“So you had a wild night, huh?” Juliet asks when I walk into our room. “How was the walk of shame?”

The walk of shame is the process of walking home in your evening clothes the following morning, after spending a night at some guy’s house. It definitely wasn’t great. It was after 8 am when I woke up, which basically means that the whole city was already awake. I tried to cover up the gown as best as I could with my coat, but it was pretty obvious anyway. The homeless man who likes to hang out on 116^th Street and Broadway even whistled at me.

“So what happened?” Juliet asks. “Tristan’s really mad at you, you know that right?”

I roll my eyes. I can’t bear to even hear his name.

“I have to wash my face,” I say and head to the bathroom.

Juliet follows me inside, refusing to give me privacy until I give her some of the gory details. At first, I refuse. I wash my face. My eyes look swollen and tired with black bags underneath. No, I can’t be seen like this. I apply a small coat of foundation, some eyeliner, and a bit of mascara. I look in the mirror again. Much better.

“Okay? So what happened?” Juliet pesters me again. This time, I give in and give her the broad strokes.

“I’m so happy for you!” she claps with excitement when I tell her about sleeping with Simon.

“It’s not that exciting.” I shrug and walk back into the living room. Suddenly, the door to Dylan and Tristan’s room swings open.

“Where the fuck did you go?” Tristan asks.

“What’s it to you?”

“Because I was worried, Alice. You don’t just leave and don’t tell your date. This is New York City. I thought you’d been kidnapped or raped or something!”

His voice is tense and tired and angry. But I’m angry, too.

“You were the one who left first. I couldn’t find you anywhere!” I scream. I don’t yell often, hardly ever, but I’m too tired to keep this conversation civil.

“I just went to cool off.”

“Well, you were gone for an hour before I overheard your brothers there talking about how hot I was and how glad they were that you didn’t bring Tea.”

“So?”

“So? You didn’t bring your girlfriend because she’s fat? Because you’re embarrassed of her? Do you know what that makes you, Tristan?”

“No, what?”

“An asshole. A real asshole!”

“Oh please.” He shrugs.

“And even now, you’re not even sorry. You don’t care. I don’t even know who you are anymore, Tristan. When did you become such a dick, exactly? Because I remember when you were a nice guy. A really nice guy.”

I walk back to my room. He follows me.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Tea,” he says. But it’s too little, too late.

“I never want to see you again, Tristan,” I say quietly. My voice is calm now. Certain. “I know I will; we’re roommates after all. I just want you to know that I never want to see you or talk to you again.”

He stares at me in disbelief. And then I take it a step too far. I feel myself creeping over the edge as the words come out of me, but I can’t stop them.

“And I hope you lose all of your stupid money,” I say and slam the door to my room.

* * *

Tristan and I don’t speak for weeks. At first, I actively ignore him and don’t respond to his attempts at conversation. And after a while, he gives up. What forms between us is a kind of Cold War. We pass each other in the living room and the kitchen without speaking a word. We talk only to our roommates, but never to each other. I’m actually impressed that we keep this up. The four of us engage in whole conversations in which he and I speak to and respond only to Dylan and Juliet, but never each other.

Juliet and Dylan pester me about it for a while, but by the end of the second week, they too give up on us. And our Cold War is embraced.

It is after we reach this place of equilibrium that I finally write him a thank you card. I’ve been meaning to do that for some time, but I wanted some of the anger to die down within me. When I feel I’ve reached an appropriate level of apathy, I finally pick up a pen and write the thank you card.

Dear Tristan,

Thank you. Thank you for showing me your true colors at the masquerade ball. That moment, when I realized what you had done to Tea (and in a way to my old self), freed me from your grasp. It allowed me to finally let you go. We are completely different people now. I do not much like this new person you’ve become but it is no longer my place to talk about him. Sometimes, I still miss my friend, Tristan, who made me feel like I was the prettiest girl in school even though I wasn’t even the 100^th prettiest girl there. But he’s gone, isn’t he? You’re someone else right now. Someone that I hope you don’t stay for long. But that doesn’t matter now, either. I’m just writing you this note to thank you for finally showing me your true self, at this point in your life. I don’t think we will ever speak again (I’m not sure if that’s right or wrong, it just happens to be the case), but I’m okay with that.

I hope you have a nice life and remember that there was a time in your life when you weren’t so cruel.

Alice

I reread my thank you card. I have no intentions of sending it, but I’m still apprehensive about how snarky it sounds. But snarky is just the kind of mood that I’m in right now. And I’m not apologizing for that either. I’m done apologizing.

I’m not sure, but the card feels strange in my hands. It feels a little like a good-bye.

Perhaps, this is the last card that I’ll ever write him. Wouldn’t that be something?