Anthony:
She had cut her hair. And I could tell she was trying to get me to compliment it; she kept flipping it around and running her fingers through it. But I wasn't giving in. I didn't fly halfway across the state to talk about hair with the person I disliked most; I was here for one reason and one reason only.
"You look good, Anthony," she commented, crossing her legs and leaning forward on the table.
She was wearing a low-cut sleveless shirt and extremely short shorts that really shouldn't have been classified as shorts, even though it was the coldest day we'd had in a while.
I sighed.
"Can you just tell me what the date means?"
She leaned farther forward. I didn't let my gaze move from her excessively-makeup-coated eyes once.
"Come on, you don't even wanna catch up at all? It's been like, six months."
She took a sip of her water. She was still living in my- our old apartment. And she really hadn't changed it at all. I wished she would. I wished she would completely redo the place or even move out.
I just stared at her.
"Have you been watching Game of Thrones? Seen any good movies? Met anyone else?"
I sighed overdramatically.
"I'm trying to make this visit as short as possible. Please, for the love of God, just tell me whatever he told you."
She raised her eyebrows and sat back in the chair.
"You could have at least returned my calls. I tried apologizing."
I closed my eyes. Let out a heavy breath.
"I'll pay you. Just tell me what he told you."
I opened my eyes again. I felt like she was going to cry or something. But she didn't. She was completely expressionless.
"You don't have to pay me."
"Then can you get on with it already?"
She looked at the table for a while. This whole experience was a mistake.
Neither of us said anything for a long time.
And that was when I realized it.
"He didn't tell you anything, did he?"
She didn't look up. Didn't shake her head. Didn't say anything.
"Oh my God." I shook my head. "I should have known."
I stood up. She still didn't move.
"You're sick, you know that? You tell me you might have a lead on where my possibly dead best friend could be just to get me to talk to you. You made me fly all the way here, come to my old apartment for this? You used his name. You lied. I don't know how I ever trusted you."
I walked toward the door. I was shaking with anger. My eyes were watering.
Just as I opened the door, I heard an incredibly small voice behind me.
"It was the day he realized he was in love with you."
I stopped. Everything stopped, actually.
My voice was even smaller than hers as I turned around and tried to make sense of what she just said.
"What?"
"June 29th, 2003. You were at his house and it was late and you were watching... I don't remember what, but you were watching some movie, and you were half asleep and he told me to tell you that was when he realized he was in love with you." She bit her lip. "That's what he told me to tell you."
I stood with my hand on the doorknob for a while. I felt like I should have had some sort of dramatic epiphany or something, like wow my male best friend has been in love with me for eleven years, but I just... didn't. I think I always knew. Deep down inside, I knew. I just hadn't really realized. But even after realizing, I didn't really feel anything. It was sort of like someone just told me the sky was blue; it was an obvious fact of life that everyone just seemed to know.
Eventually, I slowly walked over and sat down.
"When did he tell you this?"
"He called me just a day or two before he disappeared, actually. He just basically said, 'hey, in a couple weeks or so Anthony may or may not be struggling with something that happened on a random day over ten years ago and I need you to tell him,' well, what I just told you, and then he just told me to call you soon until you answer and see if you needed to know what it meant." She took a deep breath. "I don't know why he told me. Or trusted me to tell you. But I did. And it wasn't some trap to get you to talk to me."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly after a while.
"Yeah."
Neither of us spoke. I think the realization was fianlly hitting me; Ian was really in love with me. And right then I realized why her death was so incredibly painful for him: he didn't really love her. She died thinking she was loved unconditionally, but the truth was, he loved me more. And that guilt ate him alive.
"Thank you."
She looked up at me.
"You're welcome."
I stood up again. She followed me to the door this time.
"Hey, Anthony."
I turned around in the doorway.
"I just wanted to say... I'm really sorry. I am. For everything that's happened." She shook her head. "I know he's okay, and you can find him."
I smiled, just the littlest bit. She did too. The trip actually ended up being worthwhile.
"I know I can."