“I like white,” she says, giving me another half smile.
It’s painfully quiet as I grab two dusty glasses out of the cabinet, give them a rinse, and then struggle to uncork the bottle. Zoe walks close to the mannequin, examining my half-built dress.
“What are you making?” she asks.
“It’s a formal dress,” I say, uncorking the wine bottle with a softpop.“If it looks okay, I might wear it to my best friend’s rehearsal dinner next weekend.”
“Camila?”
I lift the wine bottle, pouring the first glass. “Yeah. Camila.”
She keeps studying the gown. “Looks like something the Princess of Elthior might wear.”
When I glance over, Zoe throws me a wink. It softens some of the discomfort.
“Do you still write fiction?”
She shakes her head. “I only write about writers these days.”
“The New York Times Book Reviewis very impressive,” I say.
She walks over to the kitchen island, scooping up one of the glasses. “I guess we’re both just very impressive.”
We head out to the back patio, settling into chairs with soft cushions I pull out of a storage bin. The early-fall night is still that Texas brand of warm. The crisp wine sliding down my throat feels like a boost I desperately need.
My heartbeat thumps. Fast. Every one of my biorhythms is in jeopardy. There are so many ways this conversation can go, and I’m terrified of all of them.
Zoe sets her glass down on the table between us, looking equally shy. “I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to see you.”
I shake my head. “Me, too. I mean, Will mentioned you wanted to talk, but you wanted it to be in person, and I totally understood. I could have come up to New York. Ishouldhave.”
Zoe sighs, breaking into a smile. “I think we were both nervous.”
“Yeah.”
“I owe you an apology,” she says.
“Me first,” I say.
“No,” Zoe says, though she’s still smiling. She grabs her wineglass and takes a deep gulp, then looks out at my yard. “I know I don’t have to explain to you what your friendship meant to me that year.”
I shake my head. “You don’t. Because it was the exact same level of importance for me.”
“You know how people joke about an ex teaching you something valuable about yourself you carry forward into your next relationship?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say, thinking of Clay, and even of my high school boyfriend. I learned lessons from them both that have made me a better girlfriend for Will.
“I think it applies to girlhood friendships, too,” Zoe says thoughtfully. “Every friendship that came after you, I found it easier to navigate the tough spots. I learned how to talk it out. How to reason through the actions of another person. It’s helped me in romantic love, too, but it started with you. A best friend.”
She looks back at me, her expression faraway. “What I’m getting at, Josie, is I think we had to make a big mistake so we could learn from each other. And even though that’s kind of tragic, it’s poetic, too.”
I swipe a tear from my eye, struck by the beauty of her phrasing.
Lessons learned.
The pact I made with Camila comes to mind:If you ever hurt my feelings, I’ll tell you, and we’ll have a conversation about it. Same goes for you if I hurt yours. And we do our best not to hurt each other in the first place. Deal?
I was abetterfriend to Camila because I hadn’t been as good at it with Zoe. Itistragic, and itispoetic, too.
