What if we start avoiding each other in real life when this nightmarish, week-long sleepover is finally over, and just like that, we’re not in each other’s lives anymore?
Kim was the first person I came out to. She came with me on my first date and lurked at a table in the back of the coffee shop—a favor I returned on her first date to a Nando’s. She’s the person I dragged out to orchestra classes with me every Saturday morning when we were in school because I didn’t want to go on my own, even though she’d sit reading or on her phone the whole time. She helped me dye my hair red when we were sixteen and got her belly button pierced with me when I got my first helix piercing. She’s the person who came to a Jonas Brothers concert with me last year, because even as an adult I’m a die-hard fan, and who’s always been on the other side of the phone to offer advice and reassurance when I’m having a relationship crisis (which is more often than I’d care to admit).
So what if she’s been an utter bitch with all the wedding planning?
I know that’s not who she is.
I really, really don’t want to lose her.
“Knock-knock?”
I jump, pulling out my earphones and twisting around as I’m joined on the balcony.
Pausing the video I was watching, I hug my phone to my chest as Kim steps outside.
“Brought you some tea,” she says, rather unnecessarily, given that she’s holding two mugs. She passes me one of them over and then slides the door shut before taking a seat. “Addy’s making pasta for dinner. Chicken and pesto. She said she found some garlic bread in your freezer, too, if you don’t mind us using it.”
“Yeah, sounds . . . sounds good.”
We both sit in silence for the longest of minutes. I watch clouds creep by, and some people pass on the pathways below. I listen to Kim as she keeps taking big breaths, ready to say something, and every time, letting it back out—quiet and shaky and defeated.
We cave at the same time.
“Kim, listen—”
“Liv, I didn’t—”
We both fall silent, and both try again—still at the same time.
“I shouldn’t have said—”
“I really didn’t mean—”
Kim falters when I stop talking to let her finish, and her lips twitch before breaking into a nervous smile.
It’s like a weight off my shoulders, seeing her smile: I know all is forgiven.
On her part, at least.
“I really am sorry,” I say. “I know how stressed you’ve been about the wedding, especially with all . . . all this going on.” I sweep my hand in an all-encompassing gesture out at the view.
“I honestly didn’t mean to upset you so much, saying it might all have to be, um . . . ”
Kim crosses her legs and slumps in her chair. Her usual curls have turned into one big, frizzy mess. There’s still a smudge of black under her eyes where she hasn’t quite managed to scrub off yesterday’s mascara, after all the crying. Her face is puffy and pale, her green eyes bloodshot.
But, at least, she’s smiling, one corner of her mouth twisted up.
“No, you—you were totally right. I have been a bridezilla. And a total bitch too. Not just last night, or this week, either, but I . . .
I think it’s kind of hit me, lately, you know? Don’t get me wrong, I love Jeremy, and I absolutely want to marry him—it’s just . . . this is it, now. One guy, for the entire rest of my life. I’m the first of all our friends to settle down, and sometimes I think his sister and his parents don’t even really like me or like I always have to try so hard to impress them, and it’s all just felt like so much.”
She takes a deep, shaky breath, and tells me quietly, “Jeremy said maybe it was a good thing. If it all got pushed back.”
“Addison, she, um . . . I—I mean, Lucy said something about, uh . . . ”
“Figured she’d tell you guys eventually, the way this week’s going,”
Kim mutters. She rubs her knuckles into her forehead, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “I was texting him about it yesterday. He said it’d be a relief if it got postponed because he knew how stressful it has all been, and it’d be good for us to have a break from all the wedding stuff, and . . . I guess it’s just because I can’t talk to him, really, or see him, you know?”
She turns on me, her eyes watering, and I’m honestly astonished she even has any tears left to cry at this point. Sniffling, she wipes her nose on the back of her hand.
“That must be hard,” I say, sympathetic as any best friend can be.
“Especially when you guys have barely spent any time away from each other since you got together.”
“I just got so in my head after he said that yesterday, thinking, what if he meant we’d made a mistake, agreeing to get married? What if he regretted proposing to me, or he was changing his mind? What if the idea of spending the rest of his life with me was finally hitting him too?”
“Oh, Kim, I’m sure that’s not what he meant.”
I reach over, squeezing her arm, and Kim grasps my hand in hers, sniffling again. “Yeah, I—I know, but . . . I knew if I said it out loud yesterday it’d sound so stupid—or worse, I was worried you guys might all think that was what he meant, and . . . and then you brought up postponing the wedding and there was all that stuff the other day about the plus ones and I know you’re mad at me for that, too, and I just—God, I’m such an idiot. And I’ve been so bloody horrible, especially to you.”
“Just a little.”
“I’m so sorry, Liv. I’m the worst best friend ever. I never should have—”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I honestly didn’t mean to out you to Addison and Lucy like that last night either. I didn’t mean anything I said, about you being bitter or growing old alone, or anything.”
“I don’t think you said anything about me growing old alone,” I tell her, and Kim flushes before she realizes I’ve seen the funny side in it.
“I am sorry, Liv. I feel awful about it. Especially because Addison likes you, and it’s obvious you like her, and—”
“Wait. Wait. She what?”
Kim’s eyes light up and I just know she wants to gossip all about it, ask me a thousand questions, tell me a hundred and one things about Addison, but she reins it in quickly, saying instead, “You’re so oblivious sometimes. It’s been worse than that time I kept dropping hints I wanted the Chanel perfume for Christmas but you got me a blender instead.”
“I thought you liked that blender.”
“It’s a wonderful blender, Liv, but that’s not the point. Addy’s been flirting with you all week, you know. What did you think she was doing, making a show of parading around in your T-shirt?”
Despite the tone of our conversation, I indulge in the gossiping for a second, thinking back. I immediately know Kim’s talking about Tuesday morning, when Addison had run out of clean shirts so borrowed one of mine and came striding into the living room plucking at the shoulders of it, looking at it so critically and saying, “Hey, Livvy, you must have a really great set on you. Look at me! I’m drowning in this!”
She’d demonstrated the too-big neckline, letting the T-shirt hang off one shoulder, posing around the room.