When We Were Friends Read Online Free

pictured in my head when I said the word “artist”: leather-jacket-and-eyeliner-wearing, red-wine-drinking, four-letter-word-using. After our first kiss he’d said he loved me, and I’d been sure I was in love with him too.
    But then, two months after I’d left home, Star overdosed on Xanax and called me to say goodbye. I dialed 911 and raced back to Virginia, realizing within minutes after seeing her shrunken form in the hospital bed that I couldn’t ever leave again.
    Long-distance relationships are impossible for dark-souled artists; they need immediacy, daily dosings of passion. And even as we both cried over the phone about how much we missed each other, I’d known it was the end. But after I’d reverted back to my non-leather-jacket-wearing real self, I’d still thought about him for years, imagining what our life could have been.
    “He’s an architect,” I added, looking down at my rings, hoping Sydney’s eyes would follow. Until I noticed a chip in the engagement ring, exposing the white plastic underneath. I tucked my fists under my arms.
    The baby began to cry around the pacifier, her lips thin and quivering. Sydney made no move to comfort her, so I found myself setting my portfolio on the counter so I could lift her, delighted at my own audacity, feeling a bright swell of pleasure at her weight against my arm.
    “We’ve been trying for about six months,” I said, “since we first got married. We both love kids so much. He’s an architect like I said, and he gets me to paint murals if his clients want them, after his houses are built. All kinds of weird things people want, rain forests and manatees, and paintings of their dead cats. And he’s built us, Keith did, he built us a pretty little ranch up in the farmland near Norfolk, with a room for the baby once it comes.”
    The conversation was so weird; not just the lies which were planned out, but the distracted look in Sydney’s eyes. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but I’d wanted some reaction,
something
, maybe admiration or even a little jealousy considering I had a fake husband and Sydney had nothing. Look who ended up with a happier life, I was trying to say. But instead it all sounded like giddy rambling.
    Jacqueline raised one arm, and when I tucked her against my shoulder she swung that arm round to open and close her hand against the back of my neck, like she was trying to soothe me. At thefeel of her tiny hand, my eyes unexpectedly started to sting. I pressed my cheek against the top of her head. “It’ll be such a sweet room,” I said, “murals on every wall, an antique dresser and crib. I can already picture it exactly in my head.”
    “Sounds nice.” Sydney watched the baby as I rocked it foot to foot. “It’s great you’re so creative. The most I could think to do was paint Jacqueline’s room pink, which she probably thinks is such an insult.” She flashed a quick smile. “So Sara’s not going to be here, like I said. But she’s letting me look at your work and make a decision for her. ’Specially because I’m the one who’s going to have to be working next to the thing all day, she wanted to make sure I could stand it.”
    That was the problem, why it seemed so wrong, because Sydney didn’t care. Here I was trying to orchestrate every movement, every word, but to Sydney it all meant nothing. No apology, no discomfort at all. Those years we’d been friends were just some old-bad memory she’d left behind.
    “Okay,” I said. “Go ahead and take a look. First’s the toy store.” I rubbed at Jacqueline’s back, watching Sydney’s face as she scanned the photos, looking for at least some sign of admiration. “Cat in the Hat chasing after the Things. And then’s the kitchen store and the Sweet Shoppe, and I also put some sketches in back, of ideas for here. I was thinking a Druidic scene on one wall, fairies and smoke and people in dark hoods, and then another wall with a night scene, planets and