BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Friends
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. 31
  6. 14
  7. 31
  8. 14
  9. 31
  10. 14
  11. 31
  12. 14
  13. 31
  14. 15
  15. 31
  16. 16
  17. 32
  18. 16
  19. 32
  20. 17
  21. 32
  22. 17
  23. 32
  24. 17
  25. 32
  26. 17
  27. 32
  28. 18
  29. 32
  30. 18
  31. 32
  32. 18
  33. 32
  34. 18
  35. 32
  36. 18
  37. 32
  38. 18
  39. 32
  40. 18
  41. 32
  42. 18
  43. 32
  44. 18
  45. 32
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. 33
  49. 33
  50. Acknowledgments
  51. Discussion Questions
  52. Booklist

She smiled, and, in her eyes, I could see she felt it too. “Hi. I’m Jessica.”

31

now.

“Wow, Jessica.” My chair screeched as I pulled it back and sidestepped the table to hug my old friend. “Oh my God,” I kept saying. “Oh my God, oh my God. It’s been years.”

I felt her thinness as we hugged, the gaps between her body and her coat that scrunched as our torsos collided.

She laughed into my shoulder. The exact same gravelly laugh she’d always had, plunging me down a hundred memory wormholes. “Surprise!”

I laughed too, mostly in disbelief, as we released the hug and I perched on my table, taking her in. “It’s so crazy that you’re here.”

“It’s OK, isn’t it?”

“Of course. It’s just... I’m so shocked. It’s been years, Jessica.”

What the hell was she doing here? It had been over a decade. She laughed again behind her hand, and the gesture located and unlocked another dormant memory. Jessica always laughed behind her hand as she thought her teeth were too pointy.

“Mad, isn’t it? We’re in our thirties. Thirties! And, oh my God, Fern,” she gestured to me with her dainty hands. “Look at you. Look at all this. I’m so proud.”

She was here. In my life, saying she was proud, like nothing had happened. It was so jarring to see her, and yet her presence also felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like finding an old, forgotten pair of shoes that you hadn’t worn in years. She’d aged a decade in a moment, and I drank in her new appearance, adding in her wrinkles as though I’d put her face through one of those aging apps. She still had the perfect dewy skin I’d lusted after, but it was lined now, especially around the corners of her eyes. There was a slight puffiness to her jawline, a dryness to her dark hair from dye to cover the grays. But Jessica was still stunning. Stunning and perfectly put-together. She wore a hot-pink coat covering dark blue ripped jeans tucked into a gorgeous pair of boots. The outfit, as always, was simultaneously mature, sophisticated, individualistic, effortless, and stylish. And I was a teenager again. Feeling blobbish and frumpy—with my dank hair, potato-shaped head, and stodgy old jumpsuit.

But Jessica seemed oblivious to her win in the who-has-aged-best competition. She must still be used to it, I thought bitterly. Amazed at how my adolescent jealousy could reignite so instantly. Instead she was staring around the packed theater, spellbound by the scale of the event.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “I’m just chairing.”

“Fern, there’s like, a thousand people here.”

“Yeah, but they’re not here for me.”