Big Summer(27)

“You don’t even want to give her a chance? You don’t want to be the bigger person?” The stiff line of Darshi’s shoulders, plus her silence, gave me her answer. “Look, I’m not denying that she’s been awful. But if you’d seen her…”

Darshi turned, arm extended, one small hand held out, palm flat; a traffic cop insisting on stop. “I know Drue,” she said. “I’ve known her longer than you have. She was my friend first.” Her voice was quiet. She sounded calm and eminently reasonable as she sat down on the couch, tugging the cuffs of her sweatshirt down over her wrists. “I know her, and I know you. You are susceptible to Drue Cavanaugh. She’s your Kryptonite.” Darshi’s voice was dangerously soft. “And you might be hashtag-strong-woman on the Internet. Even in real life, sometimes. But mark my words. She’s going to hurt you. And I’m done with being her first runner-up. If she fucks you over again, I won’t hang around to pick up the pieces.”

That was when I knew how seriously she was taking this. I could curse casually, could let out a loud “Motherfucker” if my hot glue gun burned my fingers or a hearty “Goddamnit” when I found my freshly dry-cleaned cashmere wrap in Bingo’s dog bed. Not Darshi.

“She won’t.” I was promising myself as much as Darshi. “I won’t let her.”

Darshi took off her glasses, breathed on one lens, and began rubbing it clean with her sleeve.

“I mean, maybe Drue hasn’t changed, but I have. I’m not the same as I was in high school. Right?”

Darshi exhaled onto the other lens.

“Right?” I asked again. Before she could answer, or say that I was wrong, I began to make the case. “I’m more confident. I’m more secure. I’m more comfortable in my own skin. And that’s not all just faked for Instagram.” Just considerably amplified. “I know who I am, and I know what I want. I’m not going to be—”

“Ensorcelled?” Darshi said without looking up. “Beguiled?”

“Used,” I said.

Darshi gave me a long, level look before putting her glasses on, hooking each earpiece precisely over its corresponding ear. I wondered what she was worried about: if it was Drue hurting me again, or if it was Drue taking me away from her.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my own voice gentle. “Look. I didn’t listen to you the first time you tried to warn me. I’m listening to you now.”

Darshi didn’t respond.

“Just because I’m doing this, it doesn’t mean I’m going to forget what she did. And, really, if I can forgive her, that’s kind of a gift I’m giving to myself, right? Isn’t that what people say?”

Darshi frowned. “Which people are these?”

I shrugged, hearing Drue’s voice in my head. I don’t know? My therapist? Oprah? “Just people. And look,” I said, “there are worse things than spending a weekend around a bunch of hot groomsmen. You realize that of all the sex I’ve had, most of it was with Wan Ron?”

Darshi smiled a little at my ex-boyfriend’s name, the way I hoped she would, before her face closed up. She tugged at her sleeves again and picked up her mug. Without looking at me, she said, “You do whatever you want. On your head be it.”

“On my head be it,” I repeated. Darshi got to her feet, walked to her bedroom, and closed the door almost noiselessly behind her. Bingo, who’d seated herself at my feet, looked up hopefully, perhaps sensing that the conversation had come to its end and that, to signal its conclusion, I might be willing to part with a rawhide Busy Stick, or an Alpine Yum-Yum. Her stump of a tail made a shushing noise on the floor as it wagged.

“Come on,” I said. I was reaching for the treat box when Darshi’s door swung open.

“And keep her away from me,” she said, speaking each word distinctly, her voice hard. “You can do whatever you want. But I can’t make any guarantees for my own behavior if I ever have to see Drue Cavanaugh’s face again.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “You won’t. I promise.”

For a moment, she stayed silent. “Can I ask you something?” she finally said.

“Sure.”

She went quiet again, silent for so long I wasn’t sure she was going to ask anything. “Was it worth it?” she finally said.

Was it worth it? In the years we’d lived together, Darshi had asked very little about Drue, and I hadn’t offered any information, figuring that she didn’t want to know. Obviously, I’d been wrong. A part of her did want to know the details, to hear what I’d had that she’d missed. The obvious answer would have been a hearty “No, it wasn’t worth it,” a firm headshake, an apologetic smile, a loud and inclusive lament about how badly Drue had treated me and how foolish and shallow I’d been and how Darshi was my true best friend.

But that wouldn’t have been honest. And if Darshi wanted to know the truth, I had to give it to her.

“Not always,” I said. “Not even most of the time. Not when she was ignoring me, or when I knew she was making me do her dirty work. Or, you know, humiliating me online.” I winced, remembering how I’d worn an unfortunate sweater, fluffy and white, and how Drue had posted a picture of me next to a picture of a llama. What are you so mad about? she’d asked when I’d called her up and demanded she take it down. It’s funny! Can’t you take a joke?