For a moment she stared at me, lips taut, pink emerging on her cheeks like a Polaroid developing. Then her nose quivered, catlike, and glassy tears dripped.
“Oh, Emily.” She cupped her hands over her face and dropped into a kitchen chair.
Whoa. “Kristen, hey. You’re not alone in this.”
“Aren’t I, though?” She pulled a napkin from the holder and blew her nose, a long, ducklike honk. “You don’t even— I don’t know what you want me to do. How I’m supposed to act. I can’t go back in time and do things differently, Em. I can’t make it all go away. And the way you look at me ever since then—the way you’re looking at me now, like I’m a monster, like the sight of me makes you sick. It was an accident. I never meant for it to happen the way it did. I hate myself, Emily. I hate myself for putting us through that again, and you hate me too.”
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.
I hadn’t looked at my phone in hours, but when I did, it couldn’t find cell service. “Hey, Russell said I should be on email tomorrow,” I said. “Do we have to drive somewhere for Wi-Fi?”
“No, we have a thingie now. A hotspot.” She ducked into the hallway, and I heard her fumbling through plastic. She returned and tossed the gadget my way. “But we only get a limited number of gigs a month. So you can’t stream a movie or anything.”
I waited for it to connect, then sifted through all the birthday wishes. There was a peculiar note from Nana, sent only to me:
Dear Emily,
How are you doing at the lake? I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. Kristen has been acting a bit strange lately. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.
That was alarming enough, but then another email, one from less than an hour ago, made my vision swim. A discordant hum whooshed in my ears, shrill and wrong, like the sound of an orchestra tuning up.
It was also from Nana, and it was sent to Kristen and me.
“This is why I think you’re so brave with all your travels,” it read, followed by a URL. I tapped the link with a shaking finger.