For just a moment, I was back in the tiny flat I’d rented in London, listening to my best friend on the phone as she wailed, inconsolable, unable to understand why the man she’d planned on spending the rest of her life with had just left.
Same girl, same wound. Years apart.
“Like, Ky, it happened!” She cried, looking at me with an expression that bordered on desperation. “One day, he just left, and he never told me why. That happened!”
My heart clenched for my best friend, and this rare moment of total vulnerability.
She and Ben had been together for years by the time he’d left. She’d gone to work in the morning, and by the time she hadcome home, he was gone. All his stuff had been cleared out of their apartment. He hadn’t left a note, he hadn’t tried to call her. He’d just disappeared.
She’d called me immediately, even though it had been past 2 am for me in London. The only reason she hadn’t called the police was because we’d reasoned that he must be okay if he’d been able to clear his things out. Even so, Becka had phoned his parents just to confirm for herself he was still alive.
Once she’d calmed down, she was able to fully comprehend that her first love had just… left
Becka had been left devastated in a way I’d never seen before. It was like she was ground zero and he had been a bomb. In a way, she still was.
She’d taken the attitude that if he could just up and leave, she could clear him out of her life just as easily, but I don’t think she really had. I think she’d just slapped a plaster over the hole in her chest and moved on, feeling it with every step.
I’d seen the change in her. She’d always been wry. She’d always been sceptical, but since then, it had become something sadder. Now, she always expected to be proven right about a person’s bad intentions.
“I know it happened,” I said calmly
“So why won’t he talk about it?” Becka made a sound of frustration, dropping her head into her hands, shoulders hunched. My fingers twitched towards the screen before I clenched my fists, blinking to clear the burn in my eyes.
“He just kept saying, ‘what’s done is done’, and that’s not good enough for me. Even now, after all these years, marriage isn’t on the table for him.”
“Marriage?” I squeaked, “I didn’t know that was a thing you were thinking about.” Becka rolled her eyes, but it was wild, more panic than contempt.
“Yeah, that was pretty much Ben’s reaction to it, too. Like, it’s brand new information that might be something I’d expect after four years together.”
My eyebrows raised, but I held my tongue as I watched Becka look up, blinking furiously.
“He keeps saying, “it’s only been a few months,” but it hasn’t!” Her voice raised as her eyes lowered to collide with mine. “It hasn’t been months, Ky. But even if it had been,” she enunciated the words like they had personally offended her, “at what point do you decided to start considering if the person you’re in a live-in relationship with might be the person you want to commit to?”
Becka paused, and she seemed to be expecting a response.
“Is that something you want?” I worked hard to keep any judgement out of my tone.
Her jaw clenched as she looked down at her fingernails, and when she next spoke, she addressed them instead of me.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. If he’d asked me before he left, I would have said yes. It was where I thought we were going, y’know?”
This time when she looked up at me, it was like she was begging me to understand, her eyes imploring, and it made me remember all the times she’d said Ben was making her feel like she was going crazy with how he refused to talk about the way he’d left. I had wondered if she’d felt that way because she was questioning herself for taking him back, despite it all.
“I don’t know if I want to marry him,” she said, “but I do know that I deserve better than for someone to not even put it on the table for me. After four fucking years.”
I stared at her, willing my face not to say something I wouldn’t want put into words. Instead, I changed track entirely and said, “Damn right, sister. Know your worth.” Becka snorted and lowered her face. I pretended not to notice the thumb she dragged under her eyes. If she wanted me to acknowledge it, she wouldn’t have hid it.
After a moment, Becka raised her head, and I could see the metaphorical bricks she was placing in her wall, building herself back up.
Eventually, she took a big breath in through her nose, let it out slowly, and turned to me.
“I don’t want to do this again,” she said, and even if she was outwardly calm, I heard the tremor in her voice. “It was bad when he left, but this… it feels like he’s still gone. It’s like, he’s here. He’s in the kitchen or he’s working in his room. He’s physically here, but he never really came back, and I still don’t know why. I’m living with a ghost, and it’s starting to make me feel like one.”
“Becka,” I murmured, “don’t do this to yourself.”
“I’m not,” she said sharply, and then, “I won’t. I can’t. If he won’t talk about it, then its over. Whatever this is, whatever it was, or ever could have been.”
“What will you do now?” I asked.
