When We Were Friends

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L ucy wishes it hadn’t taken an unanticipated divorce diet to feel beautiful. She also wishes she was not here, in this busy, buzzy bar, with a group of divorcées who are spending the night tossing their hair and flirting with (distinctly in)eligible (as far as Lucy is concerned) men, trying to be noticed.

She’d give her right arm to be cozied up on a sofa at home, binge-watching Love Island .

But here she is, in jeans that used to be skintight but thanks to her recent divorce are now falling off, platform sandals (Simon never allowed her to wear heels, for he didn’t want her towering over his five-foot, ten-inch frame. Incidentally, he’s more like five foot eight. On a good day), and an off-the-shoulder shirt.

She feels ridiculous so dressed up, but this new group of women demands glamour. A flurry of texts went round this afternoon, about what they should wear. Lucy’s regular jeans, cashmere sweater, and trendy sneakers got a thumbs-down from everyone. So here she is, dressed to impress, even though there isn’t a single man in here she would be the slightest bit interested in.

Lucy refuses to call her ex-husband a narcissist, because everyone else’s ex-husband is also a narcissist, and really, how is it possible that every single divorced woman in Fairfield County has an ex-husband who is a narcissist? I mean, how many narcissists can there be in the world?

Except she recognizes all the behaviors these women constantly talk about. Husbands who controlled what their wives wore, what they bought, where they went. The diminishment and disdain. The wives growing smaller and smaller, losing themselves because it became just too hard to keep fighting. When they looked in the mirror, they didn’t remember who they were.

All the women there tonight hate their former husbands, each of whom, it seems, tried to destroy them during the divorce. Said husbands hid finances, called the cops on fake child abuse charges, and in one particularly awful case, planted extremely dubious and illegal material on the ex-wife’s computer, which didn’t bode well for either parent.

Lucy is by no means a paragon of virtue, and isn’t the slightest bit fond of Simon, but he is still the father of her daughter. She still has to deal with him. Allowing herself to dwell in a state of anger and resentment is not helpful. She tries not to think of him much at all.

The door to the bar opens, and a group of men walks in. They have the look of married men, in their untucked shirts and quilted vests, but their energy is less weekend barbeque with the kids, more pretend to be singletons on the prowl.

“Married, but hot ,” says a woman called Nancy, a toweringly tall redhead with impressive cleavage. “Black Leather Jacket may have to buy me a drink.” She catches the eye of the man in the black leather jacket, and beckons him over with a sly smile and a significant hair toss that catches on Lucy’s lipstick and spreads it across her cheek.

Wiping her face, Lucy stands up and excuses herself. “I’m just going to the bathroom.” She waits for one of the women to come with, but they are all busy sizing up the new men, so Lucy totters off to the bathroom by herself, wishing she hadn’t worn platform sandals, wondering at what time she can leave without being seen as a party pooper.

A quick scroll on her phone shows her that KC is thoroughly enjoying her night with Clancy the babysitter, which, according to TikTok, is consisting of pancakes and chocolate sauce for dinner and a Taylor Swift dance party. Thank heavens for Clancy, even if she doesn’t know how to stack a dishwasher and each time Lucy comes home, the kitchen always looks as if ten thousand bombs have exploded. KC loves her, and that is the only thing that matters.

She washes her hands, wipes the lipstick off, and realizes she swapped purses and doesn’t have anything other than her phone and keys with her. No lipstick. Not even lip balm.

Another woman walks in, fresh faced, gorgeous. She leans over the sink and checks her makeup, redoing her lipstick and fixing her already-perfect hair.

She notices Lucy watching her. “Are you okay?”

Lucy shakes herself out of the reverie. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I forgot my lipstick.”

“Here. I have a new one I haven’t used yet. Have it.” She rustles in her purse and pulls out a brand-new NYX lip gloss, then hands it over with a smile. “It’s the wrong color for me, but it will look great on you. Do you need anything else? I have powder, perfume, painkillers, tampons.”

“Wow. You’re so prepared. I bet you were the girl in high school who always had a spare eraser.”

The woman laughs. “No. But I was the girl in high school who was sneaking out to smoke cigarettes under the bleachers.”

“Aha! The secret rebel.”

“Not so secret. Thank God we had no money, or I would have been sent off to one of those scary wilderness retreats.”

Lucy lights up. “I was just reading about those. Terrifying.”

“In Paper magazine?”

Lucy nods.

The woman puts her hands together in prayer and looks up to the ceiling. “She reads Paper magazine! Thank God! There is at least one other cool woman in suburbia.”

Lucy flushes at being thought of as cool, particularly by this woman, who possesses an innate confidence, the kind of cool that Lucy has always wished she had.

The woman peers at her. “So, what is someone like you doing in a sorry-ass place like this?”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “I’ve been asking myself the same question all evening. Against my better judgment, I agreed to join a group of newly divorced women for a girls’ night out. I was picturing great conversation and a bit of much-needed laughter. I didn’t realize it meant desperately flirting with a bunch of dads who are pretending to be single. More to the point, what’s someone like you doing in this sorry-ass joint?”

The woman sighs. “A goodbye drink for a work colleague.” She looks around. “Sometimes I really miss New York.”

“How come you’re out here?”

“Initially for love, and when that blew up, I liked the trees, and having a yard, and how easy life is. So I stayed. How about you?”

“Here initially for my husband’s job, and now, divorced, with a twelve-year-old daughter.”

“Hmmm. Happily newly divorced or did the bastard cheat on you?”

Lucy finds herself laughing. Unlike most of the husbands of the other women who have joined her tonight, Simon did not, as far as she knows, have an affair.

“I wish he would have done. Maybe I would have fared better in the divorce.”

“Well, he’s an idiot, but then again, most men are. Let me guess. Narcissist?”

Lucy sighs. “Who knows. I think perhaps all narcissists are just men who can’t help being arses because they haven’t been taught how to process emotions. Are you single?”

“Oh yes.”

“Perhaps not a coincidence that you’re here on what appears to be either singles night, or a meat market.”

The woman laughs. “If only I’d known. I’d much rather be home watching Love Island .”

Lucy closes her eyes dreamily. “A girl after my own heart.” She opens her eyes. “Do you work locally?”

“I’m a freelance illustrator, but I also have a part-time job at Terrain. I work in the garden section mostly. Gardening’s a passion of mine.”

“Me too!” Lucy’s eyes light up. “What a great place to work!”

“Come in and we’ll have coffee. I’ll give you my discount if you want to buy anything.”

Lucy smiles as she extends a hand. “I’m Lucy.”

“You’re English, right? My mom’s English.”

“No! Where from?”

“Guildford.”

“No way! That’s so funny!”

“I make a great cup of tea. Milk and sugar. Proper builder’s tea. I’m Elle. I mean it, by the way, about Terrain. I’m working Wednesday and Thursday afternoons this week. Drop by.”

“Done,” says Lucy, with the sense that she and Elle will become fast friends, despite the age difference, for Elle has to be in her late twenties. “By the way, I love your scarf.”

Elle looks down at her embroidered velvet scarf. “Thank you! It was a gift from my aunt.” She looks back up. “Is it weird to suggest we swap numbers?”

“No! I wanted to ask the same thing!”

“Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in.” They exchange phones, before Lucy rejoins her group to say goodbye. She doesn’t need to stay here any longer; finding a potential new friend is the very best thing that could have happened tonight. She is finally free to go.

God, I’ve missed having a best friend, she thinks, waiting outside for the Uber, smiling. She has missed her best friend Sally so much, but Sally is still in London, and the time difference makes it too hard. Not to mention the fact that Sally is popping out babies roughly every twenty months. They barely speak anymore. It’s the daily best friend Lucy misses—the person you call to talk about nothing and everything, several times a day.

Not that this woman is likely to be a best friend. How ridiculous I am, she thinks, grateful the Uber is clean, the driver kind, the journey home short. To think I may have found a best friend after a five-minute chat, an unlikely meeting in the bathroom of a bar.

But isn’t that often how the best friendships start?

Terrain is mobbed as Lucy wanders around later that week, picking up candles, kitchen accessories, things she admires but would never actually buy herself. Into the garden section, then outside to the actual garden, weaving around discounted plants given that summer is over, firepits, and teak garden furniture she wishes she could still afford.

“Lucy!” Elle appears from under a counter in a small wooden hut, her blond curls hidden beneath a wool beanie. “You came!”

The two hug as Elle grabs a package from behind the counter and shouts over to a colleague that she’s taking a break.

Inside, they find a table. Elle slides something in tissue paper across the surface. “Forgive me. I only had tissue paper.”

“What is it? You didn’t have to get me anything!”

Lucy gasps as she unwraps the paper to reveal a scarf much like the one Elle was wearing the other night, the scarf Lucy had admired. She unfolds it, not knowing what to say, how to thank her for such an unexpected and delightful surprise.

“It’s gorgeous. I can’t believe you bought me a gift!”

“I went online, and this is the closest one I could find. Do you really like it?”

“I love it. Thank you. This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a while.”

“Apparently gift giving is my love language.”

Lucy blushes. “That definitely works for me. I have no idea what mine is. I suspect it might be gift giving, too, although acts of service might be in there as well.”

“Good. That means you’re a good person, which is always a relief when you’re meeting a stranger for tea after a five-minute bathroom chat. You’re not a secret serial killer, are you?”

Lucy laughs. “How about you? Any secret single-white-female vibes?”

“Definitely not. I love being around English people. It reminds me of my mom. Here’s to the universe for sending us both to the bathroom at the same time.”

“My lipstick heroine!” Lucy raises her tea in a toast.

“To new best friends!” They clink cups as Lucy feels a soft, warm blanket envelop her heart.

Lucy’s phone buzzes. She pulls it out of her bag to see that it is Sally, trying to FaceTime her. This is such a rare occurrence, she usually drops everything to take Sally’s call, but not today. Today she drops the phone back in her bag and smiles at Elle.

“Anyone important?”

“Yes. But I wouldn’t be able to hear her. I’ll call her back.”

“Who is it?”

“Sally. My best friend in the UK since forever and ever.”

“I don’t think I could ever have a best friend who lived in another country. How do you stay in touch?”

“It’s hard. The time difference, and she’s super busy.”

“I have a rule that best friends have to be in the same country, and preferably in the same town.” She winks at Lucy, who feels honored.

“Hey, I’ve been invited to some after-party tomorrow night for a band playing at the Klein. I wasn’t going to go, but ... would you have any interest?”

Lucy would have to find a babysitter for KC, but an after-party, any kind of party for that matter, might be fun. “What time’s the after-party?”

“Eleven p.m.”

Lucy yelps. “Absolutely not. My idea of a good night is getting into bed at nine. And a great night is bed by eight.”

Elle adjusts her beanie. “That’s why I’m never going to have children. Every mom I know says the same thing.”

They start texting that afternoon. Lucy is her best self during the text exchanges. Funny, clever, pithy, warm. As a longtime journalist, she has always known how to write, but writing is also her job, not something that necessarily brings her joy. This new friendship has lit a spark, and the words flow from her fingers with ease.

What is it precisely about Elle that Lucy likes? Her familiarity with everything English, of course, but more than that it’s her curiosity, her warmth, a sense of ease in her skin that makes Lucy relax when they are together.

They have read the same esoteric books and are now sending novel recommendations back and forth.

Should we start a two-woman book club? Elle writes. Lucy smiles to herself: she was about to suggest the same thing.

Come and see my garden. Lucy invites Elle over. Before it gets too cold and raggedy. I’ve still got Cosmos blooming and it’s lovely. Hot chocolate by the firepit? Tomorrow night?

Only if it’s hot chocolate with a large slug of bourbon.

Deal.

The garden is Lucy’s passion and purpose, her pride and joy. She transformed the builder’s-special back lawn into an oasis, planting birch trees and white Annabelle hydrangeas around the perimeter, placing a gravel courtyard in the center, low-slung all-weather rattan sofas facing each other across a firepit, green cushions—all Home Depot, albeit trying to come back in a future life as Terrain.

Terra-cotta pots frame the courtyard, filled alternately with boxwood balls and white cosmos. It is the garden Lucy has always wanted, rambling and wild on the outside, English order and French pea gravel lending formality and beauty.

She has bought WhistlePig bourbon and Cadbury hot chocolate. Playing on their shared English heritage, she found Hobnobs and milk chocolate digestives in the international aisle at Stop it’s the way in which she dislikes them. The undercurrent of ... snark, of disdain, maybe even jealousy.

All Lucy knows is that she has felt like Elle is the little sister she has always wanted, the friend she always hoped to find, a place of acceptance and safety in a remarkably short time.

And yet, right now, Lucy feels betrayed.

Later that day, party pictures pop up on Uma’s Instagram feed. There is Uma, resplendent in her vintage caftan, golden in the glow of candlelight; there is Lucy lounging on the floor, and there again blowing a perfect smoke ring. There isn’t a single picture of Elle. Lucy adds Uma’s photos to her story. One picture of Lucy with Uma has Lucy looking so wonderful, Lucy immediately reposts it on her main page, hoping that Simon might still stalk her Instagram. Not that she would ever want him back, but she’d quite like to show him what he’s missing.

There are tons of comments calling Lucy beautiful, but she notes (and how could she not?) that there is nothing from Elle. Elle who always writes loving messages under all Lucy’s posts, who is always glued to her phone. Not a like, not a comment, nothing.

Later that day, when Lucy is still checking for new validation, she sees that Elle has posted a picture from the party. It’s a shot of the pool area, beautifully lit. If you hadn’t been to the house, you would have no idea whose backyard this was, but if you have, or indeed, if you subscribe to the local Interior magazine, you would know instantly who owns this house. Lucy reads the accompanying text in disbelief:

“The more I see of the moneyed classes, the more I understand the guillotine.” —George Bernard Shaw. My God, where does all this money come from, and how do we make them all go away? Off with their heads! #richbastards #richport

There are multiple comments underneath, hearting what Elle has written, none of them people Lucy knows. #killtherich adds one. Others add the laughing emoji, and still others the gun and knife emoji.

Lucy, aware that her heart is pounding, her ears buzzing with anxiety and disbelief, feels sick.

She starts to text Elle, but has no idea of the right thing to say. She deletes, and starts again. And again.

Finally, she writes: Elle, please take this post down. I know you didn’t have a good time last night, but I would be mortified if they saw this. I’m asking you as a friend to remove the post.

Should she add a kiss? A series of x ’s? Every text or message they send to each other is finished with kisses.

But she can’t bring herself to. Not this time.

Three days go by, and no word from Elle. The photo stays up on Elle’s Instagram, until Tuesday morning, when Lucy, still praying that Uma and Greg have not seen it, finds, with enormous relief, that the post has been deleted.

No response.

Despite being horrified by Elle’s recent behavior, Lucy misses her. Desperately. For months, Elle has been the first person she calls every morning, the last person she calls every night, with multiple short calls throughout the day.

She misses the Elle she thought she knew, the Elle who made her laugh more than anyone else, who was always there for her, who had never been cruel, or thoughtless. At least, not when it came to Lucy. All she wants is to wipe the past few days from her life, and go back to how it was.

But Elle has disappeared.

She calls her again, and again. The phone either rings out, which Lucy knows means she is ignoring the call, or rings twice, before being diverted to voicemail. A week goes by, a week of her hearing nothing. Eventually Lucy writes: Everything ok? A text comes back immediately: Yes!!! just super busy!!!!

Lucy phones, and Elle picks up, but there is something different about her voice. She says she can’t stay on long, that she’s at Terrain but it’s been crazy getting the store ready for the holiday season. “Can I call you later?” she says.

“Absolutely. Love you, Bear,” says Lucy.

But Elle has already gone.

Without saying love you too .

Lucy tries everything she can think of to get her friend back, pushing her doubts, and Elle’s recent behavior, to the back of her mind. How can she get things back on track?

She texts Elle every morning, every night, as if nothing has changed. She keeps the texts brief, and Elle does respond, but her responses are even shorter, and unless Lucy is imagining it, cold.

Lucy asks if she has done something wrong, something to upset Elle. Other than KC, you are the most important person in the world to me, so if I have done something to upset you, I will do anything to make it up to you. Can we meet at La Plage for a drink this evening?

I can’t this evening. Having drinks with the girls. Maybe tomorrow?

What girls? thinks Lucy. There are no girls she is aware of. And then she understands, or thinks she does. The photos of Lucy at Uma’s party, drinking, lounging on floor cushions, having fun with a bunch of women she doesn’t know; the photos she reposted on her own story; the photos that did not include Elle.

That can’t be true, though, surely? Could Elle be that petty? That jealous? Could she be punishing Lucy for having wealthy friends? As ridiculous as it sounds, it’s the only thing she can come up with. This is a conversation that has to happen in person, not by text. Tomorrow, she thinks, I’ll go to Terrain and talk to her about this.

Finally, three weeks later, Lucy wakes up, still feeling a hole in her heart where Elle once resided, to find a slew of texts from Elle. She has been in to meet the agent, and she and Lucy will be working together on the book! She can’t believe Lucy’s generosity in introducing her to such a fantastic opportunity! She’s never had a friend like Lucy before, and does Lucy know just how much Elle adores her?

The worry and angst of the last few weeks, the doubts and concerns vanish in a puff of relief. Elle can’t have been jealous, for look at these texts, look how much love and gratitude they contain. Lucy has her best friend back, which is all that matters.

I love you, BEAR! I fucking just LOVE YOU! Elle writes, as Lucy basks in the glow of being, once again, adored, sitting at the kitchen table to write the outline with a whole new energy. Life is back on track.

That night, KC asks for pad thai noodles. Both in their pajamas covered with coats, they jump in the car, Taylor Swift on loud, both singing along. Lucy feels happy again. Elle is back. All is right with the world.

Lucy parks the car and checks herself in the rearview mirror before they head in to pick up their order. “I hope we don’t see anyone we know.” She smiles at KC. “Okay. Let’s do this thing.”

Lucy is just taking the bag of food when KC points to a booth in the restaurant.

“Is that Dad?”

Lucy’s heart sinks. Why oh why did he have to be in there? She turns, forcing a smile on her face, until she sees that he is on a date, for she recognizes his body language and methods of seduction.

KC is running to his table. “Daddy!”

His date turns. It can’t be.

Her brain cannot make sense of what she is seeing until she is at the table.

KC hugs her father, before moving around the table to hug Elle. Nausea washes over Lucy as Simon looks ... confused.

Elle turns slowly. The color has drained from both Lucy’s face and hers.

Lucy wants to tell KC they are leaving, but the wave of nausea is preventing her from speaking.

Elle stands up and pushes the chair back. “Lucy. I can explain.”

Elle’s voice, a voice Lucy thought she loved, a voice she had embraced as family, jolts her out of her shock.

“KC. We have to go. Come on.” She reaches for her startled daughter, who feels her mother’s distress and follows her out.

Elle is not far behind. “Please, Lucy. Can I ...” Elle reaches for Lucy’s arm, but Lucy shakes her off, shock morphing into fury.

“Don’t touch me. I don’t care what your explanation is. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

Lucy and KC climb into the car, and Lucy puts the car in reverse. Elle still stands outside the restaurant, frozen, a stricken look on her face, as KC bombards Lucy with questions.

“I don’t know!” Lucy finally shouts at KC, who bursts into tears as Lucy is flooded with guilt. She pulls over to the side of the road and wraps KC in her arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout, honey. Mommy’s just ... I don’t know. I don’t understand it either.”

When KC is safely asleep, the crying starts. This betrayal is worse than the ending of her marriage. Everything she has confided in Elle, her stories, the story of her marriage, intimate details she would never, ever have ...

She throws up.

At some point, in the early hours of the morning, she falls into an exhausted sleep, her eyes red with crying, her head pounding after all the tears.

Her alarm jolts her out of bed, and for a second, perhaps two, life is almost normal, until the weight of betrayal and loss settles on her shoulders. Her legs are heavy, her body aching as she puts on a brave face, makes breakfast for KC, walks her to the bus stop for school.

Only then does she check her email. Only then does she see that Elle has written to her.

Lucy,

I haven’t slept all night, and I’ve been in tears since I saw you. I don’t know how I can ever apologize to you. There is no explanation and no excuse, and I’m just so so sorry I got myself into this mess. I never meant for any of this to happen. I had met Simon, and I knew he was divorced, and that night, when I saw you in the bar, I realized you were his ex-wife, and I just meant to have a chat, just to see what you were like.

I never intended to become friends with you, and not just friends, you are honestly the greatest friend I’ve ever had. I felt sick so much of the time during our friendship because I knew you’d disappear if you knew, but I’ve never met anyone like you. It was like having a mom, and a favorite aunt, and a big sister, all in one. I didn’t want to lose you, and I know now that it was an awful, awful thing to do. I wasn’t thinking right, and I don’t know how you will ever forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me. I probably won’t ever forgive myself. Please know that I never told Simon anything you told me. I would never betray you like that.

I ended things with Simon last night. I am just so so sorry that I have hurt you so much. Please forgive me, Lucy. I know it may take time, but please know I will always be here for you. I love you. Elle.

“I would never betray you like that.” Lucy whispers those words to herself with a bitter laugh, then shuts off her phone. She can’t forgive Elle. Her trust, and her heart, are both broken, and at least one of those things will never be repaired.

Nobody warned Lucy that a friendship breakup, that this friendship breakup, could be harder than a divorce. Nobody warned her that a female friend could break her heart into smithereens, that it would take months before she felt like herself.

Her agent found another illustrator for the book after Lucy explained that she could no longer work on a project with Elle. Instead, there would be Tina, who provided gorgeous illustrations, and no friendship.

Lucy moves through life as if underwater. She puts a happy face on for KC, but she cries at night, and still can’t get through a day without thinking of Elle. She had always thought therapy indulgent, saw herself as someone who didn’t need it, was great at figuring life out on her own. After all, she got through a difficult divorce by herself, but this? This is so much harder.

This time her heart has been broken, and she finally calls a therapist, because the burden is too hard to carry by herself.

That first session, Lucy sobs as she tells her story to Sigrid, a wise older woman who immediately strikes Lucy as the mother she has always wanted.

Very soon, she starts to understand more about herself. Why she put up with being treated badly, how easily she forgave, or overlooked bad behavior from people she loved. She starts to connect the dots from her chaotic, difficult childhood, a childhood where being treated badly was the rule rather than the exception.

It is a brisk, sunny day. The sky is blue, there is a chill in the air, and Lucy is standing outside the Old Mill, wrapped up in a scarf, as Elle rounds the corner. Lucy is aware that her arms are crossed, as if to protect her from Elle and this meeting that she reluctantly agreed to.

A year has passed, and she’s curious as to how Elle will explain herself in person. With Sigrid’s help, Lucy has made new friends, but none with the same intensity and immediate connection as Elle. It feels safer that way.

As Elle flings her arms around Lucy and squeezes her tight, Lucy thinks of how their friendship burned so brightly, so quickly. Perhaps burning out was inevitable. Lucy does not squeeze back.

They get coffee, awkwardly standing in the shop, before walking across the street to the beach.

“Shall we sit with the coffee?” There’s a spot in the sunshine, on a low stone wall, and they sit side by side, sipping coffee, as Lucy waits to hear what Elle has to say.

“How have you been?” Elle says. “I like your hair.”

“Thanks. I decided to try it shorter. I’ve been good.”

“How’s KC?”

“She’s great.”

There is a long silence. Lucy sips her coffee and looks out over the water, wishing she hadn’t agreed to come. It is too awkward, too painful to feel so distant from someone she once loved so much.

“Lucy, I just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you, and I wanted to apologize in person.” Elle’s voice chokes up, and Lucy turns to look at her face as her tears start to fall. “I just want you back in my life. Can we just try? Maybe take it slowly?” Elle’s face crumples as she breaks down, and Lucy cannot help but wrap Elle in her arms to comfort her.

When the tears stop, when Lucy releases her and Elle blows her nose and smiles, Lucy’s face contains nothing but compassion and sadness.

“Elle, I miss you. There is so much that has happened over the past year where I have immediately thought, I have to phone Elle, so I know just how hard it is.” She takes a deep breath, her voice soft, but steady. “But here’s the thing, Elle. I don’t think I can have someone in my life who’s even capable of treating people the way you treated me.”

Elle stiffens her back and sits up straighter, defensive now. “But I’m apologizing. I know what I did. I would never do that again.”

Lucy leans over and kisses Elle on the cheek before she stands up. “Take good care, Elle.” And she walks to her car, not turning back, sad, and clear in the knowledge that she has been set free.

When she gets home, she calls Sally. Sally who she thought was always too busy, the time difference making it hard to connect, but Sally who has shown up and been there for her every step of the way since her friendship ended with Elle.

“How was it?” Sally is juggling a baby on one hip, cutting up cucumbers as she balances the phone on a shelf to Zoom with Lucy.

“It was sad. Profoundly sad. One of the things I’ve been talking about with Sigrid is how this friendship wasn’t even real. I think I completely romanticized it, and projected all kinds of things on Elle that weren’t there. And, as much as it sucks to admit this, I know that I loved being loved. She totally love-bombed me, and I fell for it.”

“Just like Simon,” says Sally.

“Exactly. And do you know what? I wouldn’t change any of what happened. If I hadn’t met her, I wouldn’t have found Sigrid. I wouldn’t have set off on this really hard, but really important journey. I thought so little of myself, I was willing to accept whatever people offered me, because I didn’t think I deserved more. And you’re right, it is just like Simon. I clearly have a pattern of allowing people to treat me badly.”

“Well, I’ll be here to remind you that you deserve the best. You deserve to be respected, and appreciated and loved, whether it’s by a lover or a friend. I’ve seen a real change in you over the past year, Lucy. You’re trusting yourself, and clichéd as it sounds, you seem to finally like yourself.”

Lucy tears up. “It’s true. Nobody was harder on me than me. I’m meditating every day, and I know now to trust my intuition about people.”

“I love that. It’s such a gift of aging, if we’re lucky, to learn to listen to that quiet voice inside that is always right, and always wants the best for us. What a year you’ve had.”

“What a year. Brutal and glorious in equal measure.” Lucy looks out the window, her heart expanding at the sight of KC, lying on the outdoor sofa, buried in a book. She smiles. “The biggest lesson is that I’m perfectly fine, exactly as I am, where I am, and I will never again look to another person to try and make me whole.”

“Cheers to that!” says Sally, as the baby starts to cry. “Shit. Gotta go. I love you, Lucy.”

“I love you too,” says Lucy, smiling as she clicks off the Zoom and goes outside to join KC on this glorious, sunny day.

End