She winced. “You,” she admitted. “Everything you bring with you. History. Meaning. The way you look at me like you still see the girl who used to trust you with everything.”
The words hit like a quiet punch. “I’m not asking for anything,” I said. “I’m asking for an hour. A table. A restaurant.Food, drinks, whatever. You don’t have to trust me with the whole story. I want to sit with you while you drink coffee and pretend you’re okay. I’ll pretend right along with you if that’s what you need.”
She laughed, small, shaky. “You’re making it sound so easy.”
“It can be easy. It used to be.”
She looked away, jaw tight, and I saw it clearly then, the way she was bracing, like letting me close would crack something open she couldn’t afford to let break. Her car had come back into view at the far end of the lot, parked where she’d left it outside Violet’s, and I watched her clock it the way people clock the exit in a room they’re not sure about.
“I can’t,” she said again, softer. “Not today.”
I nodded because pushing would only drive her further away. “Okay.”
She reached out, hesitant, fingers brushing my arm. “Thank you for asking,” she said. “Really.”
“You don’t ever have to thank me for wanting to be near you,” I told her.
Her throat worked. She smiled like she was trying not to feel the weight of everything hovering between us. She looked down at the smoothie in her hand like she’d only just remembered it was there, took a slow sip, and something in her face went briefly, quietly still—just a second of not managing anything, not bracing for anything. Just cold and sweet, and someone taking care of her without asking anything back.
“You make it very hard to keep saying no,” she said.
“I’m not done asking,” I said lightly. “I want my best friend back, Becca. Even if we go slow. Even if it’s only coffee.”
She met my eyes, something raw flickering there before she tucked it away. “We’ll see.”
We walked side by side, not quite touching. The sidewalk was narrow enough that it would have been easy, accidental even,but she kept her arms close, and I kept mine, and the few inches between us felt like a decision we were both making in real time. Her heels were quiet on the concrete. Somewhere down the street, a car idled at a light.
At the corner, she stopped, looking out at nothing in particular. I stopped with her.
We stood there for a moment—just a moment—and I let it sit without filling it. She had a habit of saying things in the silence if you didn’t rush her. Always had.
Whatever she was going to say, she didn’t.
She stepped back toward her car and reached for the door handle at the same moment I did. Her fingers brushed mine—just the lightest graze, barely anything—and she pulled back quickly, breath catching in a way she probably hoped I didn’t notice. I did. I noticed everything when it came to her, that was the whole problem, had been the whole problem for longer than I had any right to admit. I held her gaze for just a second, then opened the door without making anything of it.
She climbed in. I kept my hand on the top of the door frame, not closing it yet. Just standing there looking at her the way I always told myself I wouldn’t. She was tired and a little windswept, and she still had the smoothie cup balanced on her knee, and she was the most important person I’d ever known, and she was about to drive away, and there was nothing I could do about any of it except stand here and let her.
She looked back up at me. Whatever she was thinking moved through her eyes too fast for me to catch, but it was something. It was enough to make my chest ache with the specific, familiar pain of almost.
“Drive safe,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended.
Something crossed her face. Soft and unguarded, just for a second. “I will.”
I closed the door gently. Like, if I did it carefully enough, it didn’t have to mean goodbye.
She pulled away slowly, and as she reached the lot exit, she glanced back at me through the window, lifting her hand in a small wave that felt more final than it should have. I stayed where I was until her car turned the corner and disappeared. The smoothie cup was still cold in my hand. The lot was quiet and grey around me.
I stood there a moment longer than I needed to, looking at the empty space where she’d been.
Then I turned and walked back the way we’d come, hands in my pockets, the afternoon settling around me like something unfinished.
I stood there long after her taillights disappeared, the echo of her touch still burning on my arm.
She wasn’t fine. She was jumpy, guarded, scanning corners like she expected trouble to step out of them. And she wouldn’t let me in.
I stayed still until the street went quiet again, until the normal sounds of Sweetbriar swallowed the silence she left behind.
I exhaled slowly and turned toward Violet’s. The bell chimed as I stepped inside to the scent of cinnamon, coffee, and warmth. Violet looked up from behind the counter, pencil tucked behind her ear, and smiled. Then paused, really looking. She studied me exactly as I had studied Becca only moments before.
