the talk
694 Words
The "boundaries talk" happened at the one place Gale felt most invincible: her favorite high-end brunch spot. Justine knew that if she did this at the apartment, Gale would feel like she was being evicted from her second home. Here, surrounded by mimosas and avocado toast, Gale was in her element.
"So," Gale said, adjusting her sunglasses as she scanned the menu. "I was thinking for the weekend, we hit that new rooftop bar, then maybe—"
"Gale," Justine interrupted softly, reaching across the table to take her friend’s hand. "We need to talk."
Gale froze. She knew that tone. It was the tone Justine used when she had to tell a parent their child had bitten someone at the nursery school. "Oh god. Is it Damian? Is he breaking up with me? Because I can find you a lawyer, a hitman, or a better-looking waiter by noon."
"No, no one is breaking up with anyone," Justine laughed nervously. "It’s actually about... space."
Gale blinked, her expression shifting from defensive to genuinely confused. "Space? Like... NASA? Or like you need a bigger rug?"
"Like Damian and I need a little more time alone," Justine said, bracing herself. "Gale, I love you. You are the reason I survived the last two years. You're the one who dragged me out of bed when I didn't want to breathe, let alone eat. But Damian and I... we’re trying to build something. And it’s hard to build it when you’re always in the middle of the construction site."
The silence that followed was deafening. Gale slowly pulled her hand back, her lip giving a tiny, uncharacteristic quiver before she masked it with a sharp, bright smile. "Oh. I get it. I’m the 'third wheel.' The annoying best friend who doesn't know when the party's over."
"You aren't annoying, and the party isn't over," Justine insisted, her heart aching. "But we need 'No-Gale Tuesdays.' And maybe 'No-Gale Thursdays.' I need to be able to have a fight with my boyfriend—or a very loud make-up session—without worrying that you’re going to walk in with a bag of muffins."
Gale looked down at her mimosa, swirling the orange juice. "I just... I got so used to being your person, Just. When Greg left, I thought if I stopped moving, or if I let you stop moving, everything would just fall apart again. I guess I forgot that you found someone else to hold the other end of the rope."
"You’ll always be my person, Gale," Justine said firmly. "But you're the sister, not the spouse. I need you to trust that I'm okay now. You don't have to guard the door anymore."
Gale took a long sip of her drink, then pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. Her eyes were a little misty, but the spark was back. "Fine. But if you guys get bored on Tuesdays and start watching documentaries about fungi, don't come crying to me. And if I’m giving up my weeknights, you owe me a very expensive spa day once a month. Solo. Just the girls."
"Deal," Justine smiled, feeling a massive weight lift off her shoulders.
"Good," Gale stood up, grabbing her bag. "Now, since it’s currently a Sunday and my 'ban' hasn't started yet, you’re paying for brunch. And tell Damian if he keeps you hidden away too much, I’ll start dating his boss just to make things awkward."
Justine watched her friend strut toward the exit, head high and heels clicking. It wasn't a perfect fix—Gale would undoubtedly overstep again—but the boundary was set.
When Justine got home, Damian was waiting on the porch. He didn't ask how it went; he just saw the look of relief on her face. He pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. For the first time in months, the apartment felt like a private sanctuary.
"So," Damian whispered into her ear. "Is it Tuesday yet?"
"Close enough," Justine whispered back, pulling him inside and locking the door.
- Writer
