That was the Harriet I knew. No more small talk.
It was a stage door photo from a few nights ago. Big smiles on both of us, but only someone who knew us would be able to tell that they were fake.
“He stopped by for a chat,” I said, pushing her phone away.
“A chat?” Harriet’s eyebrows rose.
“We had a drink,” I said. “He wanted me to do a talk show with him.”
“And?”
“And what, Harriet?” I asked, feeling frustrated and angry. “If you want to know if I slept with him, just ask, okay?”
“I know you didn’t,” she said, but she didn’t look convinced.
“Look,” I said, “I know you’re angry and you have reason to be. I lied to you—I said I wouldn’t get involved with Cal and I did. But I made that promise before I knew…”
I stopped talking.
I didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to fight with someone else I loved. Didn’t want to risk damaging this relationship any further.
“Before you knew what?” Harriet prompted.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We broke up. I’m not sleeping with him, I’m not sleeping with Ryan, I’m not even sleeping with Fish these days because she apparently hates me too.”
“I don’t hate you,” Harriet said.
I felt like crying with relief, but I just took a deep breath.
“Well, that’s good,” I said. “Because I love you. You’re my best friend and I’m sorry this happened—I’m sorry I messed up—again—but I can’t take this. If we’re done, then just tell me. It will break my heart, but at least I’ll know.”
Harriet looked stricken.
“You think I don’t want to be your friend anymore?” she asked.
“I don’t know what I think,” I said. “I just know that I can only apologize so many times before it starts to feel like you’re only interested in punishing me.”
Harriet was silent.
“I was,” she said.
That much was obvious.
I passed her the remaining chocolate rugelach.
“Really?” she asked.
They were probably my favorite baked good in the entire state. Harriet knew this.
I nodded. She took a bite. Gave an appreciative little moan, which was necessary and appropriate. I watched her eat the rest of it in three quick bites.
“You’ve got a little something here.” I gestured.
She brushed the crumbs off the corner of her mouth.
“You were right,” she said. “And I didn’t like hearing it.”
Her hands were folded in her lap.
“I was jealous,” Harriet said. “I’ve been jealous.”
The wind picked up around us, brushing leaves from the ground, sweeping them up into a brief paso doble.
“You wrote an amazing show,” I said.
“For you,” Harriet said.
I shook my head. “You wrote it for yourself. I’ve just been lucky enough to tag along.”
Harriet spread her hands wide on the table. Her gold rings caught the light filtering through the trees.
“That’s always how I felt,” she said. “Back then. Like I was lucky that you were letting me tag along with you.”
“Harriet.” I reached over and put my hands on hers. “I was the lucky one. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had you.” I gave her fingers a squeeze. “I’m so sorry I fucked everything up. Then and now. I’m so sorry I let a guy get in my way. Get in our way. Your album would have been amazing.”
Harriet wiped her eyes.
“I shouldn’t have pinned all my dreams on you,” she said. “That was wrong of me.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You know what I did when I saw those pictures of you and Ryan?” she asked.
I didn’t.
“I read the comments,” she said.
“Oh no,” I said. “Why would you do that? Never read the comments.”
“I know!” Harriet said. “I’d just been so mad about the attention that you and Cal had been getting. How every article was about you or him or both of you. And I just knew that if people found out that you were together then that’s all anyone would be talking about, and I was so angry and jealous.”
“I’d be mad too,” I said.
“But then I read the comments,” she said. “Do you know what they said about you?”
“Probably that I looked older and fatter,” I said.
She nodded.
I shrugged. “So what? I am.”
“They’re so mean,” Harriet said. “The things that people say. That strangers say.”
“I’m not a person,” I said. “I’m a rich bitch pop star who cheated on her boy band boyfriend and thinks she deserves a second chance. I’m not normal. I’m a celebrity.”
I gave her jazz hands. She laughed, but it wasn’t funny. Not really.
“I watch the show every night,” Harriet said. “Sometimes from the orchestra. Sometimes from the back of the theatre, sometimes from a seat.”
“Cal too,” I said.
Harriet nodded.
“Last night I was sitting next to this group of four. It was two women our age and their kids. I could tell that they were old friends—the women—and that the daughters had been brought against their will.”
“Love that for an audience,” I said.
Harriet smiled.
“By the end of the show, all four of them were spellbound. Your number made them cry—it made teen girls cry.”
“Teen girls cry at everything,” I said. “I remember.”
“Not if they don’t want to,” Harriet said. “Nothing more powerful than a teen girl who wants to hide her emotions from her mother.”
“True,” I said.
“I listened to them during intermission and after the show,” Harriet said. “I might have followed them into the lobby.”
“Creepy.”
She gave me a look. “They couldn’t stop talking about how great you were,” Harriet said.