Page 23 of Isn't She Lucky
Déjà vu.
Her question takes me back to us as teenagers, thinking about that small kiss we shared. I can’t tell you how many dreams I had about that moment. About her lips. The way she smiled. The way she smelled. The way we felt together. She was my forever, then in an instant, it was snatched away from me. From us.
“Like what?” I ask. “How am I looking at you, G?”
“Giada,” she says, correcting me.
I frown, taking a moment to bite back my frustration. Time has already taken enough from us, stretching the space between who we were and who we are now. Yet, she still insists on keeping the distance, too, making me tread carefully – not too close to the friends we once were. Best friends.MyG.
“How am I looking at you, Giada?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Like—never mind.”
“Like what?” I press, trying to get something out of her – things I feel she needs to say, but holds back.
“Like you hate me, but admire me at the same time,” she answers. “Is there a word for that?”
Her observation is spot on, but it’s nothatein my eyes. It’s hurt. Hurt, admiration, and love all spinning together in a tornado that my life has been without her.
Hurt.
Admiration.
Love.
Those are the three words she needs to find one word for.
I hand her the one-page document and say, “This is the agreement. I need you to sign it.”
“I’ll need to read it first.”
“Take your time. I ordered us some appetizers.”
“You mean you ordered yourself some appetizers. I don’t have an appetite.”
She reads the document carefully and says, “Wait—I’mnotliving with you.”
“You are. It’s in the contract. It’s only for three months.”
“Didn’t you draw up this contract?”
“No. My lawyer did.”
“Then tell him to take it out.”
“It’s a requirement. Look—you’ll have your own quarters if that’s your concern.”
She places the paper on the table and rests her bowed head on her hands. This is a struggle for her. I get it, but I’ve struggled for years without her. Watching her navigate all of this is nothing compared to the agony I’ve experienced without my best friend. Her absence, the silence…
Memories of us were too much to bear, knowing we weren’tus.
After the long, silent stretch between us, I say, “You can trust me, but I’m sure you know that already.”
“Do I?” she asks with raised brows.
My chest tightens, her words stinging deeper than they probably should. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She shakes her head and says, “Nothing.”
