I hear the joyful noises of children in the playground over the fence. I wince. I’ve been avoiding this section of the park. But never the best at impulse control, I get up and watch the mayhem taking place. The small pudgy bodies running from thing to thing, yelling “follow me” or, “this is MY stick” and, “watch what I can do.” Their primary colored clothes, and random tutus or Spiderman costumes they insisted on wearing that morning. The energy of the packed swing set, the squeak of butts traveling down the slide, the spinning chaos of the merry-go-round. I watch and let myself smile. It’s OK that this is not part of my life now, I tell myself, rather than letting myself get jealous of the surrounding parents.

And that’s when I see a girl almost too pretty to be real. In a sunflower playsuit teamed with red sunglasses, long dark hair flowing down her back, digging curiously in the sand. My heart soars in my throat and I scan the benches trying to find Jessica. I scan again, and then gasp, because she’s on a bench in the corner, reading a book. My old best friend, but she’s not the Jessica I know. No haircut, no makeup, no curated outfit. She wears leggings and a long T-shirt with some trainers. She still looks beautiful, she will always look beautiful, but she’s not trying anymore. I sway on my feet and deliberate whether to go over. I can’t not. The pull is so magnetic. I’m smiling before I’m even at her bench. My body is heavy with missing her. I dodge the chaos of children running around my thighs and my body casts a shadow on her book. She looks up.

“Hi,” I say.

“Oh. Fern.” She’s shocked, closes her book, crosses her arms.

“Umm, can I sit?” I wait for the rejection, am ready to cry. I shouldn’t have done this when I’m still so fragile. But she gives a small smile.

“I guess.”

“Thank you.”

I sit as far away on the bench as I can, to be respectful. We don’t look at each other. A minute passes. Two. Three. Five. In total silence. I’m already crying. There are so many things to say and yet none of them feels right. So I open my mouth and say the only thing I know for sure is real and right.

“I love you,” I tell Jessica.

A gasp. She’s crying too. I feel her shoulder jolt next to me. “I love you too.”

Then we are hugging, getting tears on each other’s shoulders, as a game of What’s The Time, Mr. Wolf? echoes behind us.

“I’m so sorry,” I say into her T-shirt. “Honestly, for what I said. For everything. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”