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“You are.”
“Fine. I am.” I say, my fingers twisting the hem of my shorts. Untwisting. Twisting again. “I’m not ready to have my former colleagues rubbed in my face.”
“They’re your friends,” she says, sitting next to me and resting her head on my shoulder.
They were. They were all my friends and I’m no longer one of them. Tears burn behind my eyes.
“Tell me,” she says in a soft voice.
I rest my head against the top of hers and the softness of her hair is comforting. She won’t understand—she’s never understood my job or why I loved it—but she’s still my best friend and right now I need that. I need her. “I don’t belong down there.”
She takes one of my hands and clasps it between both of hers. “They’re your friends and they love you.”
“They love who I was before.”
“Timothy, you haven’t changed. Only your career.”
“I am my career!”
I tip my head back against the drawers, eyes closed, as I try to get myself under control. It’s not her fault, and I didn’t mean to shout at her. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Mina doesn’t speak. She rubs my hand between hers, and I find myself watching her do it. Her thumbs press into my flesh, but I barely feel it. The disconnect, coupled with the silence, undoes me. Words rush in to fill the space.
“They know the Timothy Foley who will do anything on a dare,” I say in a breathless rush. “The one who makes them laugh and shows them a good time. The reckless, indestructible, adventurous guy. That’s not who I am anymore. It’s like I’m in a Timothy suit and it’s the wrong size. This isn’t me. I’m…fuck.” My voice cracks. “I’m nothing. I don’t know who I am.”
“I know you.” Her voice is a whisper and I close my eyes because as great as the past two days have been, I’m still not sure she does. Or ever will.
“You were right when you told me I wasn’t paying attention,” she says after a moment. “I didn’t look far beneath the surface because it was easier to accept our friendship as it was, but I know you.” She shifts to face me. “You’ve always been yourself with me, and I’ve been lucky enough to see a side of you the rest of the world hasn’t. I’ve seen you at rest. When you take off the protective gear and just sit. You haven’t had to be this other Timothy Foley for me to love you.”
One of her hands lifts from mine to rest lightly over my heart.
I let it sink in. I don’t know. Maybe she’s right. She’s always been this calm place for me. Even now, I can feel myself settle, that twitchy, skin-too-tight feeling easing.
“I love you,” she continues when I meet her eyes again, “not because you make me laugh or because I have wild stories to tell about the shit you get up to when we’re together. I love you because you opened yourself up to me and let me come in. You made me feel safe when my world turned upside down and every day after. Your friends are the same because you do the same for them. You’ve never had to be some wild, adrenaline-seeking person. For any of us.”
This is the part she’ll never get. “I do for me.”
She’s unfazed. “You’ll find other outlets. You don’t have to figure this out today or tomorrow. You loved your job. It’s okay to grieve it, but don’t let that grief consume you. I won’t let it. You’re too important to me.”
I pull her into a tight hug, then pull her onto my lap and for a long time we hold each other until my eyes cool and dry and my heart slows to match hers. “I don’t want their pity.”
Mina shrugs. “Fine. Don’t accept any pity. But don’t let friendships you value die because it’s hard.”
That hits me. I don’t want to lose them, but it’s going to hurt to keep them. To hear the stories about their days at work. To know I won’t be a part of them. That’s the hardest part, and I’m going to have to learn to deal with it because I value these guys more than what they are.
“You’re sexy when you kick my ass with logic,” I say, nuzzling in for a kiss.
Mina kisses me back before pulling away. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. I sort of forgot.” Her cheeks go a little pink. I can guess why she forgot, so I forgive her.
I kiss her, more deeply this time, and when I stop, we’re both smiling. “We could stay in here, play with some of my toys—”
Mina laughs and climbs off me. “Go play poker with your friends. You’re a starving extrovert. It’ll feel good.”
I am an extrovert. She might be right. “Come play with us.”
She shakes her head and holds out her hands. I let her pull me to my feet.
“Okay,” I say, “if you don’t want to hustle these guys out of their paychecks, let me find something to occupy you while I take all their money.”
