I bite my cheek. “Speaking of that, I wanted to apologize again for Beth’s behavior last week. She’s, well, she’s very skeptical in general and very protective of me. I think it’s hard for her to see me getting close to another person, and I know that’s not a good excuse, but she’s been the only person who has really tried to stick by me this last year. Even so, she was really rude to you, and that wasn’t right at all.”

Anneliese nods, shifting her weight so she’s facing me. “If you want my honest opinion, I don’t think she’s looking out for you.” I blink, taken aback. I hadn’t even been sure that Anneliese caught on to all of Beth’s bitchiness, but maybe she was more observant than I realized. “She wants to keep you down, to keep you in a place where you’re defenseless, where you need her. And that’s not what true friendship is about.” She’s nearly echoing the cruel words I flung at Beth the other night, and I find myself nodding along, encouraging her to say more.

“You’ve been friends for a long time. I understand that. But during the entirety of the dinner, she never once praised you. She never even paid you a compliment. Everything was about her, or pertained to her, or some anecdote about how great her friendship has been for you. It was a little unsettling to say the least.” I think back to that evening, trying to replay the conversations in my head. But I’d been so stressed out by Beth’s attitude that I don’t even remember what we chatted about beyond the Norman Rockwell book. Maybe that in itself was a sign that what Anneliese was saying was right.

“Again, I’m not telling you to stop being friends with her. I’d never do that. I’m just telling you what I observed. She’s very full of herself, and I just don’t like to see that kind of negativity in the life of anyone I care about.” She begins to stroke my arm lightly, and I tilt my body toward her fingertips.

I think back to when Beth and I got really close, freshman year of college. Of course, we’d known each other for years through our parents. Her father, a sociology professor, had been a scholarly resource for one of my dad’s books. We’d sat through a few family dinners together, had been forced to watch movies in a back room when her parents hosted cocktail parties. But we hadn’t connected until one night I’d heard her speaking loudly and contemptuously at a pregame, about a girl she didn’t like.