When We Were Friends Read Free

neck or hook a finger playfully under her belt, and I’d all at once feel how alone I was. The days I babysat the boys, where after hours of board games and wrestling matches they begged me not to leave. Little Matty crying out whenever I just reached for my purse—seeing it as a sign I was about to go—which made me reach for it again and again at random moments so I could absorb the joy of being so wanted.
    Pamela glanced at the gurgling coffeepot. “Bless you,” she said.
    “Yeah, I’m too good to you.”
    She smiled and opened a cupboard and I rubbed at Matty’s back, ignoring the snot streaming from his nose until it made its way to my blouse. “You have a cold, Matty-kins?”
    “Yuh,” he said, swiping his nose against my boob.
    “Sorry.” Pamela handed me a napkin. “It’s the day care center, breeds more germs than kids. Hey, you’re all dressed up. What’s the occasion?”
    “Nothing really.” I wiped carefully at Matty’s nose and then my shirt. “I just have to make an impression today.”
    Pamela poured coffee and brought it to the table. “For who?”
    “It’s stupid. Just an old friend I haven’t seen in a trillion years.”
    “Cool. And I guess within the past twenty-four hours you’ve gotten engaged?”
    My face flushed and I twisted my ring to hide the diamond.
    “It’s okay. When I went to my reunion I got Botox and told people Craig was a neurosurgeon.”
    “Don’t just assume I’m lying. We met last night and we fell in love and tonight we’re flying to Vegas. By tomorrow we’ll have bought a house and conceived our first kid.”
    Pamela widened her eyes. “Then congratulations and congratulations! Who’s this friend?”
    I shrugged. I’d never told Pamela about Sydney; it was embarrassingand there was no reason to contaminate the present with the past. Matty was fingering my gold necklace so I pulled it off and slipped it over his neck. “You’re gorgeous,” I whispered, then looked back at Pamela. “It’s just somebody I used to know. We had a falling-out in high school, she got popular and I didn’t, and this is the first time I’ve seen her since graduation.”
    “And you have to show how you’re popular now, I get it. You don’t think she’ll eventually realize you’re only married to your paintbrush?”
    “No, why should she? She lives an hour away so I won’t see her anywhere except in the shop where she works, and we don’t have any mutual anythings, so I could tell her I have three husbands and she’d never find out the truth.”
    Pamela hesitated, then said, “Here, take this.” She pulled off her wedding band and handed it to me. “Now you’re actually married.”
    This is why I adored Pamela. Talking to her was almost like having an interior monologue, minus the self-judgment. “Thanks,” I said, pushing the ring onto my finger. “I’ll bring it back tonight.” I held out my hand, tried to feel ownership, but with the mammoth diamond the hand felt like a transplant from the type of lady who’d wear knee-high boots with miniskirts. “I’m so stupid,” I said.
    “I’d pretend to disagree, but you wouldn’t believe me.” She nodded at my coffee. “Drink up. It’s a diuretic and an appetite suppressant, and it’ll give you a rosy glow.”
    I grinned at her and finished the coffee in three quick swigs, then rose with Matty on my hip to pour another cup. Tempted as I was to check my reflection for a rosy glow, I managed to refrain.
    Six of Swords was in a Branchbury neighborhood, streets flanked by brick row houses and streetlamps still decorated with last winter’s Christmas bows. When I was a kid, Branchbury was the hipster region of an otherwise middle-class county, with its head shops andtattoo parlors and hippie street musicians. A hangout for teens who didn’t want to be teens, where one could buy worn alternative rock records, and beer without being carded. Cool until one grew up and realized it was anything but. A few