laugh. “Megan and Skye went to this dance together, which was the extent of their dating life. I wasn’t friends with either of them yet. I’m that guy in the background with his mouth hanging open and looking surprised at the flash.”
“How photogenic you are. Why did she send this? Is she sorry?”
“It takes over a week for mail to come here.” I pick up the scrapbook and run my hand across the fabric. “She sent it before our fight.”
I open it up.
The first page is a letter:
Happy Valentine’s Day, BITCH.
Okay, that was harsh.
Okay, it’s July. But it takes a few months for packages to go overseas. Or was that the Mayflower? You answer that—you’re the H.S. graduate, not me.
Truth is I didn’t really know what to make of my utter need to scrapbook. Here are some memories of us from my iPhone. I could have done this online and saved a lot of time. But my mom likes to scrapbook a lot and she bought me all of these things from some Etsy store, so here you go.
With all the love in my heart … BITCH.
Megan
If I had magic powers right now, I’d use them to stop the laughing. Each chuckle feels like betrayal, but I can’t help it. The letter’s so her. This scrapbook is so not her. I sit on the couch, and Shane takes that as a cue to leave the room. I take it page by page.
I stare at an immaculately matted picture of her car, with cursive stenciling above that reads, “Where it all started.” We’d hated each other for years, mostly because she wouldn’t stop talking over the top of every single person in History. She was a know-it-all who didn’t know shit, but she wouldn’t let anyone get a comment in. I snapped at her once, ages ago, and she held the grudge for years. I’m talking hard eye rolls when I walked into the room, glares when I passed in the hall. All for nothing, really.
It was all fine, until I needed her.
Shane comes back with a plate of mini samosas he made for us in the oven, and points to the spot next to me. “Can I join?”
I nod.
“Nice car.” He takes a seat.
“It’s hers. I usually took the bus to school, but I was finishing up designs for the yearbook one day, and had to stay super late. I’m within walking distance to school, but it would’ve been a long walk, and I was in a fucking leg cast—long story. When I left, there was only one car in the parking lot, hers. No one else in my family was answering, and I didn’t have many friends who could drive yet, so I was stuck. I asked her for a ride, and somewhere in that six-minute drive, a friendship was born.”
I turn the page, and suck in a breath. The burning starts in my eyes, and I know the tears are coming and they won’t stop once they do and—
“Um, do you need a tissue?”
—I feel myself breaking apart. Sadness tears at my muscles, and I feel simultaneously hollow and overloaded. That picture. Her dad pulling me close, smiles plastered on our faces.
“We—” I start to sob, but I pull back and force the words out. “We had just won a game of cornhole. It’s some lawn game you play in America. I don’t know if you—well, anyway, we won. Beat Megan and her mom, and took this picture. And he died. Just a few days later.”
“And you were close?”
“No, it wasn’t even that. But having your best friend’s dad die? It’s a mess. You’re sad, you’re grieving, and that doesn’t compare to what they’re feeling. You’re sad, they’re devastated, broken, losing faith, and scared. But they have to get it together in an instant. She gave the eulogy.”
A tear makes its way down my cheek.
“God, it’s hard when friendships end,” I say. Shane puts his arm around me, and I hold my breath to keep from losing it. “Let’s keep ours going for a bit longer, if you don’t mind?”
“Are you going to make up with her?” Shane asks. He nods reassuringly, like that’s the obvious choice for a lifelong friend. And it kind of is. But …
“A little perspective helps,” I say. “But this fixes nothing. You should have heard her trying to justify outing me like that. I can’t believe I kept her in my life for so long.”