleep Monday night. But on the plus side, I hadn’t gotten any emails indicating I would be fired in the morning, so I would take the victory there.

  They don’t give you advance warning on that anymore, Becca texted when I told her that was the good news. Prevents workplace shootings and all.

  “Thanks, Bec,” I said out loud. Great.

  I tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. And God, how I missed Alex. I hadn’t realized how much I would miss talking to him before I went to bed at night. He would have known how to make me feel better.

  When I woke up Tuesday morning, I looked in the mirror. The eyelash extensions just highlighted how red my eyes were, so I dug through the bathroom drawer for some unexpired eye drops and eventually found a bottle that still had a month left. I couldn’t walk into my own execution looking like I was high. My eyes were still glassy after the drops, but at least they were a more normal color.

  I rushed out the door and hopped on the Metro. As I passed Starbucks, I looked longingly at it, but decided not to stop. There wouldn’t be anything from Alex, and I couldn’t be late today. Coffee in the break room would be good enough.

  My keycard to enter the building still worked, which was a good si
gn. I went upstairs and put my bag at my desk. Caryn’s office was down the hall, light spilling from it to indicate she was there. Tomorrow was her last day until after her honeymoon; she was taking Thursday and Friday off to finish wedding preparations, then would be gone the following ten days.

  I squared my shoulders and walked toward the rectangle of light. I had realized, as I failed to sleep the previous night, that there was no chance I was still in Caryn’s wedding. That was why she hadn’t returned my call. And that was fine, but assuming I wasn’t fired—which was a pretty big assumption—working here would be a lot harder if Caryn couldn’t forgive me.

  “Hey,” I said, coming around the doorframe. I didn’t sit down.

  Caryn didn’t look up from her computer. “Martin wants to see you at nine thirty,” she said brusquely. Martin was the head of the entire foundation. This was bad.

  “Oh. Is he—am I fired?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t really care.”

  “Caryn—I—”

  She finally looked up. “I, I, I, I, I. That’s all it ever is with you, isn’t it?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t even say it! Do you even know how many times I’ve had to cover for you? To make excuses? To remind you about things that you should know how to do by now? Everything is about you all the time. But this? This was about me. And that wasn’t okay, was it?”

  I opened my mouth, but she cut me off again. “I don’t have time for this right now. I have to get everything ready for while I’m gone, and I don’t know if you’ll even still be here to do any of the work while I’m in Fiji.”

  “Can I come back later?” My voice was meek. I understood this was part of my penance—letting them have their say about my flaws. And so far, none of them had been wrong.

  “If you still work here? Fine.”

  I crept back to my office, listening to the clock on the wall tick out its seconds, each tick bringing the hands closer to the time I would learn my fate, each tick echoing louder, like something Edgar Allan Poe created. Tick. Tick. Tick. I couldn’t pretend to work. My mouth was dry and I took a sip from my water bottle. Tick. Tick. Tick. I finally stood on my desk and removed the clock from the wall, prying the battery out of the back with a pen.

  I glanced at my phone. It was 9:22. Ugh.