Ouch.

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Yes, you have.’ We haven’t actively moved away from each other, but we’re both sitting a little straighter, and there is more distance between us. ‘When was the last time you were happy?’

Before you got here. Obviously I don’t tell her that.

She asked the question kindly enough, but I almost feel ambushed. ‘I am happy.’

She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. ‘No, you’re not. You’re flailing.’ She’s on a roll now. ‘Take your job. You keep saying that you’re about to move departments, or you’re about to get promoted, but I haven’t seen it.’ I know that Mia doesn’t understand my lack of ambition, but this seems harsh. I never really thought she was paying that much attention to my work updates. Her job has always been more important and impressive and stressful than mine, so I rarely bore her with the trifling issues that come with being someone’s assistant.

‘You are not this person you’re becoming. I was so happy when you said you were going to start dating because I thought it meant that you would actually be doing more than just existing. But no! You’re flailing. You’re giving up. And you aren’t happy. You’ve been stuck in the same job for almost ten years.’ Her tone is condescending, totally unlike her. It stings.

‘I think that’s kind of unfair. Just because I’m not as career-driven as you doesn’t mean I’m flailing. Besides, I have my cards.’

‘Your cards?’

I rear up. ‘Yes, my cards. What’s wrong with my cards?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with them, Bea, but you don’t do anything with them!’

‘But I’m going to.’

‘Really? Are you? Because your track record would suggest otherwise.’

‘Well, what does my track record suggest?’ I immediately regret asking this question.

‘Your track record suggests you’re not going to do anything with them. You stay inside your comfort zone. You hide in your apartment. You never ask for anything. You never fight for anything.’

‘I do.’ Although I say this with absolutely no fight in my voice.

‘You do not.’ Mia goes from sounding angry to exasperated. I don’t know which is worse.

Some seriously heavy silence surrounds us. I know I must look like a deer in the headlights, but I am a deer in the headlights. I didn’t know this was how she saw me. I thought Mia was my friend. I would never say such harsh things to a friend. I don’t know how to react, but my body reacts for me.

I can’t help the tears that are forming, but I can stop her from seeing them.

‘I think you should go.’

‘You want me to leave?’

‘Yes.’ I’m hurt and angry and embarrassed. But I don’t want to say something to Mia that I might later regret, even if at this moment I don’t really like her very much at all.

‘Fine. I’ll go.’ She gathers up her bag and turns to me before she leaves. ‘I love you.’