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“I love you too. Now, go to sleep.”
It takes me a little while, but I do fall asleep.
Rebecca: Did you move? I dropped by yesterday and someone else answered the door.
Me: Yeah, I moved in with Trace.
Rebecca: Oh. Want to meet for lunch or dinner sometime this week?
I’ve never been hesitant to respond to a text from Rebecca before. But after she told Quinn I wanted to get back together with him and set up what could’ve effectively ended things between Trace and me, I’m not so sure of our friendship anymore. Not to mention that I haven’t even heard from her since then. Until now, of course.
Trace is already home when I come to meet him on my lunch break. He laughs when I waste no time taking off my shirt and bra for him to put that gel on me.
“It looks better today,” he tells me.
“Better is not gone,” I grumble, shivering as the cold gel is spread over my skin. He thinks that is funny as well. Once he’s done, we set about heating up leftovers for lunch. “So, I want your opinion on something.”
Trace glances over at me with a raised eyebrow. “Hit me with it.”
“Rebecca texted me.” What little smile he had is gone. “She asked if I moved, I told her yeah, and she wants to meet for lunch or something. I don’t know if I want to. Or if I should.”
“She hasn’t exactly been a good or helpful friend to you, it seems.”
“Exactly, but she was great in college. I think part of it is Dustin. I don’t like him and he changes Bec. I just don’t know at what point a person lets a friendship go.”
“When it causes more harm than good.”
“So, you think I shouldn’t go?” I ask.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do. You know her better than I do. You can give it one last shot or just not worry about it. Up to you.”
“I guess I’ll meet with her, just to see what she wants.”
“Just let me know if you’re missing dinner.”
“I will.”
When I text Rebecca back, she wants to meet tonight for dinner. I let Trace know and anxiously wait for the hours to pass. I’m not sure why I’m nervous. It’s just Rebecca. Yet I’m distracted and have to redo a couple of things at work because it was full of typos and missing words.
I’m squeezing the life out of my wrist while I wait for Rebecca to show up. She had to be late, didn’t she? Just when I’m about to give up and leave because my anxiety is starting to get out of control, she shows up.
“Sorry. Things ran late at work.”
“It’s okay.”
The waitress quickly appears to take our drink orders, but by the time she returns with our glasses, Rebecca is ready to order, so we do.
“So, you’re staying with Trace now?” she asks with a barely masked frown.
“Yeah. Rent was going up at my place and my lease was about to end, so he asked me to move in.”
“Is it actually working out?”
“Yes,” I answer curtly. “How are things with you?”
She holds out her left hand and it takes me a moment to connect the ring on her finger with what’s happened. “We eloped! I’m officially a married woman.” For the rest of dinner, I listen to her go on and on about how they eloped and even went on a mini honeymoon to the beach. Through all of this, she doesn’t ask how I am, how my anxiety and depression is, or anything about me. She doesn’t know that I’ve gotten better. She doesn’t know that my mom had a heart attack. She doesn’t know anything because she doesn’t take five seconds to ask.
“I’m happy for you, Rebecca.” And I am because she seems genuinely happy. “But what happened to your big wedding?”
