The Christmas Theory

Ghosts of Best Friends Past

And I had a pretty good idea of what that something was.

"I didn't know you were coming home today."

I tilted my head, my loose curls brushing against my shoulder. "No?"

Though the railing concealed her mouth, I thought I saw it twitch. "Maybe I heard something." She shrugged. "You know what Capri's like."

"Spinning gossip like it's cotton?"

Not even the railing could block her smile then. She smiled so gratefully, as if I'd given her a present and not a terrible joke. It was such a pretty expression, such a genuine one, too. One so bright that it almost made up for the bags under her eyes and the knotted mass that had become of her silver hair.

Even though that girl broke my heart just as much as Eli did, seeing a smile crack her cold veneer warmed a part of me I'd long since repressed.

"How are you?" she whispered, her voice mixing with the cry of a gull overhead.

I didn't need to think twice about it. "Good."

Maybe I should have thought twice. Maybe it was insensitive to admit that I was fine when she clearly wasn't.

Still, I felt too raw to lie.

"Really. I'm ..." I trailed off, the faintest of forces pulling at my defiant mouth. Faces and memories flooded my mind. A mirage of smiles and laughter, of Dex and Noah and Kara.

And James.

How could I forget James?

"I'm great."

Part of me expected her to be upset about that. The last time we'd spoken, she'd told me that she'd always envied me. That she'd always wanted what I had. Who's to say that hadn't changed just because the source of my happiness had?

But Lola didn't tense at my response. She didn't even flinch. She simply nodded. Like she knew.

"You?" I asked gingerly.

A light laugh escaped her full, pink lips, the type that was utterly devoid of mirth. She shrugged. "I've missed you."

I missed her, too, though that hadn't always been the case.

First, I'd been upset with her.

Then, I'd been disappointed in her.

Quickly, I'd hated her. I'd despised her and resented her and wished horrible things on her.

And, then, I missed her. I missed us.

Was I dumb? Was I naïve? Maybe. Probably. But I still crept up that ramp to sit alongside her on the ledge.

I think that surprised her even more than my attempt at humor had.

Silence swelled between us. We watched the rising tide go in and out, just like we had on lazy days when we were girls. We'd sat in that exact tower almost every day after school since third grade. We did our homework there. We talked about boys there. We mapped out our lives there, planned our fashion line and our girl band and our future weddings there. For the latter, she'd envisioned The Plaza—grand and illustrious, a glamorous affair that her guests could brag about attending for years to come. I'd envisioned the chapel at the top of Capri's northern-most cliff. Close to family, close to the beach. Close to the sound of waves and to the salty smell of home.

A dull aching snaked around my heart. Once again, I was reminded that Lola cheated me. She didn't just cheat with my boyfriend. She cheated me, full stop. Cheated me out of having a lifelong best friend. Out of having someone at my twenty-first or at my wedding who knew me and who I knew. Totally, completely, entirely. More than a man ever could.