Ravita starts talking first, which means she's been practicing this.
"Before I say anything, I want you to know that I'm not angry. I'm just—I'm hurt, and I want to know why you've been lying to me for months."
“I feel like I’m losing you,” she says. “You bail on everything. You skip lunch. You’re on your phone in meetings. You left before the encore at the last show and then you didn’t come to the acoustic one at all. The RileyStickLovers account—you don’t even post anymore. You don’t even open the app.”
"I know. I'm sorry. Work has been?—"
"It's not work." She cuts me clean. "I see you at work. You’re hiding something."
She pauses. Picks up her coffee. Sets it down without drinking.
“I saw this photo recently. It was outside the theatre, the late screening. Rhonda Mars is tagged in it, and the woman she’s with—hood up, glasses, half turned away—Lena, that’s your coat. That’s the coat Marnie and I helped you pick.”
My entire body goes cold.
"That's Rhonda Mars."
I open my mouth and close it.
"Lena." Her voice cracks. "I showed you the photo of Sandy at the mall two weeks ago. You sat there with your sandwich and you said nothing. And the whole time—the whole time you knew Rhonda Mars."
This is the exit. I can taste the words:Yes, I'm seeing Rhonda. It's been three months. I'm in love with her. I didn't tell you because she wants privacy and I've been a coward.
“That’s not me,” I say instead. “Ravita, that isn’t me.”
Ravita looks hurt.
She stares at her coffee. The untouched foam is sinking.
“Okay,” Ravita says at last. “Then look me in the eye and tell me that isn’t you in that photo.”
“It isn’t me.”
She holds my gaze a long moment. I hold hers. I don’t blink.
“Right,” she says. “Okay.” She doesn’t believe me—I can see that she doesn’t—and I can see her decide not to fight me on it.
“I’m not going to force it,” she says. “But I need you to hear one thing and then I’ll drop it. Marnie and I are your friends. Whatever this is, whoever this is, we don’t stop being your friends because of it. You don’t have to protect us from your own life. That’s not what we’re for.”
I don’t say anything, because if I open my mouth I’m going to cry.
“Think about it,” she says. She stands, and on her way past she squeezes my shoulder—once, gentle, the exact opposite of what I deserve—and then she’s gone, and I’m alone.
I go home and sit on the couch, I just want to forget about everything and doom scroll on my phone.
I look at the group chat, still lighting up the way it always does.
Marnie:RILEY SIGHTING. Coffee place on 7th. She’s wearing the green beanie!
Ravita:Rebecca got a new tattoo, it’s on her forearm. Zoom in on this.
Marnie:Okay also?? Blurry, but I SWEAR that’s the Belladonnas drummer at the airport. The rivalry is officially dead. Does this mean we can talk about them now?
Ravita: okay FINE. Btw someone saw the Belladonnas bassist at a farmers’ market with a canvas tote. She looked normal. Disturbing.
I read all of it and say nothing. Again I’m invisible, right off the edge of the frame.
I mute the group chat.
