Part 2 (1/2)
Instantly I was on the defensive again. ”No, Sammie, I don't.”
”I don't believe that. You were too good to give up like you did.”
I bit my lip in frustration. ”I didn't 'give up.' I wish you'd stop saying that. I met someone. I'm getting married soon.”
”Oh yeah? When's the wedding?”
”Soon!” The waitress appeared at our elbows as we stared daggers at each other. She set our drinks down nervously and fled.
”Well I hope I'm invited.” Sammie's tone was conciliatory, and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.
”Of course you will be honey! You'll be my maid of honor!”
She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow over her coffee. I tried to ignore how good it smelled. ”I don't have to be an actual maid for that, do I?”
I laughed, relieved to be falling into our old, comfortable banter. ”Yes, I have a special French maid outfit all picked out for you.”
”Oh so I'm going to be the 'French' maid of honor?”
”Absolutely. Why, did you picture something else?” I teased.
She leaned forward in mock seriousness. ”Am I carrying a bouquet?”
”Nope. Feather duster.”
”Phew!” She sagged back in her chair dramatically and I laughed again, feeling myself approaching mania. I hadn't laughed like this in months.
”Yep, I'm picturing hot pink, I just have to find it,” I continued, eager to continue our game.
She grinned. ”Don't waste your money, I already have a hot pink one.”
I burst out laughing. ”How come I've never seen it?”
Instantly her smile disappeared. I felt a cold breeze that I knew wasn't real. ”Because Em. When was the last time we got together?”
I wracked my brain. ”Not that long ago,” I protested, confused by her sudden change of mood. ”It was....” I trailed off, thinking.
She held up her hand. ”Exactly. You can't remember. But I do.” She cradled her coffee in her hand and sat back in the chair. ”It was the week after your 'holiday party.' I came and ignored all of Robert's little digs at me, and made you promise that we'd get together the next week.”
”The final shows,” I recalled, and exhaled slowly.
”Yeah, exactly,” she snapped. ”The final shows. You dropped out, but wanted to see everyone else's work. Last semester's work. Robert hasn't let you out since.”
”That's not true!”
”It isn't? So why have you been ignoring my texts?”
I squirmed. Tears were p.r.i.c.king at the corner of my eyes. I was losing it and that made me angry. I lashed out.
”Because you text me all the f.u.c.king time,” I spat. ”It's weird!”
I wanted to hurt her, but Sammie knew me better.
”Weird huh? It's weird for your best friend to text you?” She sipped her coffee and regarded me over the rim. ”Who told you that, Robert?”
”No!” I lied.
In fact it was the absolute truth. I could hear Robert's voice in my head right now, warning me that my connection with Sammie wasn't healthy, wasn't normal. On his funny days, he would laugh about her wanting to be me, how she'd kill me and wear my skin if she could. On his mean days, he just called her a crazy, man-hating b.i.t.c.h and warned me not to turn into her. I had learned to stop defending her to him and now just generally tried to avoid mentioning her at all. It embarra.s.sed me how much I treasured her texts. Like she was a dirty habit I couldn't give up.
But I couldn't say that. ”Robert's been encouraging me to call,” I continued, ”I've just been so busy!”
The minute I said that, I cringed. That lie was one lie too many. The truth was, since I left school to go live with Robert, I was desperately bored.
Robert wanted me home when he got home...and he had a very irregular schedule. Some days I waited all day and half the night for him. Other days he hung around because he 'missed me.' I could never keep appointments with people; I could never get a part time job, because then I wouldn't be there for him when he needed me. In fact, the very act of going out to lunch was setting off a flutter of nervousness in my belly. I knew he had a board meeting today, but who knew how long it would last?
And I could see by the sharp look Sammie shot me that she knew I was lying. I swallowed, ready to spin another story, when the waitress showed up with our tray.
My fruit cup was tiny. I looked hungrily at Sammie's steaming platter of eggs, smothered in rich Hollandaise sauce. I must have been staring. ”Want some Em? They're really good.”
The clamor of Robert's voice in my head made me squirm. ”No thanks, you enjoy them.”
Sammie shook her head and stubbornly spooned out a heap of potatoes onto her saucer. ”I'm just going to put this right here, you can eat it or you don't have to. But I promise I won't say a word.”
She set the plate next to my elbow. I looked at her and was startled to see her snapping eyes soften. ”What?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable.
”Em...” she trailed off. I sighed and waited for her to yell at me. I looked down and picked at my fruit. Yelling I could handle. I had absorbed my parents' anger my whole life. I was a pro at getting yelled at.
But when she didn't launch into the expected tirade, I looked up at her. She had a pamphlet in her hand and was looking down at it. ”What's that?” I asked. My stomach twisted and I suddenly lost my appet.i.te. I pushed my fruit cup away and clenched my fists.
”What is it?” I demanded.
”Emmy, honey.” She looked up at me, her bright green eyes s.h.i.+ning with tears. ”I need to talk to you. And I need you to listen.”
”I'm listening,” I spat.
”No you aren't. You want to fight me. I'm not going to fight with you.”
I felt the tears that had been gathering suddenly spill over. ”I don't want to fight Sammie, please. It's been a long time; let's just enjoy lunch, please? I don't want to fight.”
I bent my head to my fruit cup, diligently stuffing my cheeks full of melons. I felt her eyes on me, but kept mine lowered. If I didn't look at her, then I didn't have to acknowledge what she wanted to say.
”Em...”
I swirled Splenda into my tea and took a sip.
”Em, come on.”