4
1141 Words
Natasha woke to the sound of someone knocking.
She groaned and pulled the blanket over her head.
The knocking came again.
Louder this time.
“Natasha!”
She opened one eye.
She knew that voice.
Yvonne.
Natasha rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what day it was.
Then she remembered everything.
The nightclub.
Roman.
His apartment.
She immediately covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, God.”
The knocking came again.
“Natasha, I know you’re home!”
“I’m coming!”
Her voice came out hoarse.
She dragged herself out of bed and shuffled toward the door, still wearing the oversized shirt she’d thrown on before going to sleep.
When she opened it, Yvonne stood there holding two takeaway bags and wearing the expression of someone who had already decided she was going to get answers.
“Finally.”
Natasha stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Yvonne walked inside and looked around.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Natasha closed the door.
Yvonne held up the bags.
“I brought food.”
Natasha’s eyes immediately went to the bags.
“You’re the best friend anyone could ask for.”
“I know.”
They walked into the living room.
Yvonne placed the food on the coffee table while Natasha collapsed onto the couch.
“You slept all day?”
“Apparently.”
“What time did you get home?”
Natasha hesitated.
“Early.”
Yvonne turned slowly.
“How early?”
“Morning.”
Yvonne stared at her.
“Natasha.”
“What?”
“You went out last night.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t come home until morning.”
“I guess.”
Yvonne’s eyes narrowed.
“And?”
Natasha reached for the food.
“And what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Natasha opened the container and picked up a piece of food.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That means there is something to talk about.”
Natasha sighed.
Yvonne had always been like this.
She could tell when something was wrong without being told.
She could also tell when Natasha was hiding something.
And right now, Natasha was definitely hiding something.
Yvonne sat beside her.
“Okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”
Natasha looked at her suspiciously.
“Really?”
“Really.”
A pause.
“But I’m going to sit here and stare at you until you tell me.”
Natasha laughed.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
For a while, they ate in comfortable silence.
It had been a few weeks since they’d properly spent time together.
Between work, life, and Natasha’s breakup, their conversations had mostly consisted of short phone calls and messages.
Yvonne eventually leaned back against the couch.
“So, how have you actually been?”
Natasha’s smile faded slightly.
“I’m okay.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Natasha looked down at her food.
“I’ve been better.”
Yvonne nodded.
“I know.”
“I just…”
Natasha sighed.
“I thought I was doing fine.”
“You are doing fine.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“You don’t have to be fine all the time.”
Natasha looked at her.
Yvonne continued.
“You were with someone for a long time. You don’t just wake up one morning and stop caring.”
“I know.”
“But you’re getting there.”
Natasha nodded.
“I’m trying.”
“And that’s enough.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Natasha smiled.
“How’s work?”
Yvonne groaned.
“Don’t remind me.”
Natasha laughed.
“Still terrible?”
“Worse.”
“What happened?”
“My boss decided that because I finished one project early, I should obviously be given three more.”
“That sounds like him.”
“I swear, one day I’m going to quit.”
“You’ve been saying that for six months.”
“And one day I will.”
“When?”
“When I become rich.”
Natasha laughed.
“Let me know when that happens.”
“I’ll buy you a house.”
“Thank you.”
“You can thank me by letting me sleep in your guest room.”
“You’d probably never leave.”
“Exactly.”
They both laughed.
The conversation slowly moved from work to friends, family, money, and everything else they’d been too busy to discuss lately.
Yvonne told her about a coworker who had embarrassed himself during a meeting.
Natasha told her about a woman she’d seen arguing with a taxi driver earlier that week.
They talked about places they wanted to visit, old friends they hadn’t seen in years, and how quickly life seemed to be moving.
At some point, Yvonne looked at Natasha carefully.
“You seem different.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
“Different how?”
“I don’t know.”
Yvonne studied her.
“Lighter.”
Natasha was quiet.
Maybe she was.
She had expected the night before to leave her feeling guilty or regretful.
Instead, she felt strangely calm.
Maybe because, for a few hours, she had forgotten about her ex.
She hadn’t spent the night wondering what she had done wrong.
She hadn’t replayed the breakup.
She hadn’t cried.
She had simply lived.
“I think I needed last night,” Natasha admitted.
Yvonne smiled.
“I’m glad.”
“It reminded me that I’m still me.”
Yvonne reached over and squeezed her hand.
“You never stopped being you.”
Natasha smiled.
“Thanks.”
“Always.”
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Natasha glanced at it.
A notification.
She reached for the phone, but before she could unlock it, Yvonne leaned over.
“Who is that?”
“No one.”
Yvonne’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Natasha immediately knew that tone.
“Don’t.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Natasha looked down at her phone.
There was no new message.
Just a notification from an app.
She locked the screen again.
“You’re imagining things.”
Yvonne laughed.
“Sure.”
Natasha shook her head.
“You’re so annoying.”
“And yet you love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Yvonne smiled and leaned back against the couch.
“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”
Natasha laughed.
For the first time in a long while, she felt completely at ease.
Maybe life wasn’t fixed yet.
Maybe she still had things to figure out.
But sitting there with her best friend, laughing about nothing and everything, Natasha realized something.
She didn’t need to have everything figured out today.
For now, she was okay.
And maybe that was enough.
- Writer
