Page 84 of Dead Rockstar

“Since now.”

“I could make a pot of coffee.”

“Not unless you want some.”

“Okay.” She didn't get up. There was silence in the kitchen while I poured the boiling water over the tea bag and let it steep, my bleary, tear-soaked eyes watching the dark brown tea pooling into the boiling hot water like ink. I grabbed a spoon and stirred in some sugar; too much sugar. Phillip had barely put any in. I remembered he'd told me if you brew a good cup of tea, you don't need the sugar. In a mad frenzy, I tossed the contents into the sink and started over, this time with no sugar, watching Sloan regard me silently.

I sat down across the table from my best friend, the two of us in our usual spots where we'd sat with each other for years and years. Didn't matter the table, this was always our position, across from each other, hands folded, a beverage in front of us – vegan fraps, wine, coffee, and now, apparently, tea – ready to lay our secrets bare.

But something had shifted in the time I was gone. We wouldn't be sharing any secrets this evening. The person sitting in front of me was brooding, bitter – and for some reason, scared. How had she undergone such a change, I wondered, when it had only been a few days? I could tell by the way she wasn't looking directly at me, but rather at a point above my eyes.

“Are they jacked up again?” I said, managing a small smile.

“Huh?” She was confused.

“My eyebrows,” I said with a laugh. “You're staring at them.”

“Oh.” She let her shoulders ease a little and smiled back. “No. They're fine.”

“Thanks for rushing over,” I said. “I just didn't want to come back here alone. You know, after...”

Her face softened. “Yeah. I know.” She reached across the table and gave my hand a nudge. “I could tell how much you liked him. I'm sorry. But hey, he was a rebound, right? That's what rebounds are for. Hot sex, adventures. And then you move on to the next real guy, right?” She smiled at me kindly. “I'm sure he's just around the corner.”

Her choice of words poked at me. Real? That didn't even sound like Sloan, but at any rate, it wasn't comforting and wasn't welcome. I'd just left Phillip the day before, for Christ’s sake. And she'd known me my whole life. She knew what the man meant to me. Even without the context, she had to know that I'd be devastated. But I kept myself in check. She probably hadn't meant it the way it sounded. “Yeah,” I said finally, taking a sip of scalding tea, not caring that it burnt my tongue. It was flat and bland, and I wished I had a cup of Earl Grey, Phillip’s tea, with its comforting, floral bergamot. “What about you and…Dan? Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said absently, picking at an invisible crumb on the table. “We were never serious. It was just a few dates. I mean, I liked him but...” She looked at me with a small smile. “He was a total bigot, so. I had to cut him loose.”

She was staring at my eyebrows again. I had known Sloan for twenty something years. I knew when she was lying. But I said nothing. Maybe the pain was simply too great, like mine was, to elaborate on it. Maybe she was trying to be strong for me. “Okay,” I said softly. I didn't have the energy to push further, and I hoped she felt the same way.

The silence at the table became a chasm. Years of comforting each other and suddenly we felt like strangers. Was it me and all that had happened in the past few days? Maybe it was coming off me like a cancer and she could sense it. Maybe I was the problem. I pushed my cup of tea away and stood. “I'm so tired. I probably should go to bed, get some sleep. I'll be in much better shape to talk tomorrow.” As lonely as I felt, I suddenly wished I'd never asked her to come over.

“Me, too.” She yawned and threw her arms up over her head. “I'll bunk down on the couch.”

“You know where the blankets are.”

I was halfway to my bedroom when she called to me from down the hall. I stopped and turned, and her face was sad in the dim light of the living room.

“I really am sorry about Phillip.” she said, and it was almost as if, for a split second, she knew everything.

“Thanks,” I said, and went to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

Before settling down in my old, familiar bed, I pulled out my phone to see if I had any missed calls or texts. There was nothing. Good, I told myself, pulling the covers over my head. I'm glad.

Sloan would have been able to spot the lie easily.

“You only just got back last night,” Sloan said, spreading almond butter on a piece of whole grain toast. I poured us each a cup of coffee and sat in my usual spot, pushing the sugar bowl and the creamer toward her. I was in the mood to drink mine black. “Why do we have to rush out to the farmers market?”

“There's someone I need to see,” I said, pressing the steaming cup to my lips and relishing the burn of the ceramic on my bottom lip.

“Who?”

“Just a person I know.” I wasn't sure how to explain to Sloan, not without telling her everything else. “Are you coming or not?”

“I will if you buy me a pain au chocolat from that cute Latino guy who bakes all the yummy vegan treats. What's his name? Juan?”

“Yes, it's Juan.” I smirked beneath my cup. “And yes, I'll buy you one. I might buy myself one, too.”

“You should,” she said. “Didn't Phillip feed you? You look like you've lost ten pounds.”

---