“Sure.”
I’m not lying—Idoforgive him for what he wrote. It’s the bigger picture that I’m still struggling with, but that’s not his problem to deal with. There’s nothing I can say or do that will pull a full, honest apology out of him. He’ll never know what he once was to me, so he’ll never know the extent of his betrayal.
The truth is mine alone to process.
He holds his hand out for me to shake and says, “Friends?”
That’s when I realize it’s truly over for us. In a perfect world, we could form a real friendship. A friendship on an even footing, where one of us isn’t secretly pining after the other and hoping the relationship will change. But the truth of it is, I think our relationship might have alwaysrelied on my feelings for Ellie for it to work. Without them—I’m not sure what’s there. Especially now, when the history we share exists only in my memory.
But I put my hand in his anyway.
“Friends,” I say even as I accept that I will probably never talk to Ellie again.
“Can I ask you a favor?” he asks when I pull my hand back.
“A favor?” I repeat, surprised that he has the gall to follow an apology with a request for a favor. I clock his sheepish expression. Did he apologize just to cushion the blow of whatever he’s about to ask?
He must see how taken aback I am because he rushes to add, “I want to be clear that I meant every word I just said. I really am sorry, and I really do want to be friends.”
“Okay,” I say, and then I wait.
“I just… when you get the chance—n-no rush, but—” he stutters. I patiently wait for him to get it out. He takes a deep breath, then much more clearly says, “When you get a chance, could you maybe tell Madison I apologized?”
“Why would Madison care if you apologized to me?” I say, my words slow as I struggle to process his request.
“She hasn’t told you?” he asks with a frown.
“Things have been busy. Finals and—I haven’t seen her much,” I say lamely.
No need for him to know that I’ve been actively avoiding both Madison and our shared room ever since I saw them together.
His frown deepens.
“Madison insisted on reading my story, and when she did, she pumped the brakes on us. She isn’t speaking to me and said she won’t until I realize what I did wrong and apologize.”
“Why the hell would she—” I stop speaking even as my mind continues to spin.
I’m thrown by this revelation. Why does Madison care if Ellie apologizes? She said herself that we’re not friends. But his story was enough for her to dump him? I mean, sure, Madison was always a girl’s girl—and it’s only now that I realize I probablywasn’t, not really, which, ouch—but calling it quits with a guy she likes in defense of a roommate she barely knows is going above and beyond.
And after that revelation, there’s a new one—
“You really like her, huh?”
“I really do,” he confirms. “She’s just so—well. You know Madison.”
I do. And yet I’m curious what he was about to say. She’s so… what? Because now I’m suddenly, for the first time, looking at Ellie not as my best friend and not as someone I’m in love with but as a potential partner for my once best friend.
Is he good enough for her?
I frown, because I’m honestly not sure—which is ridiculous. Why do my standards feel so much higher when I’m evaluating a person for someone who isn’t me? Why would he be good enough for me to pine after for years but not good enough for Madison to be with?
I shrug off my concerns. Madison can make that choice for herself, and by now, I realize that if I try to make her choices for her, I might accidentally steer her in the wrong direction.
“Okay. I’ll tell her that you apologized and I forgave you, but if you hurt her, I’ll—”
I have no clue what I’m going to say. I’ve never been very good at coming up with threats that feel genuine and not cartoonishly trite, but I don’t even get the chance to fumble through a pathetic attempt at a threat because Ellie’s face breaks into a smile and he cuts me off.
“Thank you so much. I promise you won’t regret this.” The words rush out of him as he swoops me up into a tight, enthusiastic hug.
