She watched me, nodding sympathetically. This was all wrong; she shouldn’t have to comfort me. She was here, right in front of me—the exact thing I’d been wishing for since I got home. But I didn’t feel better. With a pang, I wondered if the distance between Kristen and me had been a blessing: a long and narrow but viable path toward healing. Now I felt myself sliding the opposite way like someone dragged by the heels.
“But you got through it,” she said. “And I will too. Especially now that we’re together again.” She smiled wide and then stifled a yawn.
“I’m glad you’re doing well. But you must be exhausted.” I glanced at the clock on the microwave—Aaron and I were meeting for brunch in less than an hour. “I can’t wait to catch up, but I also don’t want to keep you from sleeping.”
We were good at this—navigating each other’s bodily needs while in foreign lands, deprived of our usual routines. But she shook her head: “Seeing you is giving me a second wind. Are you up to anything right now?”
“Well, I actually have brunch plans. But we can hang out after?” So much brightness in my voice, sparkly and citrus.
“With who, Aaron?”
“Actually, yeah. I think things are going…really well.” For once, I knew what I wanted: to end this awkward reunion, to smile and feel good with Aaron, and then to try again with Kristen later, when she’d caught up on sleep, when things between us weren’t so…off. But then I made a stupid gamble, because I figured there was no way, no way she’d want to go out in public after a sixteen-hour flight and a four-hour flight and a bus ride and an Uber: “Want to join us for brunch?”
“I’m going to take a ninety-second shower,” she replied, already rising from her seat, “and then I’m yours.”
* * *
—
On the drive to the restaurant, Kristen was relaxed and chatty, jabbering about the flight, her creepy Uber driver, how her grandparents had been weird about her impromptu visit since they were trying to turn her bedroom into a workout studio and had already shunted all her things to their cabin Up North. I tried to listen, but my mind raced: Sure, Kristen had always been energetic, eager to hang out, and quick to get over things, but…but wasn’t this behavior bordering on sociopathic?
Or was it all an act and she was doing even worse than I’d let myself imagine? I should’ve felt relieved that she seemed so unperturbed, but instead I felt trapped. Her joviality baffled me—like we hadn’t buried a body a week ago, like it was all in my head. I felt weak, broken in comparison. Why was she so goddamn cavalier?
“If you’re tired, I’m still happy to take you to your grandparents’，” I said. “We can get together after you’ve gotten some sleep.”
“Ugh, no—I’m putting that reunion off as long as possible.” She turned and grinned at me. “What, you trying to get rid of me?”
Well, yes. “God, no! Just wanted to give you an out. That’s a lot of travel.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not too sleep-deprived to get a read on this new boyfriend of yours.”
She’s going to meet Aaron. What will she think of Aaron? The thought was so loud I almost zoomed through an intersection, slamming on the brakes when I registered Kristen chanting, “Red light, red light, red light!”
I’d texted Aaron while Kristen was in the shower, so when he spotted us from the restaurant’s front window his face registered delight, not surprise. He waved and I forced a grin.
“Is that him?” Kristen clutched my arm and I flinched.
Surely she recognized him. Surely she’d found him on social media—she’d found Priya, after all. “Yep, that’s the guy!” With every ounce of energy inside me, I managed to make my voice cheery.
There were handshakes and hugs, and when Aaron kissed me, heat plumed across my cheeks. A hostess led us to a spot inside a bay window. The café, a farm-to-table joint in a refurbished home, was noisy and bustling, diners speaking louder and louder to be heard over one another.
“So Emily didn’t tell me why you’re here!” Aaron scraped his seat toward the table. I leaned forward—I hadn’t gotten an answer yet either.
“Yeah, so, I got made redundant. So now everything’s up in the air. My former boss, the one here in Milwaukee from before I transferred—she’s fighting hard for them to find me another role in the company, so who knows what’ll happen. But for now, I had all these airline miles and I realized I wanted to be here. Near the people who matter to me.” She beamed a radiant smile my way.
“Woof, I’m sorry,” Aaron said.
“That’s awful! Kristen, I’m so sorry.” I felt my eyebrows stretching toward my hairline, eased them back down. “So you might be home for good?”
“I don’t know yet. It all depends. I can’t live in Australia without a work visa, obviously.”
Wow. My insides did something complicated. On the one hand, this was exactly what I’d been hoping for: I could Have It All, the new relationship and the best friend I could confide in and cry with and hug as I worked through the horror of Chile. Someone to whom I could voice my fears of being caught—speaking without censorship and basking in her confidence, her care, the way she made me feel like my most badass self.
And yet—something was off. She’d only been here an hour, but I felt it, like we were broadcasting on different wavelengths.
But it was probably just her jet lag bumping up against my insecurities. “I’m really sorry you got laid off.” I reached out and grabbed her hand. “That sucks, even though you hated that job.”
She shrugged. “Thanks. But you’re right, I did hate it. Maybe this is the best possible outcome.”
“When did it happen?” I asked. A child shrieked behind me. A pulse of paranoia: Did her boss find out what we did? Did something give us away? “You were just talking about taking a sabbatical at work.”
“I know! It just happened. So now that whole plan is up in the air.” She turned to Aaron and said brightly, “Although I don’t know why she’d even think about leaving you! Aaron, Emily only told me a tiny bit about you. You met at the coffee shop where you work, right?”
The waitress appeared, a red-cheeked teenager with her hair in a pretty French braid. She took our orders and sloshed coffee into our mugs—mismatched china on patterned saucers.
Aaron poured cream into his and two fat white dots splattered onto the table. He told Kristen the story, smiling and relaxed, and then she asked him what else kept him busy, and he good-naturedly told her about his freelance graphic-design projects, and I smiled and looked proud but internally I cringed. I felt foolish for keeping him secret for so long—how could I not see that would hurt him?
Kristen sat up straight. “So I’m sure Emily told you all about our trip to Chile.”
My fingers jolted—just enough for the glass inside them to slip through and crash to the table. Rivulets of orange juice streamed toward the table’s edges and dropped directly in Aaron’s lap. The glass rolled away and shattered on the floor, a jangly crash. We jumped up and pressed our napkins on the puddle, and a waiter rushed over with a dishrag, and the entire restaurant turned to stare at us, silent, judging.