As soon as I walk through the door, I unload all the things I carried with me on to the kitchen counter and hop into the shower, not before connecting my phone to the Bluetooth speaker for my “happy” playlist on Spotify. I hum to the music and I’m relatively okay but then it hits me again.
This is how my days go: I’m mainly fine, but then these waves of realization hit me, saddening lows creep in, and I can’t do anything but miss Liam and mourn what could have been.
Time heals all wounds, my heiny! Laughable really. More like time does crap to heal your wounds and distance makes the heart grow achier. At least we can finally corroborate, it wasn’t just a crush or mild infatuation. I’ve hopelessly, deeply, and genuinely fell for the guy. Broken heart aside, I need to get ready, the girls should be here any minute now. We haven’t met since Liam left about five days ago, but they insisted on coming tonight, all of them. And just as I wrap my hair in a towel and secure it up on my head, the intercom buzzes.
I open the door to Pandora declaring, “Hello ma’am, we’re here to assess the wreckage.” She hugs me.
“Explore, explore the wreckage,” my sister corrects, popping her head in the door next and planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Mend, y’all, mend the damage,” Kayla adds.
Panda, who seems to be the orchestrator of the emotional distress first responder’s brigade, closes the door behind us. They stand in front of me as Panda does the talking. “We know you tooooo well.” She lingers. “You’re working on logic mode, shoving the pain and disappointment down. Yeah, yeah, a noble cause, helping people in forsaken countries and whatnot, but, where’s the promise, where’s the hey-wow-you’re-beyond-what-I-would-imagine-my-soulmate-would-be thing?”
I swallow the emotional lump her words bring along.
“So, we’re here to do a quick and intensive rehab. Tonight, our beloved chicken, we’re going to walk you through the stages of a breakup so you’ll be able to live through it and come out stronger with your Anna ways.”
The thing about genuinely good friends, they know how to read the “help me” in your “I’m doing okay” smile.
Marching to the kitchen, Panda deposits a box of rosé on the counter. We all follow in a silent line. There’s something about her gait that just deems immediate submission. “So,” she says, now walking toward the living room. She gestures for me to sit down while telling my sister, “Vic, get glasses.”
“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” Vicky salutes briskly and pivots to the kitchen.
“Let’s see,” Panda says, pulling out her phone. “Siri,” she says in her teacher voice. “What are the stages of breakup mourning.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmur and shake my head. I look at Kayla, the usual voice of reason, for help but she shrugs with a humored smile.
And before I know it, wine is poured into glasses and Panda starts the healing ritual. “You should bargain now,” she orders.
“The hell’s that?” I ask, taking a generous sip of my drink.
“Bargaining, you know, do anything to avoid accepting it’s over,” she explains like it’s the most logical thing.
I shake my head again. “I’m not bargaining. I accepted it was over the moment he told me so.”
Panda carries on, disregarding my reasoning. “Depression, ugly crying, and feeling sorry for yourself, come on then, time to cry.”
“I don’t cry on demand, you weirdo.” I roll my eyes and take another sip from my glass. I look at my friends with a bitter smile. “You know what the worst part is? He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”
“Of the male variety you mean,” Panda says. “Otherwise, you’re being a bit of a shit.”
I manage to crack a smile. “Of the male variety. I swear I met more unicorns than guys like him.”
“Excuse you, just to quickly circle back,” Kayla says. “What the actual fuck? Now is not the time for glorifying his sorry ass, as cute as it may be. Sorry babe, this is the voodoo doll part of the evening. Hold on to your combs, chickens, and pull out them pins.”
We all laugh at that. I throw a hesitant glance at Panda, hoping she’s not about to pull an actual Liam Voodoo doll out of her bag. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. I’m glad to find out it’s just another stage Siri the all-mighty mentioned.
“Understanding,” Panda says, raising her wine glass. “Understanding what a loss it is to him cause you’re fucking awesome.”
“Amen to that,” Kayla raises a glass too and Vicky joins.
I smile at them. My smile wavers as I think of Liam, about just how great of a guy—friend he is, was . . .
Holding the glass, I stare at its contents as I move it in circular motions. “He is the kind of guy who’ll help you color your hair when you’re both a million years old and your hands shake.” I raise my eyes to my friends who stare back at me with concern.
Kayla clears her throat. “Just so we’re clear, are we . . . embracing pain and hoping for the best, or eulogizing the shit out of this?”
I huff an exhale, meeting Panda’s narrowed stare at me. “I want to say the first but I’m afraid it’s going to be the latter.”
She nods and muses, “At the moment, I sort of want him to take a long, long walk on a short, short pier wherever he is.”
I take a deep breath, and vent out, “Why do we always end up seeing someone by the sum of their flaws? Why not take the good and the bad together even though they chose to not be with us?” I eye my group of close people and say, “C’mon. Don’t! He’s a good person who maybe doesn’t think I’m all that. But you can’t take it away from him. He’s a good person! He’s in a third world country right now on a God damn Doctors Without Borders mission.”
“Wait a minute, before we hand Father Teresa a noble prize,” Panda counters, prompting Kayla to snort a laugh. “He’s been a dick to one of our best people. I’m sorry, he can save lives and do good, bla, bla, bla, but he’s still a dick.” Frowning deeper, she adds, “And the timing of kicking your fine ass to the curb . . . Je-sus! That’s like beyond dick move. That’s another level of jerkiness!”
Kayla seems pensive for a moment before saying, “Sometimes I wish people would embrace the simple saying, leave it better than you found it.” We all nod thoughtful in agreement.
Vicky claps her hands, “And I think it’s ice cream time.”
Ice cream and rosé. I love my girls.
We’re all slouched around my living room, Kayla and Vicky on one sofa sharing a tub of everything chocolate ice cream. Panda is on the floor, her chest pressed on a pillow, digging into a tub of pistachio ice cream, while I’m on the adjacent beanbag, playing with my spoon at the rim of a dairy-free cinnamon nice cream. With a spoon to her lip, eyes trained on me, Panda asks, “Name all the things you love.”
I keep my eyes on the tub in my hand. “In any specific order?”
She shakes her head, speaking over a full mouth. “Nope, just randomly, whatever comes to your mind. Shoot,” she adds, spaying a speckle of ice cream into the air.