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

33

now.

A month later, I came home from work and found the flat filled with candles. Ben stood among them, weeping before he’d even got down on one knee, still wanting to marry me. I cried with him, hugging on the floor, in an ocean of light. The happiest moment of my life. If only I could’ve told her about it, even though she knew it was coming.

When he put the ring on my finger, she was the first person I wanted to tell.

Just as she was the first person I wanted to tell, when I really fell in love for the first time in my third year of university.

And how she was the first person I wanted to tell when he broke my heart two years later because we couldn’t make the long distance work.

She was the first person I wanted to tell when I got my first proper job.

She was the first person I wanted to tell when my blog post took off. When I finally got my first good job, it was her I wanted to call.

Every time I heard the word “azure.” Every time a Disney song or Carole King played. When I saw people from school who I didn’t like have nice things happen to them online, and people from school I did like have horrible things happen to them, I wanted to tell her. When I finally met Ben, I wanted to tell her about him so much.

Then she came back. Then she left.

And, when I found my wedding dress, she was the first person I wanted to tell. And when I got accepted onto my Level Four counseling course, it was her I wanted to celebrate with. And, when my period was late, and Ben and I had to have these weird, initially petrified, and then giddy talks about what to do, she was the first person I wanted to tell. And when that period came seven weeks later, including a cluster of cells that should’ve been our baby, she was the first person I wanted to tell.

Because she was the only person who ever truly knew me, and me her. Who understood what we’d shared, how we’d laughed, the jokes we’d made, haircuts we’d seen, growing up-ness we’d done. The pressures we were under—both visible and less visible. Some getting better, some worse, as the world changed and us with it. A man can’t ever understand a woman like another woman can—especially the women who knew you as a girl.

I wanted to tell her everything, every day, especially how sorry I was...

But she didn’t want to be told.

33

now.

I look for Jessica everywhere. Every time I see a nice dress, or a cool coat, or a good fringe, my heart ignites. But it’s never her. I can’t walk past the part of the park where we fought. My shame is scorched into the earth there, leaving me with intense self-loathing about the things I’d said.