CHAPTER 21
THE REST OF this shift sucks. Bodily I return to the party. Mentally, I’m still back in the locker room. I have no idea what happened while I was gone. The guests seem ruder, more demanding. My shoes are tighter, the trays are heavier. All the clocks have slowed down.
I manage to dodge Nicole’s questions about my whereabouts. (Top tip: to get someone to stop asking invasive questions, hint that your absence is due to something faecal.) She’ll cotton on when I don’t come home tonight, but that’s a future-me problem.
Bee is nowhere to be found so I assume she has gone home. Once the interminable shift finally ends, my colleagues settle inside as usual with the half-finished bottles, and I tell them I’m going to step out for a moment. Nicole tries to object and then remembers the poop and thinks better of it.
The air on the deck is cool but not harsh.
It’s a clear night, or as clear as a night can get in any light-polluted city, and the stars dance around a waning moon.
From up here, I can see booze cruises floating down the river, waterside bars starting to properly go off, little dots of people weaving their way down the paths in clusters.
It’s soothing to watch. I take a photo to send to Arthur.
All done whenever you’re ready.
I’m on my way. Xx
Two kisses. I’m goo.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I turn to see Bee, holding a bottle in each hand, one stretched out towards me.
I take it. ‘I thought you left ages ago,’ I say.
‘I’ve been hiding out in the back doing bar stocktake.’ She laughs at what I can only assume is my look of pure incredulity. ‘I thought I should make myself useful while I waited.’
I take a big gulp of the slightly warm bubbles. ‘What were you waiting for?’ I ask, but I already know.
‘A chance to talk to you.’ She’s looking me in the eyes now, so it’s different from before.
I properly take all of her in for the first time since I left.
She always seemed so much bigger than me.
(Not physically, of course. I could never share her clothes because I might stretch them.) But she seemed to have this ability to fill a room.
This Bee looks smaller. So either she’s shrunk, or it’s like when you start school and the Year 12s look massive but then once you get there yourself, you don’t feel nearly as big.
It’s all about perspective, or something.
And I finally got myself here, so we’re the same size again.
She doesn’t look angry. She’s probably not going to yell at me about the apartment, which is good.
‘Let’s sit,’ I say, and we take two chairs by a small cocktail table. We sit for a few moments, sipping our drinks and looking out over the bustle below.
‘Do you want to have brunch next weekend?’ she asks, still looking out over the railing.
‘What?’
‘I thought maybe we could go to that new Pilates place in South Melbourne and then head down Clarendon to eat. But we can go to Prahran Market if you prefer.’
I turn to look at her, sceptical. ‘Why would we do that?’
Her face is scrunched in confusion. ‘Because we both like brunch?’
I bite my tongue to hold back the retort that I’m actually more of a dinner person. ‘Bee, we haven’t spoken in weeks.’
She takes a swig. ‘Yes,’ she starts. Another swig. ‘But surely we can move past all that now.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve just realised how…silly our whole fight was.’ She’s not looking at me anymore, so she can’t see the abject horror on my face.
Silly.
But I know Bee, and she’s on a roll. There’s no hope of interruption, so I just settle back in my chair.
‘We were both at fault for how everything happened, look, I will concede that you may have been right about William, to an extent, but that certainly doesn’t justify what you said to me that night let alone the shit you pulled with the apartment.
’ God, when is she going to take a breath?
‘But I’ve had a bit of time to think about it over the last few weeks, and I realise you must have really been going through something to do what you did. ’
I mean, yes but…
‘So that’s why I brought Arthur to you tonight!
He was my peace offering so that we can start fresh.
It was obvious to me that you both just needed to get in a room together to sort your stuff out, and I was totally right!
It worked, judging on the stupid little grin you’ve had on your face since.
I think it’s extremely generous since now I’ll have to be around my ex’s best friend all the time, but whatever.
Anyway, I never told Brian I was moving out, so you can have your old room back and ditch that grotty old share house now.
You might have to live with a few racks of my clothes, but they won’t take up too much space… ’
‘Bee!’
‘All right, Gertie.’ She jolts in her seat, spilling wine down her front. Gertie? ‘There’s no need to shout. I can probably fit one of the racks in my room.’
I laugh. ‘Yeah no, that was not the reason for the shouting.’
‘Well, you shout so much these days it’s hard to tell. I miss when you were quiet.’
‘I bet you do,’ I say.
She pauses, taking that in. ‘So why were you shouting this time?’
‘We’re not going to be friends again, Bee.’
‘But…’
‘One half-baked good deed done for selfish reasons doesn’t negate the fact that this friendship isn’t healthy for either of us.’
She looks at me in silence. I can hear a siren cut through the general buzz of the city below; a light is flashing off the top of one of the skyscrapers.
A plane starts to make its descent into the airport, and all the people up there must be marvelling at the view of all of us down here.
I can feel the soft breeze on my face and await the buzz of my phone to liberate me from this conversation.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. Blurts, really. It’s nowhere near the best apology I’ve received tonight.
‘For what, specifically?’
‘I’m sure you could give me an itemised list,’ she says.
‘But I won’t,’ I reply. She frowns and crosses her arms. ‘It’s okay. Take your time.’
Another few minutes pass.
Her voice is small when she speaks again, barely above a whisper. ‘I’m sorry for telling fucking Bill your private business.’
I nod. ‘And everyone at school.’
‘And everyone at school.’
Another few minutes. Is Arthur stuck in traffic or something?
Bee’s mouth opens and closes a few times, like she’s going to say something then thinks better of it.
Her brow is furrowed, her gaze focused on a pioneering column of ants crawling out through a crack in the tiling and marching their way to nowhere.
She exhales, utters a soft ‘Huh’ and then turns to me again, still troubled. I keep my face as passive as I can.
‘I’ve never really treated you like a whole person in your own right, have I?’ She says it with a tone of wonder, like it’s the first time she has thought it, and saying it aloud has made it real. ‘Just an accessory. Ever since high school.’
I recognise the look on her face. It reminds me of the crisis that brought me to that very consequential panic brunch with Arthur all those months ago.
She’s questioning every interaction, every conversation, every look.
Except she’s tearing our friendship apart hunting for times that paint her in a good light, and she’s coming up empty-handed.
That’s a whole different type of crisis, and I don’t envy it.
‘Honestly? Yes.’
She starts to cry softly, and I place a hand over hers where it rests on the table.
I don’t know if she’s crying for her sense of herself or for me the person who bore the brunt of it, but I’m not sure it matters now.
I think it might have mattered a lot more before. It’s a bit sad if it doesn’t matter.
‘It wasn’t all bad, you know. You’re hyper-focusing on the bad parts right now, and I get that, but there’s so much about our friendship that I cherish. And all of that—those memories—that’s why I stayed so long in the first place. I could convince myself that the good outweighed the bad.’
‘And it doesn’t anymore?’ she whispers.
I don’t answer, and Bee begins to cry in earnest.
It’s awkward, leaning between our two chairs, but we meet in the middle in a grasping hug.
‘It’s not all your fault,’ I say into her hair. ‘You’ve only treated me the way I allowed myself to be treated.’
‘And you really screwed me over with the apartment.’
I chuckle lightly, and she squeezes me tighter. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘That doesn’t excuse my behaviour…’ She says it a bit like a question, like she needs me to confirm it. I’m a bit giddy at the fact that the thought even crossed her mind.
‘It absolutely doesn’t. But I think it was just easier for me to live in your shadow. It was safe there. I didn’t have to ask myself any hard questions or confront any difficult feelings. I could just think about you, talk about you, do whatever you wanted.’
‘And now?’
‘I’m learning to treat myself like a person. And advocate for that person, now that I have a better idea who she is.’
‘I would love the chance to truly get to know who you are now,’ she says.
‘Are you sure? You might not even like me once you get to know me.’
‘I will,’ Bee says. ‘You’ve been kind of a bad ass for the last few months.’
‘Maybe one day,’ I say, a little rueful. ‘I just don’t think I know how to be your friend while still putting myself first. I’m hoping to learn.’
‘I can wait,’ she says. ‘Looks like I have some learning to do about how to be a good friend that’ll keep me busy in the meantime.’
‘Ask your inner child about it,’ I say drily.
‘Actually you’re right.’ Bee perks up. ‘I’ve been listening to some podcasts about it, and I talked to someone on one of those therapy apps, I’m ninety per cent certain they weren’t AI, and I think it’s all connected.
Like, I keep making the same poor choices regarding men over and over and over and never learning from my mistakes.
The therapist thinks I might be stuck in some limiting mindsets that keep me in a juvenile decision-making loop, so we’re going to focus on a lot of inner-child work over the next few sessions and—Shit!
’ The sudden expletive makes me jump. ‘Talking about myself—it really is my default setting, isn’t it? ’
I just laugh because what else is there to do?
We’re silent again. It feels like a breakup because it is. A disintegration of the longest relationship either of us has ever had. In one way it’s a formality, calling time of death on something that has long since started to rot. In another, it’s fresh. It’s painful.
Some friendships fizzle out, victims of time, location or circumstance. A slow trickle of texting, meaningless ‘let’s have lunch’ing that goes nowhere. Some end in betrayal, and there is no grey area.
We’re choosing to walk away.
It’s not normal. It’s downright unnatural.
We’re taught to cling to friendships in a way that we’d never do with a romantic relationship.
Friendships are different. Boys come and go, but friends are forever.
But what happens when your friendship is more toxic and codependent than any romance you’ve ever had? Is that just meant to be your forever?
We’re saying no to that proposition. But it’s like eating broccoli—just because it’s good for you doesn’t make it fun.
So we sit in silence, looking out over the sparkling lights of the Melbourne skyline, hands clasped desperately between us as we drink from bottles of expensive champagne we borderline stole.
As breakups go, it’s quite aesthetically pleasing.
I’m the one to crack. ‘I am sorry about the apartment,’ I say.
She squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. I like having the extra space. I wasn’t really going to move any of the racks back to my room.’
‘Do you even have any guests coming to stay anytime soon?’
‘No, but it looks pretty. I got some custom wallpaper.’
‘Nice.’
My phone buzzes.
I’m downstairs in a loading zone. Pls hurry
Also, I have souvlaki
I smile down at my phone and put it away, standing as I do so.
I let go of her hand. ‘I’ve got to go,’ I say.
She looks up at me, smiling knowingly. ‘So, Arthur, huh?’
‘Yep. Arthur.’
‘He’s a good guy,’ she says.
‘The best.’
I take one look at her half-full bottle of bubbles that she’s barely touched and grab it out of her hands. I raise it in salute, she nods back, laughing, and as I head towards the elevator I break into a run, because I’m a busy lady.
I’ve got a cute boy with greasy carbs waiting for me downstairs.