Grumpy Best Friend

“Fluke said she’d show.” I paced away from him, toward the entrance that overlooked Roosevelt Boulevard. “And Fluke’s not the type to say shit just because.”

Neal grumbled something, but didn’t argue. He stood near the half-open door and checked his phone, swiping through something, instantly ignoring the outside world. I didn’t know how he managed that—how he could turn himself off to everything and get so absorbed into whatever was happening on that screen.

I couldn’t do it. I felt like I had to be moving a mile a minute at all times, or else my brain would catch up with me, and all those ugly thoughts, the bad memories, everything I ran away from when I was a kid—it would all come gushing back.

It felt strange, seeing Jude again. I knew it would, but not to that extent. When Lady Fluke approached me about going into business together, I accepted right away—and not only because it was a massive opportunity, but because I knew that Fluke’s main American business associate was my old best friend from back before I ran away to college.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to drop in on her like that, but the look on her face was incredible, like I’d risen from the dead and was shambling toward her, begging to eat her brains. She wanted to run away or maybe beat me over the head until I stopped making noises, or maybe both at the same time if she could manage it. That was my Jude—angry at the world, but most of all, angry at herself.

She hated me. I knew she did, but I didn’t realize she’d still feel it so deeply. When she left, I thought that was the end—but then Fluke called and said Jude was still involved in the project, but that she needed the day to get herself together.

I watched a gray Honda sedan pulled into the parking lot. It was old, probably at least ten years, and some tape held the front bumper in place. It parked next to my Lexus and got dangerously close. I forced myself not to flinch as Jude got out, nearly bashing her door against mine, and shaded her eyes, squinting at me through the sunlight.

God damn, she was beautiful. She always had been, but now even more than back then. When we were kids, she had this short hair she dyed black, and wore heavy black eyeliner, and fingerless gloves sometimes, and had emo music quotes in her AIM profile. She was smart, and funny, and fearless and strong, and I was enamored with her almost as much as I hated my life and myself.

Now though, she wore a pair of brown slacks, tight enough to show off her thin, fit legs, and a cream button-down blouse with a little navy jacket over it. Her hair was long and slightly curly and her natural light brown. The eyeliner was gone, and the braces were gone, and she looked absolutely incredible.

“You came,” I said as she approached.

“Yeah, well, it sounded fun.” She walked up to me and shoved her hand in my direction. “It’s nice to see you again, Bret.”

I stared at her hand, then up into her face, and at her thick, plump lips, then shook it. I smiled in a way that I hoped was disarming. “It’s nice to see you too, Jude.”

She released my hand then introduced herself to Neal. “Sorry for yesterday, gentlemen,” she said, smoothing out her blouse. “All that was sprung on me at the last second and I needed some time to get my things in order.”

“I hope you’re okay now,” Neal said, glancing at me. He knew I grew up with Jude, but he didn’t know the details, and I didn’t want him to.

“Fine,” she said, nodding once. “Shall we go for this tour? I’m excited to move this project forward.”

“Lead the way, Neal,” I said, gesturing for him to get going.

He nodded and shoved the door open, and we stepped into a massive structure with high metal ceilings and tall support poles dotting the space like trees. Jude walked alongside Neal and looked around appreciatively, and asked appropriate questions, all the while studiously ignoring me. Yesterday I’d gotten a glimpse of the old Jude, the passionate, angry Jude, but this woman was different. She was professional—buttoned up and in control.

I liked the old Jude. I didn’t know this one anymore.

And maybe that was all I deserved. After how I’d left things, I couldn’t be surprised if she was still angry. Hell, I deserved it, and then some. I knew what I was doing when I went away and left her there to fend for herself—but it still didn’t stop me.

That was something I carried with me.

For years, I wanted to bridge the gap between us. I thought about reaching out to her a thousand times, just to see how she was doing, and maybe to apologize for how things went down. Instead, the silent stretched, and the version of myself that was in love with that version of herself slowly died off and disappeared, replaced by this new person—one that the old me would’ve barely recognized.