Page 101 of More than Friends

“I’m a terrible person,” she moaned, her head hanging.

I place my hand on her back and say, “You aren’t.”

When she looks up at me, my heart cracks a little. Her face is tear stained; mascara is smudged under her eyes. “My sister announced that she’s pregnant, and all I could think is that I hate her.”

She turns quickly back to the toilet and wretches again. When she finishes, I say, “You don’t hate her.”

“It feels like I do. What kind of awful person is so bitter and jealous, she can’t be happy for her own sister.”

“I’d say most people in a similar situation.”

She leans forward and rests her head on the side of the cabinet. “Iamhappy for her. Of course I am. It’s wonderful news for them, but it just feels like the universe is rubbing it in my face. I have been working to make peace with it, and...clearly I’m not succeeding.”

“It’s understandable,” I say, softly. “It’s going to take time.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes and then she says, “Why are you being nice to me? I thought we weren’t friends anymore.”

I tilt my head back to the ceiling. “We’ll always be friends, Mags.”

“That’s not what you said at the Inauguration.”

“I was a dickhead at the Inauguration. I’m sorry.”

“Why? I don’t get it.”

“I guess we’re both hurting,” I say, softly. Her eyes scan my face. Before she can linger on that comment too long, I hop up and say, “You need to shower. I’m going to get you some food and a sports drink. Need anything else?”

“A whole bottle of ibuprofen?”

“I’m on it.” I flip on the shower before I leave the room.

She emerges an hour later in sweats with her hair wrapped in a towel. I point to the table. “Water, coffee, breakfast sandwich, ibuprofen, sports drink.”

She nods and sits down.

“What else do you need?” I ask, without sitting down.

“Nothing.” She unwraps the breakfast sandwich without looking up and then picks it up but doesn’t take a bite. “I just want to be alone.”

I’m trying to mask my disappointment, but I don’t blame her. I was a massive prick to her.

My shoulders slump. “Mags.”

She looks up at me, still holding the sandwich in front of her.

“I’m sorry.” I say.

Her eye twitches a little, and she sets the sandwich down.

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole to you. You didn’t deserve that. I feel terrible. I’ve been thinking about it for the past two months.”

She nods but doesn’t say anything – doesn’t forgive me.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

When I get back to my apartment, I slump against the door. I want to punch something, rip something to pieces. I nearly put my fist through the wall. I’m so angry for the pain she bears. I’m so angry with myself for treating her so badly.

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