‘And it doesn’t anymore?’ she whispers.
I don’t answer, and Bee begins to cry in earnest.
It’s awkward, leaning between our two chairs, but we meet in the middle in a grasping hug.
‘It’s not all your fault,’ I say into her hair. ‘You’ve only treated me the way I allowed myself to be treated.’
‘And you really screwed me over with the apartment.’
I chuckle lightly, and she squeezes me tighter. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘That doesn’t excuse my behaviour…’ She says it a bit like a question, like she needs me to confirm it. I’m a bit giddy at the fact that the thought even crossed her mind.
‘It absolutely doesn’t. But I think it was just easier for me to live in your shadow. It was safe there. I didn’t have to ask myself any hard questions or confront any difficult feelings. I could just think about you, talk about you, do whatever you wanted.’
‘And now?’
‘I’m learning to treat myself like a person. And advocate for that person, now that I have a better idea who she is.’
‘I would love the chance to truly get to know who you are now,’ she says.
‘Are you sure? You might not even like me once you get to know me.’
‘I will,’ Bee says. ‘You’ve been kind of a bad ass for the last few months.’
‘Maybe one day,’ I say, a little rueful. ‘I just don’t think I know how to be your friend while still putting myself first. I’m hoping to learn.’
‘I can wait,’ she says. ‘Looks like I have some learning to do about how to be a good friend that’ll keep me busy in the meantime.’
‘Ask your inner child about it,’ I say drily.
‘Actually you’re right.’ Bee perks up. ‘I’ve been listening to some podcasts about it, and I talked to someone on one of those therapy apps, I’m ninety per cent certain they weren’t AI, and I think it’s all connected. Like, I keep making the same poor choices regarding men over and over and over and never learning from my mistakes. The therapist thinks I might be stuck in some limiting mindsets that keep me in a juvenile decision-making loop, so we’re going to focus on a lotof inner-child work over the next few sessions and—Shit!’ The sudden expletive makes me jump. ‘Talking about myself—it really is my default setting, isn’t it?’
I just laugh because what else is there to do?
We’re silent again. It feels like a breakup because it is. A disintegration of the longest relationship either of us has ever had. In one way it’s a formality, calling time of death on something that has long since started to rot. In another, it’s fresh. It’s painful.
Some friendships fizzle out, victims of time, location or circumstance. A slow trickle of texting, meaningless ‘let’s have lunch’ing that goes nowhere. Some end in betrayal, and there is no grey area.
We’re choosing to walk away.
It’s not normal. It’s downright unnatural. We’re taught to cling to friendships in a way that we’d never do with a romantic relationship. Friendships are different.Boys come and go, but friends are forever.But what happens when your friendship is more toxic and codependent than any romance you’ve ever had? Is that just meant to be your forever?
We’re saying no to that proposition. But it’s like eating broccoli—just because it’s good for you doesn’t make it fun. So we sit in silence, looking out over the sparkling lights of the Melbourne skyline, hands clasped desperately between us as we drink from bottles of expensive champagne we borderline stole.
As breakups go, it’s quite aesthetically pleasing.
I’m the one to crack. ‘Iamsorry about the apartment,’ I say.
She squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. I like havingthe extra space. I wasn’t really going to move any of the racks back to my room.’
‘Do you even have any guests coming to stay anytime soon?’
‘No, but it looks pretty. I got some custom wallpaper.’
‘Nice.’
My phone buzzes.
