The Christmas Theory

Ghosts of Best Friends Past

Still, I couldn't shake her away. I couldn't seem to cut that tie, or to turn off that part of me that still seemed to care about her. Was that dumb? Was that naïve? Or was that just what being a sister was?

"Ask me about it."

I moved my eyes from the sea. I cast them back on her profile, searching her guarded gaze.

"That's why you came down here, isn't it?" She tucked a pin-straight strand of hair behind her ear, taking a shallow breath before daring to meet my eyeline. Her stare was brimming with nerves, with a toxic concoction of shame and dread. "To ask me. To know."

I was surprised that she addressed everything so openly. That she was so readily offering me full disclosure.

Then again, it wasn't like we could put the cat back in the bag.

Still, I swallowed hard. I didn't know what I wanted to know, or if I even wanted to know more than I already did. She was right; initially, I thought that's what I'd come down to the beach to do. To take another step in my journey toward healing, to ask questions and get answers and closure just like I'd promised James that I would. It was only when my feet hit the sand that I realized the truth.

It was only when I saw someone suffering that I realized that I wasn't anymore.

Something was being offered to me, something that I'd craved since walking in on Eli and Lola entwined with one another in the back seat of his truck. It was being dangled right in front of my face after I'd sought it out for so long, but, suddenly, I didn't want it. I didn't need it.

I didn't need answers. I didn't need to know the ins and outs of Eli and Lola. Because it just didn't matter anymore. Rather, he didn't matter anymore.

No, my journey for answers no longer concerned Elijah. Rather, there was only one thing that I needed to know. What my best friend's betrayal was worth.

"Did you really love him?" I hated that my hunger for an answer pooled in my eyes, that it laced my words with a pathetic kind of desperation.

But maybe it was a good thing that it did. Maybe that was what she needed to be honest.

"Yes," she said, breath catching in her throat. It pained her to say it. It pained her to even have this conversation. She was usually so prideful, so righteous and selfish. But as she uttered that word, that simple confirmation, I could practically see her heart breaking through the murky green of her eyes.

Despite everything, my sister-senses were firmly intact. They were telling me that Lola was broken. That she was exactly where I'd been, drifting out to sea without anything or anyone to anchor her.

And that's when it hit me. The real reason why I'd felt a pull to Lola since I saw her from my bedroom window. The real reason why I'd come down to the beach in the first place. Not for me. Not for my healing, not for my closure. I was already whole. It was her heart that was fractured, and while I wasn't obligated to fix it, I felt enough love for her to try.

I didn't like Lola. But I did still love her.

I pulled my sleeves around my hands. It wasn't cold, but I was shivering like it was. "Do you still speak to him?"

"We never spoke," she scoffed, the sound bitter and dry. "We fucked."

A sharp breeze of ocean air slapped me in the face, and I blamed that for the pink hue that settled on my cheeks.

She cast her winged eyes out to the ocean again, biting the side of her lip, contemplating her response. "He's like a riptide," she continued softly. "He doesn't really come back into my life. He crashes. He pulls me under, sucks me in. He makes me feel wanted. Breathless. And then he's gone, and I swear to god that I'm never getting back in the water. But I can't help it. I love that feeling too much. Even though it's fleeting. Even though it's dangerous."