“Hello. Hello. Are you even listening to me?” Evie asks in annoyance.

“Yes. What is wrong with you, and why are you screaming in my face?” I’m probably overreacting to her because the truth is, I’ve been in my own world far more often than not.

“I have been asking you questions about you and Elliot, which you’re blatantly ignoring.”

“Maybe, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t actually care what you want, so spill.” Underneath my irritation at her poking and prodding, there is always this unexplainable sense of pride when I see Evie able to be funny, moody, or mean. It’s a relief to have someone be honest and show you every single side of themselves.

“Where’s the nice one of you?” I ask dryly.

“You mean the one that didn’t talk?”

“Yes. Exactly. Her.”

“Don’t you remember? You scared her away,” she exclaims.

“Tell her I’m sorry,” I groan, dropping my forehead to the table.

“Man, people must think we’re hysterical,” Evie says.

Refusing to pick my head up off the cool wooden surface, I talk, but my voice is directed to the floor. “Hysterical crazy or hysterical funny?”

“Look at you banging your head on the table. We’re definitely crazy.” Raising my head up, I prop my hands up to hold my face. “So, you going to spill the beans or what?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it.” Elliot and I went from taking things slow in theory, to seeing each other almost every day. Everything feels so backward, and uncontrollably fast. Sleeping with someone before dating them is a guaranteed head fuck because now I don’t want to sleep with him to forget, I want to sleep with him, to have something to remember. I’m unequivocally split into two minds when it comes to this whole situation with Elliot. It’s like being two different people, and I can’t seem to find a way to connect them both. When I’m with him, I have fun, my smile is genuine and my excitement at being in his company is a feeling I’m not familiar with at all. It’s scary, and I take that fear home. Mix it with the thick fog of hopelessness that resonates in my house, and anxiety like I’ve never known settles upon me.

“Why? Has it been bad? Is something wrong?” Firing questions at her like pistons, I feel bad for making her worry.

“No, not at all.”

“Then…”

“This is going to sound stupid,”  

“Probably,” she nods.

“So supportive,” I say shaking my head. She raises her eyebrows at me, and I know joke time is over.

“Can, I ask you a question?” The expression on my face must signify my worry because Evie is all ears. She nods.

“You’ve lost so much. How are you not scared of what the future holds?” I shift around on the seat, feeling uneasy at asking Evie personal questions.

“You know, I’m hardly healed,” she states. “It was only months ago I didn’t commit to anything for this exact reason. But what are you scared of?”

“Different things. Things I know are trivial and I’m just obsessing. But then there’s the fear of dredging up the past, and I’m not really good at letting anyone in.”

“You know, it’s a little bit hypocritical that you’re so closed off when you pushed me to open up not that long ago.”

I think back to when I first met Evie, and how sad she was, but I also remember that my reasons for reaching out were not very altruistic. I gravitated to her for all the wrong reasons, and I wonder if this is a truth our friendship can take.

“When I met you, you reminded me of my sister.”

“Yeah.”

“I pushed you the way I should’ve pushed her,” I say bluntly. I meet her gaze expecting her to be irritated and offended, but she doesn’t look any different than she did ten minutes ago. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“There’s nothing to say, I’d already figured this out.”

“You did? Were you mad?”

“Hardly, what the hell is there to be mad about?” She tucks her hair behind her ears and takes a long sip of water before continuing. “The circumstances are different. The things we have endured are both, unfortunately common, and mistakenly unspoken about.”

“I see your new job is rubbing off on you well,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“I didn’t think I would be able to talk about it everyday. I had convinced myself that bringing up James and the past would add to the pain, but the people I see everyday... They’re a reminder that living through that pain is a huge accomplishment.”

I listen attentively. There is truth in what she’s saying, whether she’s in therapist mode or not, I know there’s so much I have to sift through to be able to move forward emotionally.

“And, I’m not just talking about people who fight their demons to stay alive. I’m talking about people like you and me. There’s so much to be said for the people that get left behind.”

Left behind are the perfect words to describe what it’s like after because that’s exactly how it feels. For me, it feels like Renee made plans and forgot to let me know. That she made this huge consequential decision and didn’t include me at all.

“There’s a suicide survivors group if you’re interested in coming along. It’s for people who have been affected by suicide.”

“Yeah, thanks but no thanks. I don’t think I’m up for that type of thing,” I say, brushing her off. She must take the hint, and the conversation seems to fall into a lull. I shove the food around on my plate falling prey to my own spinning mouse wheel of thoughts.

“So, I’ve been watching this new documentary, and it’s about people that eat weird shit, and this lady eats paper.”

“Why the fuck do you watch that shit?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, Lior thinks my interest in people has no bounds. That was after he caught me watching Dr. Pimple Popper.”

“Stop talking, before all the great food we just ate comes right back up.”

“Can I tell you about the lady that ate paper at least?”

I close my eyes and rub my temples. “Go ahead.”

“So, naturally she keeps a stash of papers around, shreds them for when she wants to eat. But sometimes she has to eat books.”

“Nooo,” I say dramatically, knowing very well how Evie feels about her books.

“I know you’re making fun of me Court, but it got worse, she ate her Harry Potter collection. What the fuck is that Court?”

“It’s sacrilegious that’s what it is.” I slam my hand down on the wooden table. “Did you switch off the show out of protest?”

Evie rolls her eyes at my outburst. “You know, this is why I love Lior, he’s interested in the stuff I tell him.”

“No. He just doesn’t want to lose access to your vagina.” She throws a napkin in my direction and I laugh at her reaction. There’s nothing like a little bit of sex talk to embarrass Evie, even though I could bet my life on the fact Lior hangs off every single word she says. Even when she’s talking about Dr. Pimple Popper.

“Where is he today, anyway? You haven’t looked at your phone this whole time.”

“I’m not that bad,” she says blushing. “And to answer your question, he’s stuck working overtime and it was a good time to have lunch and grill my best friend.”

“I’m just kidding. You know nothing makes me happier than you two being together. I know it was hard, and scary, but the end result is what dreams are made of. And nobody deserves it more than you.”

“You’ll get there,” she says reassuringly. “Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do; I promise it will fall into place. You deserve that too.”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” I always use humor to conceal the truth or avoid having a serious case of the feels in public. I’m definitely reserved when it comes to matters of the heart. Evie isn’t amused with my new nickname for her, but I know she knows me well enough to understand; things I do are often unexplainable. “You ready to go get that new vibrator you wanted?”

“Courtney,” she hisses at me in embarrassment, looking around us to see if anyone heard me.

“What?”

She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “One day, I’m going to get you back for all the embarrassing things you say in public.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I taunt.

“I will. You won’t even see it coming.”

“Geez, you don’t have to be so mean to me. I told you I'd pay for the vibrator.” Her face is beet red and I can't help but laugh at how awkward this is for her. I throw my arm over her shoulder, “Don’t you love being friends with me?”

“I could kill you,” she threatens.

“Ha. You love me.”

* * *

“Court, there's someone knocking on the door.” My mom’s croaky voice travels through the house. There's no chance she's getting off the couch to answer it, she's been sitting on the couch since six am and has gone through two bottles since midday. We compromised, she could only drink after lunch time. It's one hundred percent ineffective, but it gives me some sense of satisfaction to have rules about her drinking. I check the time as I finish getting ready, Elliot will be here momentarily. I put on one of my favorite dresses; a white floral wrap around with short, small capped sleeves. With a hint of cleavage, it is my go-to spring outfit. I hear the knock of the door one more time, and figure I’ll just pack my small crossbody and see who it is on my way out.

“Coming,” I shout before popping my head into the lounge room to see Mom. “I’ve got my cell if you need me, I don’t think I’ll be too late,” I tell her.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to Brooklyn Night Markets with a friend.”

“A guy friend?” Even though I’m running late I’m shocked at her questioning. I can’t remember the last time she showed any interest in anything I did.

“Yeah, his name is Elliot.”

“She nods, “well have a good time.”

“Thanks. Call me if you need me,” I remind her as I walk to the door. “Sorry for making you wait—” The words get stuck in my throat, as I see Elliot on the other side of my door.

“What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t we agree I would pick you up?” he asks, confused.

“Yes. No. I mean, what are you doing at my front door?”

“I thought it would be nicer than waiting for you in the car like I always do.” There’s no chance mom is going to get up to have a look at him, and that’s not what I’m really worried about. But the thought of him at my front door, pushes through a carefully constructed wall intended to keep certain things about me private. When someone you know is at your doorstep, you’re compelled to be polite and invite them in. I don’t want to be stuck between a rock and a hard place with Elliot about this. It’s plain and simple, I’m not ready for him to come inside.

Thinking quick, I put my mask on and set the act into motion. Pushing on his chest lightly, I move forward, out of the doorway. “Of course. Sorry you had to wait. I’m ready to go now, though.” His eyes narrow together, not at all oblivious to the skittish behavior to suddenly take over me.

“Okay,” he says, suspiciously. We both make our way down the front path that leads to his car. Elliot grabs my wrist before I’m able to walk around the front of the car. I look down and then back up at him. “What?” I ask. My defenses still up and my voice sounding catty.

“You look beautiful.”

And in a split second, the knots in my stomach are undone and the invisible suit of armor starts to fall off me, piece by piece. And I know if he pushes hard enough, I might let him see what’s on the other side.