We Were Never Here(47)
I sent Aaron an apology for pushing back our plans, and he replied with a run of “Have fun!” texts—he was either fine with my ditching him or faking it well. At first it seemed odd that he’d given Kristen his blessing, but then I realized he didn’t have much of a choice: Could the brand-new boyfriend really say no to the best friend since college? Kristen had turned on men for much less.
Like Colin. I hadn’t felt as strongly about him as I did Aaron, but I’d liked him in that zippy, belly-butterflies way, and found myself mentally crocheting our coupledom into the future: spring picnics, summer weddings, hayrides and pumpkin patches, elegant holiday parties. I’d introduced him to Kristen, excitedly, and she’d seemed to like him too.
Until he and I had our first fight. It was over text, and while other friends to whom I’d sent the screenshots told me to give him the benefit of the doubt, Kristen had taken a very different stance: “Oh, hell no.” Though her proclamations stung, I’d felt grateful for the lack of pussyfooting and soothed by her solidarity; after all, if the roles were reversed, she’d want me to give it to her straight. And so I’d ended things with Colin. Confident it was the right call, because she’d never steered me wrong. But now…
I opened my texts, tilting my screen away from Kristen in what I hoped was a nonchalant lean, and for the first time in years I pulled up my final exchange with Colin. My eyes widened as I reread it: Was that what it had always said? Colin had asked if we were still on for drinks, with some cute emojis, and I’d unthinkingly said I was too swamped with work. He’d replied with sad faces, some frustration that I hadn’t given him more warning (Why didn’t I give him more warning?), and I’d disappeared for ten minutes—I could picture it now, polling friends, crowdsourcing my next move, my heart thrumming like a hummingbird—and then I’d replied with a weirdly formal text: “Colin, your anger and lack of respect for my time are unacceptable. Please don’t contact me again.”
Now my cheeks flushed as I scanned his shocked, confused replies. I’d felt so confident sending that, using Kristen’s suggested language almost verbatim. In hindsight, I’d sounded like…well, I hated the sexist term, but I’d sounded like a crazy bitch.
Abruptly, the rolling fields yielded to dense woods, so we were tunneling through the trees. I looked at Kristen and took a deep breath. Relax, Emily. Maybe I was still remembering wrong. Maybe there was more context, more telltale signs of possessiveness than the text transcript showed—it’d been five years, after all.
And hey, this was exactly what I’d wanted: uninterrupted time with Kristen, the chance to reconnect, to discuss all the things we’d shoved under the rug from Chile and Cambodia. Plotting a treasure hunt, involving my friends, planning a weekend away—it was all so kind, so selfless, so Kristen. So why did I feel so uncomfortable? The satellite radio cut out, dropping the pop song Kristen was singing along to. She lifted her phone from the console.
“Here—cell service is gonna go in and out, too, but I have a ton of music downloaded.” She held it out. “DJ’s choice.”
I was perusing artists when a text came through, a flash of green and jolt of vibration, so that I couldn’t help but read it. I stared at it in confusion and felt my pulse ticking in my hands and ribs. It was from someone Kristen had put in her phone as Cindy Broker:
Kristen: Congratulations, Grand Management Services has approved your application for 450 Parkland Lane #2. When would you like to come into the office to sign the lease?
450 Parkland Lane. I knew exactly where that was.
I passed the For Rent sign every day.
It was a block and a half from my apartment.
CHAPTER 20
“You just got a text,” I said. “From your…broker?”
“Oh my God, what’d she say?”
I read it aloud, then looked over. Kristen was beaming as we whipped around a curve.
“I didn’t want to tell you until it was final,” she said, “but I’m officially moving back!”
“Whoa!” I stared out the windshield. On the side of the road, a cloud of flies furred a flattened raccoon. Eventually I shook my head. “So your old boss wasn’t able to get you into another department?”
“Y’know, I realized I’m done with Sydney.”
“Wow.” I snatched my water bottle from a cup holder. “What are you gonna do for work?”
“Well, now she’s trying to figure out a way to bring me back into the Milwaukee office!” Kristen flashed an openmouthed smile my way, like this was amazing!
“Wow,” I said again. Sudden sunlight tore into the windows; the trees here were snapped in half, all jutting out the same way. They looked like broken bones.
“Tornado,” Kristen said, following my gaze. “Last summer. Hundred-mile-an-hour winds.”
“Jeez.” I looked at her. I was happy, truly, but not in the uncomplicated way she was. I so desperately wanted to match her excitement level. I wanted to sit my emotions down and bully them into compliance. “I can’t believe you’re moving back!”
“I’m ready for a change. I did almost two years in Australia. People don’t understand how far it is from everything. Even Asia is, like, fifteen hours away.”