"I'm moving out," is the first thing Freya says when she arrives home on the first Wednesday in October. The weather outside is abnormally chilly so she's wrapped up in her big brown coat and thick black scarf that I've seen her wear repeatedly for the past few weeks, looking more like she's ready to live in the arctic rather than a five minute walk home from work.
But that's not what bothers me. Her appearance doesn't faze me; her statement, on the other hand, does.
"I'm sorry?" I ask, gently shutting down my laptop and putting it next to my thigh. I pull my legs up and sit cross-legged on the couch.
Freya beams at me and unwraps the scarf from around her neck. "I'm moving out," she repeats, her eyes lighting up with pure contentment. I've never seen her look this ecstatic whenever she comes home from work, so whatever she's about to say must be good news. And as it turns out, I was partially right. "Niall asked me to move in with him."
"Why?" I ask, surprised, watching as Freya takes off her coat. She lets it slip off her arms and drop to a rumpled pile on the carpet - I wince, for I hate it when she does that - before slipping off her boots and striding over to me, plonking herself down on the sofa beside me. I keep my eyes on her, assessing her shit-eating grin.
"Well cos we're together?" Freya says, to which I snort because I know that; in fact, everyone that knows her knows that.
It's hard to ignore that one piece of information when Niall is all she's ever talked about since they first started officially dating. She thinks he's the one whilst I think she's mental. Especially since they have only known each other for no more than three months. And truthfully, I think it's too soon for her to decide that Niall is the love of her life, her person as she often says, and the one she wants to settle down with because it is supposed to take longer than that. I say that because I've learned from experience, one that I refuse to delve deeper into.
"And also cos he proposed!"
At that, she starts squealing and waving her hand in front of my face. The light catches the diamond on the ring, almost blinding my poor, poor eyes. It is big - too big for my own liking, if I have to be honest - and it's hers. It's my best friend's engagement ring. I can't help the gasp that escapes my lips. "No way."
"Yes way." She giggles as she brings her finger up to her lips and kisses the ring. Again and again.
"No," I shake my head in disbelief, taking her hand and staring at the ring. Though I don't know much about rings, I do know that Niall must have spent lots of money on it. It screams bloody expensive. And it also screams no one will ever buy this for you, Beverly. "How?"
She gives me a pointed look, one that should've warned me that what she's about to say will be utter sarcasm. "Erm, cos we're in love so he wants to make me his wife?"
The shrill of her voice causes me to flinch, but I quickly mask it with a smile, "Don't you think you're moving too fast?"
"What do you mean?" She frowns, swivelling her body so she's facing me. "It's been three months."
"Exactly!" I exclaim, throwing my head back until it hits the back of the couch.
Three months may sound like a long time, but it isn't. Not in this context, at least. If everyone takes only three months to get to know each other before jumping straightaway to marriage, then the divorce statistics will increase. I don't want that to happen to Freya, someone who's more like a sister to me than she is a friend.
"Well, I think it's time," she shrugs. I want to scream because she's so stubborn. "I'm twenty bloody five, Bev."
I squint my eyes at her, hoping that she'll say that she's just joking. But that never comes. I want to reach out and grab her by the shoulders so I can start shaking her until realisation hits her. I want to tell her that just because you're a twenty five years old woman, that doesn't mean you have to settle down now. There are plenty of times for that.
