Amber sits cross-legged on the bed and stares at me for a moment without speaking. Her eyes are wet, but she doesn’t cry. She just shakes her head. Finally, she says, “The universe can be a cruel, cruel bitch.”
“Happy now?” I ask. I do feel strangely better after spitting all that out. Lighter. Or I will, anyway, until she starts yammering on about how it wasn’t my fault.
Amber shakes her head again. “Of course I’m not happy. I hate that you suffered like that. That you still suffer. But I’m glad you finally told me.” For a second she looks like she’s going to hug me or something. But then she exhales deeply and falls back onto the bed. “It has been a mega-exhausting night, hasn’t it? I’m glad we get to sleep in tomorrow.”
“Really? That’s it?” I ask suspiciously. “You’re not going to tell me how the whole thing wasn’t my fault or how I should just let it go or how I should talk to someone about it?”
She looks up at me. “You did talk to someone. Me. And we both know you didn’t pull the trigger. But I’m not going to tell you not to blame yourself.”
“Why not?” I ask, surprised.
“Because I know you. And it wouldn’t help. Plus I get it. I know what it’s like to replay those moments where you make choices that seem so meaningless but then turn out to be major. Like why? Why did I have to do that exact thing at that exact moment?”
“Yes, exactly,” I say. “So many random things had to line up for my dad to die. If I had done one thing differently he’d still be here.”
She nods. “Maybe you’ve just been waiting for someone to tell you it’s okay to blame yourself a little.” She pauses. “It’s okay to feel however you feel. Maybe it’s terrible to say, but I might blame myself a little bit too.”
I fall back on the bed next to her. “It’s not terrible. It’s honest,” I say, looking up at the ceiling.
She turns to face me. “Well I hope you forgive yourself someday, but I think you should be able to take as long as you need.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re the only one who gets it.” And in this instant, I see the Amber I fell in love with again, the girl who speaks her mind and never judges anyone about anything. The girl who understands me like no one else. Maybe there’s a new gloss on her, a Hollywood shine meant to sell records and appeal to the masses, but underneath she’s still partly the same Amber.
I just don’t think I can hold on to her.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty friend lately. I’ve been totally in my own world,” she says.
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the problem. Our worlds don’t overlap anymore.”
“Maybe not.” She blinks hard, a tear taking shape on her pale eyelashes. “So what do we do about it?”