My phone beepswith a reminder about lunch with Stella and the others at B&HDiner. It turns out the diner has always been a favorite spot oftheirs, so when they found out it was one of my favorites too, theysuggested it for my birthday lunch. With a few exceptions, I’veavoided the place over the last two years because it reminds me ofMindy and Cole, and being there stirs up an abundance ofbittersweet feelings. I’m ready to make some new memories there,though.
I glance up at theboutique’s sign, making a mental note to return after Christmas. Mygaze snags on the reflection in the window and I blink, wonderingif my thoughts have conjured up the image of the person standingbehind me.
But no. When Iturn, Mindy is standing a few feet away, frozen like an animal inthe headlights of a car. She blinks a few times and gives herself alittle shake as a smile creeps onto her face.
“I wasjust thinking about you,” she says.
I’m not sure whatto say to that. There was a time when I would have mentioned ourbrain-twin connection, but now I just say, “Hi.”
It’sbeen ages since we last saw each other, and even then it was abrief fly-by in a grocery store where we paused to exchangepleasantries.Pleasantries.As if we hadn’t once been the best of friends whoshared everything and planned to be in each other’s livesforever.
“Youlook really good, Sylvie.”
It rankles me thatshe sounds almost surprised. How does she expect me to look? Didshe think I’d fall apart like our friendship did? God, I hate thesebitter musings. I thought I was past them, but seeing her,especially on a joyful day when my defences are down, stirs up allkinds of old feelings I’d rather dismiss.
“Thanks. Well…” I force a smile and move to step around her. Imake it a few feet before she calls my name. Her tone is one I’venever heard from her before, and it makes me pause.
“Wait.Please? Can we talk for a minute?”
I turn aroundslowly, remaining where I am to keep the distance between us. I canbarely meet her eyes. In the last two years, we’ve texted a coupleof times and have had other brief run-ins like the one in thegrocery store a few months ago. Bellevue is a relatively smallcity, so it’s bound to happen. In fact, I’m surprised it hasn’thappened more often.
Every time we’veseen each other, she’s suggested we get together soon, but I thinkwe both know it’s one of those empty invitations you issue toacquaintances and have little to no intention of following throughon. And she’s proven me right every single time; she has my number,she has me on social media, she knows where I live, but I haven’theard a peep from her. After all the time I spent being the onlyone making any effort, I was simply done. It broke my heart andmade me angry for a while, but I made peace with it a long timeago.
Silencestretches between us, making me twitchy. I bite my tongue to keepfrom snapping at her and reminding hershewas the one who wanted totalk.
“I havea birthday gift for you,” she blurts. “I’ve been carrying it aroundin case I happened to see you.”
Her expressiontells me I haven’t done a good job of schooling my shock andconfusion. Among the many Facebook notifications I’ve received sofar today was one of a post from her saying ‘Happy birthday!’ witha bunch of emojis. That was it. I hadn’t expected more. In fact, Ididn’t really expect even that much. And I certainly didn’t expectto run into her and have her offer me a small, wrappedgift.
“Thankyou?” It comes out sounding like a question rather than astatement. I hold it in my fingertips, unsure whether to open it orslide it into my coat pocket. She used to bounce on her toeswhenever she gave me a gift, impatient for me to see whatever wasinside, knowing without question I’d love it because she knew mebetter than anyone.
“Whathappened to us?” she asks suddenly.
I huffout a laugh. “That’s a really good question. Whatdidhappen tous?”
Shestudies my face for a long moment. Areallylong moment; so long, in fact,it makes me want to squirm. Finally, she nods her head once anddrops her gaze. “I know it was my fault. I realize that now. Ididn’t see it as it was happening because I was so wrapped up inmyself and my new life, and…”
“Andour friendship fell by the wayside.”
Shewinces. “Yeah. It did.” She straightens her shoulders and breathesin deeply. “I’m sorry for that, Syl.Sosorry. You deserved better thanthat.We—ourfriendship, our history—deserved better than that.”
I echo hersentiment from a moment before: “Yeah. It did.”
Shewaits, as if she expects me to say more. What is there to say,though? If she wants me to tell her it’s okay, she’ll be waiting along time because it’snotokay. I pull my coat around me tighter against thedamp chill. The air smells like snow; it’s not supposed to be awhite Christmas, but I’m ever hopeful.
“Ishould let you go,” Mindy says, watching me adjust my scarf.“Maybe…maybe we could get together in the new year. For real thistime. I know I’ve said it before, and that’s on me too for notfollowing through. But I miss you, Sylvie. I’d like to catch up andsee if we can repair what I broke.”
Do I want to letMindy back into my life after all the work I’ve done to heal? Tomove on? The remorse written all over her face is something I’venever seen before. The other times we’ve run into each other, she’streated me like a virtual stranger instead of the person who usedto be like an extension of her.
“Openthe gift,” she says. She inclines her head toward the glitterypackage in my hand. “Open it. Please?”
I slide mythumbnail under the tape and pull the paper free. Mindy takes itfrom me and stuffs it in her pocket. I glance at her briefly beforeI lift the lid. Nestled in a bed of navy tissue paper is a silverchain and two small charms: a crystal snowflake, and a tiny silverbell.
“Icouldn’t decide between the snowflake and the bell, so I got both,”she says. “You could wear them separately or stick them on thechain together. Or…or not wear them at all if you don’t want to, ofcourse.”
Mindy is one ofthe most confident, self-assured people I know, so it’s strange tohear the uncertain tremor in her voice and see the sad, almostpleading look in her eyes. I want to believe she’s telling thetruth about missing me. I have to think it’s true or why would shehave bought me such a beautiful, thoughtful gift and carried itaround with her when she had no idea if she’d even see me ornot?
“I lovethem, Mindy. Thank you.” I admire them for a moment before gentlyclosing the box. “I don’t know if we can repair what’s broken. Youdisappearing from my life really hurt, and it took me a long timeto get past it. But Ididget past it. I’m a different person now, and youlikely are too.”
