Bloody hell, her eye bags could have their own zip code. I will absolutely not say that out loud. She’s balancing a mug in one hand and a book, “Your Baby’s First Year: For Dummies” in the other. She spots me, closes the book extra slow, places the mug on a coaster even though it’s empty, and gives me that look.
That look could peel paint.
“Didn’t die in an art avalanche, I see,” she deadpans, voice bone dry. “Pity.”
“Hi, best mate I have in the entire world,” I say, sliding onto the ottoman in front of her. “I have come bearing gifts and heartfelt apologies.”
She lets out a humourless laugh. “You missed friend day, Eden.”
“I swear I meant to show, but I got tunnel vision. But I brought this.” I hold up the envelope with a flourish,hoping she doesn’t take it as a challenge to kill me by a thousand envelope related paper cuts.
Her face does a complicated thing: the corners want to smile, but the centre is pure suspicion. “What’s in there?”
“A bribe, clearly.”
She takes it. “Spa passes?”
“Courtesy of Mum.” I lean in, lowering my voice. “The plan is for you and me to ditch both our families for the entire afternoon. Today. Last minute carpe diem kinda thing. I’m not leaving until you say yes.”
She stares at me, arms folded. “Meena’s borderline feral today. Todd’s about to have a breakdown. I’m still wearing what I slept in. You do realise what the word newborn means, right?”
Okay, so Mum didn’t get her to dress at all. No worries, I’m sure she tried.
I glance solemnly toward the baby’s wailing, which battles with her father’s desperate harmonies. “I do. This is a rescue mission. For both of us. But mostly for you.”
There’s a small, dangerous smile now, trying to win territory on her face. “And you think my second mum will just let Todd crash and burn?”
Ilovethat she sees my mum as an adopted parent. Ihatethat her own parents are so shit.
“Already coordinated with Mum. Operation Unload Baby is a go.” I point at my phone. “She’s on bottle duty, Dad’s got diapers, I’m the designated getaway driver.”
I sound ridiculous, but the silliness is working.
She sets the envelope aside and props her foot on my knee. “You suck.”
“I know.”
She sighs. “Forty-five minutes. I have to…look like a human again.”
“I’ll time you.”
She stands, shuffles toward the stairs, then doubles back and sock-slaps the back of my head. “Don’t ever disappear on me again, Eden.”
I let her go, still feeling the zing of her affection disguised as aggression.
I set a countdown timer for forty-five minutes and retreat to the kitchen, where Mum is already wrist-deep in a mixing bowl the size of a bathtub. She doesn’t look up when I sneak in, just mutters, “Nice recovery, superstar,” and gestures at a plate of slightly burned lemon squares cooling on the counter.
I grab two, even though the citrus aftershock always makes my left eyelid twitch. “You realise you’re aiding and abetting an abduction?” I say through the cake.
Mum shrugs, licking a spoon. “She needs you. You need her. Todd will survive. We won’t let anything happen to him or Meena.”
I rest my head on her shoulder, careful not to drop crumbs down her shirt. “I really did mean to be there for her. I just…got carried away.”
This time, she puts the spoon down and turns to look at me properly. “It’s not a crime to get lost in your own life, Eden.” She taps the counter for emphasis. “But you are her best friend. She just wants to know she’s still a priority.”
As if on cue, Meena howls from the next room. Todd barks something about projectile spit-up and there’s a general clatter of objects falling. Mum wipes her hands and heads in, while I loiter in the cool, lemon-zested silence of the kitchen, thinking about what it means to be someone’s best anything.
Pia emerges from the bathroom exactly forty-four minutes and fifteen seconds later, and she’s a miracle of dry shampoo and waterproof mascara. She’s swapped sweats for jeans, then a battered Newcastle United tee, which I brought back from the UK years ago. For some inexplicable reason, she supports the team. She’s also sporting a denim jacket that predates our friendship.
