We Were Never Here(49)
My stomach plummeted. I lunged around the table and wrapped her in my arms. “Kristen, listen to me: I don’t hate you. I don’t. I wasn’t…I’m not calling you a monster, I’m not saying it’s all your fault.” I rested my cheek against the top of her head. Her hair smelled autumnal, like sunflowers and scalp.
“It’s not fair.” Her voice was so watery, I could barely make out the words. “When you were the one who was attacked, we did what we had to do, period. But now that it’s me, suddenly you’re…” She trailed off.
My guts twisted. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. You’re right.” A tear rolled off my cheek. “But I wasn’t fine after Cambodia either. And I’m not fine now. You’ve been so calm, like nothing happened. Like we didn’t experience this majorly traumatic thing. I was starting to, I don’t know, question my sanity or something. Like we were on totally different pages.”
“Well, I’m not fine! Clearly.” Her trunk shook with sobs. I could feel relief sweeping through me, prickly sweet, like Champagne.
So Kristen felt everything too. Kristen was also steeped in guilt and horror, scrabbling through the days just like me. Her calm confidence, that dismissive air—I saw now that it wasn’t gaslighting; it was her being strong for me, because she felt responsible. How unfair would it have been for her to quiver and quake and confess to me that she thought we’d both be caught, when it had been her attacker, her hand around the wine-filled weapon? She had no choice but to reassure me. Suddenly the weight of how I’d been treating Kristen clobbered me. Kristen, an assault survivor, no less.
We cried together for a few seconds, then sat up and let the sobs turn to shy laughs.
“We’re okay?” I asked.
She nodded and wiped her eyes. “We’re okay.”
“And, Kristen, thank you so much for making this trip happen. And the whole treasure hunt, obviously. I’m sure it took a lot of work on your part. It’s magical being up here and I’m—I’m so glad to be here with you.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m glad we’re here too.”
I glanced beyond her. “Should we finish putting the food away?”
“We definitely should.” Kristen giggled again, the sound wet and rickety, and as I headed for the fridge she fitted an album in the old record player, and as Fleetwood Mac lashed its way into the living room, Kristen danced over to me, and as we sang along with the chorus, crooning into the walls of our big pine box that we could still hear you saying you would never break the chain, something popped between us like a cork, and in its place rushed sweet relief.
* * *
—
Later that night, our bellies full, we sat on Grandpa’s Pier and watched the sun sink behind the tree line, painting the clouds orange and red in a final hysterical blaze. I was so relieved, I kept tearing up: Finally, finally, my psyche had stopped yanking away from Kristen, my oldest, purest friend. We sipped our beers as the water turned to oil, then became too dark to see. But I could hear what I could no longer view—waves percussing the dock’s metal legs, the lonesome warble of a loon, bullfrogs like plucked strings on a bass guitar.
“Oh, I have something for you.” Kristen’s voice skimmed over the water, a puck on a rink.
“More surprises?”
“Just me being cheesy.” She pulled an envelope from the pocket of her hoodie. I shined a flashlight on the card inside: a pretty, painted flower motif, HAPPY BIRTHDAY visible in the corner.
Dear Emily,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! It’s hard to believe we’ve been friends for 10+ years. I can’t imagine my life without you—in a way, I guess I owe those douchebags in our Stats 101 class a thank-you. I’m so proud of the smart, strong, independent woman you’ve become. And I count myself so lucky that, after 2 years apart, we’ll finally live in the same city again!
I’ve been thinking back to those late nights when we’d sneak out at 4 or 5 am and splash in the water and then watch the sunrise over Lake Michigan together. Remember that? When we’d feel like we were the only ones awake in the whole world. When we’d feel like not just Evanston but the entire world was ours. When we would dry right off—perfectly, boldly ourselves.
XOXO,
Kristen
PS If you ever forget how amazing you are, you know who to call. Because I never, ever forget, and I’d be honored to count the ways.
PPS Last line of the day, promise!
“Aw, Kristen!” I stood to wrap her in a hug. “This is super sweet. It’s been a great birthday.”
“Even with the surprises?”
“If surprises get me to paradise, then sure.”
Out on the water, a fish jumped, bloop. “I was thinking about how it felt at Northwestern—like we were in our own little world,” she said. “Figured it was time to bring back the riddles.”
“Clever. And hey, I’m glad to enter my thirties with a reminder that we’re huge nerds.”
We watched distant headlights curve around the far side of the lake.
“I’m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes,” I announced, and she followed me inside.