I did this.
I made her feel unheard. Dismissed. Like her gifts—the intuition she’s spent her whole life developing, the way she knows things—didn’t matter. Like she didn’t matter.
Fifteen years. We’ve been best friends for fifteen years.
And I might have just destroyed it because I was too scared to believe in ghosts.
“Okay.” I say it to the empty loft. To Alex’s plants. To whoever the fuck might be listening. “Okay, I get it. I fucked up. I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I’m SORRY.”
Nothing.
“What do I have to do? Light some sage? Draw a fucking summoning circle? Give me something here because I’m?—”
My voice cracks.
I’m spiraling. Alone. In pajamas. On a Saturday morning. While my best friend is at her brother’s place probably telling him what a terrible person I am.
Which I am.
Which I deserve.
I need to apologize. Not to ghosts. Not to Dahlia. Not to the universe.
To Alex.
But first... a gift.
“Because that’s what emotionally stunted people do, right?” I announce to the plants. “When we can’t handle feelings, we throw money at the problem. Very healthy, Dylan. Very mature. Alex would be so proud of this personal growth.”
One of the ferns looks judgmental.
“Fuck it. I’m getting her a gift AND apologizing. That’s called multitasking.”
I grab my phone off the counter, my keys, my winter coat. I’m out of the loft in under three minutes, still in sweatpants and a hoodie, my hair in yesterday’s bun.
Alex would die if she saw me like this in public.
But Alex isn’t here.
Six
The 57 buslurches down Market while I practice the apology under my breath.
“Alex, I’m sorry. No, wait—” I clear my throat quietly.
The guy next to me shifts away. Probably thinks I’m on the phone. I’m not. Just a woman talking to herself. Very cool. Very sane.
“Hey Alex. So. I fucked up.” I shake my head. Too casual. She’ll think I’m not taking this seriously.
Try again.
“Alex, I need you to know that I—” No. Too formal. Like I’m deposing a witness.
The bus stops at 15th. I transfer to the El, finding a seat in the back where I can keep muttering without too many witnesses.
“I’ve been a terrible friend and you deserve better.” I test the words. They taste true but insufficient. Like admitting you broke a vase when you actually burned down the whole house.
A woman across from me raises an eyebrow.
