Treacherous

The car ride back to Angela's apartment is tedious. Amanda tries to fill the journey will small talk, but Angela can feel the energy between them dwindling. It's obvious Amanda can tell that something is wrong with her, and she wishes she had anything to say to diffuse that, but she's scared that if she speaks she'll say something stupid.

She's not sure why these feelings are surfacing now. It's been fine: she's been coping with everything. So why now is it impossible to ignore the way she feels about her best friend? 

Angela puts her legs up on the passenger seat, resting her chin on her knees. It's a form of comfort: she wants to make herself as small as possible. 

She can feel Amanda eyeing her from the drivers seat, but she keeps her own gaze fixed forward, watching the road. It's not busy today by LA standards, but they're still a little way from home. They just have to get through this car journey, then she can deal with whatever the fuck is going on in her brain. Alone.

'Did you have fun today?' Amanda asks, eventually breaking the silence again. 

'Yeah. It was great.' Angela rests her head on the back of the set and sets her legs back down in the footwell. She plays with the rings on her fingers, trying to distract herself.

'I'm glad,' Amanda replies. She takes a gentle breath before speaking again. 'It's not like you to be quiet, Ange. Are you sure you're okay?' 

'I'm sure, 'Manda.' 

'You can tell me if something is wrong, you know that, right?' 

'I know.'

She hates the feeling of hiding something from Amanda. Worse still, she hates that Amanda can tell that something is wrong. Still, this is the last thing she wants to discuss with her.

'Did something happen?' Amanda presses; she clearly isn't going to give up. 'I felt like we were fine, and then suddenly you weren't.' 

Angela doesn't reply, she just shrugs her shoulders. She concentrates on the feeling of twisting the ring around her middle finger.

'Are you lonely, Angela?' 

Angela sputters in response; coughing turning to nervous laughter. 

'What?' She asks once she catches her breath. 

'You just...' Amanda trails off as she tries to work out what to say. 'This might be insane, and I’m probably projecting, but I can feel your energy shift whenever I talk about being married. Are you lonely?' 

Angela lets out a short burst of laughter through her nose. It's insane how Amanda can be so close to seeing the truth, yet so far off the mark. 

'What's funny?' Amanda asks, giggling a little herself. She glances quickly over her shoulder at Angela. 'I'm just trying to help! Do you need me to help you start dating again?'

Angela isn't sure that she heard correctly. There's no way Amanda is bringing her love life up now. She doesn't want to address it directly, but she knows Amanda, and she's not going to avoid having this conversation. 

'Huh?' She mumbles in reply. 

'You haven't dated anyone the entire time I've known you.' Amanda's gripping the steering wheel tightly. 'You have to get back out there at some point, Ange.' 

'That's not true?' 

It's a half truth. She's flicked through dating apps, and talked to strangers in bars. She's sent messages, then left responses unanswered for too long. She's chatted, slept around, and ghosted: the idea of actually making a connection with someone is overwhelming, so she always leaves before it got too real. Besides, nobody compares to Amanda. 

'Hookups don't count as dating, Angela.' 

'Maybe I don't want to date anyone else, Amanda.' 

'Why not?' Amanda's eyes go wide with genuine confusion. 'You're hot. You're young. You're in your prime, baby!' 

Amanda taps a hand lightly against Angela's leg. As always, her touch lingers slightly, but this time Angela flinches as though she's been burnt. Amanda retracts her hand quickly, replacing her tight grip on the wheel. 

'I'm happy by myself,' Angela replies. She brushes down her legs, as though removing dirt from them. 

'Oh, I know that's not true.' There's a hint of hostility in Amanda's voice, though it's hard to place. Whether it's coming from a place of concern or anger, Angela can't quite tell. 

'Okay?' Angela crosses her arms across her chest. She turns her head, watching the roadside pass by. When she speaks, her voice is soft and quiet. 'I'm happy going on dates with my best friend.' 

'You know our friendship wouldn't change just because you were dating someone, right?' 

Angela can tell that Amanda's words are from a place of absolute sincerity, and it stings. It would change everything: Angela knows that. Their friendship exists on a fine line, stronger than any bond she's felt before. They'd agreed once that a soulmate can be a friend: Angela wishes she believed that now. She’d give anything to be content in the relationship they have, instead of longing for something more. 

'Can we just drop it?' She doesn't look back towards Amanda: it would ache too much. Instead, she watches the road for the rest of their quiet drive. 

Their silence continues as they arrive back at Angela's apartment. It's an unspoken agreement that they'll always get the other home safe: Angela knows that Amanda won't break that pact just because of her bad mood. 

It's also unspoken that Amanda is the one to carry heavy things up the stairs. She doesn't give Angela the opportunity to touch the plant they'd bought, she just grabs it out of the trunk and begins her way to the front door. Angela closes the car, following slowly behind her friend. 

They still don't speak when Angela unlocks the front door. Amanda is out of breath from waiting at the top of the stairs, where she refused to put the heavy pot on the ground even though she reached the top almost a full minute before Angela. As soon as they're inside, Amanda wanders over to the corner of the room, placing the plant on a small side table. 

The green of the leaves, combined with the large teal coloured pot they reside in, adds colour to the room: Amanda had been right, the space needed more life. 

Everything hits Angela, all at once. The comfort of being known so completely by her best friend, and the agony of understanding that Amanda will never be what she wants her to be. She sits down on the couch, curling up to make herself as small as possible. 

Amanda seems to recognise the need for silence, even if she doesn't understand why. She takes a blanket from the end of the couch, spreading it over Angela. She brushes Angela's hair out of her face, and presses a delicate kiss on her forehead. 

'I'll text you when I'm home, okay?' Amanda's voice is barely above a whisper, but it echoes through the room, breaking the tension. 'I love you.' 

The words catch Angela off guard. It's not the first time Amanda's said them, but today it breaks something inside of her. 

‘Amanda,’ Angela sits up, letting the blanket fall off of her slightly. She isn’t aware that she’s spoken until she hears the sound of her own voice. ‘Please don’t go.’

‘Hey,’ Amanda takes a seat on the couch next to Angela. Her presence is comforting, her body naturally pressing into Angela’s side. ‘I’m here.’

Angela tries to put some distance between them, but each time she moves she feels Amanda unconsciously shift closer to her. After a moment, she gives up trying to get away, giving into the feeling of Amanda’s body against hers.

She closes her eyes, soaking in the moment: the way her best friend interlocks with her, like puzzle pieces slotting into perfect place. Magnets, pulled together. Gravity.

‘What’s wrong honey?’

Amanda’s voice breaks through, forcing Angela to open her eyes. She wants to keep them screwed up, closed tightly. She doesn’t want to remember her best friend’s face in this moment. She doesn’t need to see her response: it’s only going to break her heart more.

Unless…

No. Amanda won’t feel the same.

‘Angela?’

Amanda slices through her thoughts again. There's concern in her voice.

Angela knows she has to do it: she just has to get the words out.

‘I love you, Amanda.’

Angela hadn’t wanted to look at Amanda, but now she feels like she can’t move her eyes away. Her heart is racing so fast it’s almost painful to breathe. If she has to speak again, she might throw up.

Amanda's face floods with relief as she beams back at Angela, joyful. She playfully pushes her shoulder into Angela’s: it's hard to suppress the shiver it induces.

‘I love you too Ange.’

‘No, Amanda,’ Angela draws in a deep breath, ‘I love you.’

‘Yes, idiot,’ Amanda replies cheerfully. She's obviously happy to hear Angela speaking again, and clearly misreading her mood. ‘I just said, I love you too.’

‘Amanda,’ Angela’s tone is serious. She watches as confusion and concern cloud her friend’s face again. ‘I need you to hear what I’m saying. Listen properly, please.’

‘Okay,’ Amanda turns to face Angela fully, placing her hands on Angela’s wrists. She locks her eyes onto Angela’s intently. ‘I’m listening.’

‘I’m in love with you, Amanda.’

The words leave her mouth quietly, but Angela is surprised to feel relieved at finally speaking them aloud.

Amanda’s eyes are wide in shock, her mouth agape.

Angela isn’t entirely sure whether either of them are breathing.

‘Oh,’ Amanda finally replies. It's flat.

‘That’s all I get, “oh?”’

‘Ange, give me a second, okay?’

‘Okay. Sorry.’

Amanda’s hands are still tight around her wrists. If anything, she’s securing her grasp, clinging onto Angela harder.

Angela wishes she would let go. It would make this easier.

‘For how long?’ Amanda finally removes her hands from Angela’s wrists, using them to wipe her own forehead instead. She places them on her knees, rubbing her thighs anxiously.

‘I don’t know,’ Angela answers honestly. ‘Two years, maybe.’

‘For two years?’

Angela shrugs in response. She can’t look directly at Amanda any more, so she turns her gaze to the floor, wishing it would swallow her up.

Amanda draws a deep breath, then releases it.

It’s agonising to wait for her to speak. Angela knows she could break the silence herself, but she isn’t sure what else she can say.

‘I mean, I’m flattered, honestly.’

Without looking at her, Angela can feel the sadness in Amanda’s smile.

‘But?’ She asks.

‘But I’m married, Ange.’

From somewhere deep inside her, Angela pulls her final shred of bravery.

‘That doesn’t mean you don’t feel the same way.’

It’s futile to believe there’s any chance of Amanda sharing her feelings, but she has to know with absolute certainty. She needs to hear her say it.

‘Angela, I’m sorry,’ Amanda begins.

Angela feels the heaviness of her words before she’s said them.

Amanda continues, ’but I’m straight, honey. I wish-‘

‘Please, don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Say you wish you felt the same.’ Angela shifts her eyes to the new plant in the corner of the room. She counts the colours in the leaves. 

‘Would it be so bad for me to wish I did?’

‘Yes,’ her voice is barely a whisper.

‘Why?’

‘Because it would give me hope.’ Angela speaks so quietly, she’s not even sure Amanda can hear her. It's taking everything in her to choke back tears.

‘I’m sorry, honey,’ Amanda says, reaching out to rub Angela’s back in small, circular motions.

It should be comforting, but it makes Angela feel nauseous.

‘I know,’ she replies, pushing down the feeling of sickness rising within her.

‘I do love you, Angela, just not…’ Amanda’s words fade out. She’s usually so certain in her conviction, it’s strange to feel her wavering.

‘I know,’ Angela isn’t sure what else to say.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Stop apologising, Amanda,’ Angela snaps, frustration building within her.

'I don't know what else you want me to say,' Amanda shoots back. 'I had no idea-'

Angela doesn't mean to, but she lets out a short, bitter laugh.

Amanda suddenly withdraws her hand from Angela’s back. She still isn’t ready to look her, but she glances to see Amanda's hands folded in her lap, picking anxiously at her fingernails. She's never seen this side of her friend before.

'Angela-' 

‘Don't,' Angela interrupts. 'Can we just pretend this never happened?’ 

‘Is that what you want?’ Amanda asks, exasperated.

Angela pauses for a moment before responding.

‘Obviously not,’ she answers honestly, ‘but I don’t think there’s another option.'

Amanda lets out an aggravated sigh, shifting her position on the couch. She moves her body away from Angela's. 

‘What do you want me to say Angela?’ There’s irritation in her voice.

‘I don’t know,’ Angela’s own voice is husky, quiet as the gravity of the conversation finally weighs in. Her eyes have returned to closely examining the ground: it’s difficult to see as tears threaten to form.

‘What do you mean you don’t know?' There's anger in her tone now. 

‘I didn’t plan for this, Amanda.’

‘You didn’t have a fucking plan?’ Amanda laughs. It’s a bitter sound unlike anything Angela’s ever heard from her best friend before. ‘You’re ready to ruin our friendship, for what?’

Angela considers the question. She's right: why tell her now? Her mind returns to their shopping trip: a day of happiness overshadowed in a single, simple moment. 

‘I can’t just keep pretending,’ Angela confesses.

‘So what now? You expect me to pretend this never happened?’

‘No, I don’t know, I just-’

'When I go home and my husband asks how my day was, what do you want me to say, Angela?' 

'I don't-'

‘No, cut the bullshit, Ange. What do you want me to say? That I’m in love with you too? That I’ll leave my marriage for you? My husband? The life I love? You know I can’t do that Angela.’

She could do it, if she wanted to, Angela knows that. It’s not that she can’t: it’s that she won’t.

It’s that she doesn’t want to.

Amanda doesn’t want her.

Every word Amanda says punches Angela in the gut harder than the last. She brings her legs up on the couch, wrapping her arms tightly around them, resting her chin on her knees. There’s an unrelenting urge to make herself feel as small as possible. She needs Amanda to stop talking, but Amanda doesn’t seem to understand that.

‘You realise this changes everything, right Angela? Literally everything about our friendship has to be different now.’ Amanda’s voice is still harsh, but the bitterness seems to be fading, at least. 'We can't come back from this.' 

Angela tries to speak, but she can’t. Her voice is stuck at the back of her throat, refusing to make a sound. She wants to say “I know” and “I’m sorry”, but she can’t. The words won’t come.

‘Are you going to say anything?’

Angela shakes her head no. She still can’t look Amanda in the eyes. It’s shameful.

‘If you can’t talk about this like an adult, I can’t be around you right now.’

Angela feels the weight of the couch change as Amanda gets up. She can’t watch as Amanda leaves the room, but she hears the front door slam behind her. Finally alone, she lets the tears that were brimming fall. 

She's not sure how long she cries for, but the clattering of tiny feet brings her to. Spork paws at the leg of the side table, where the potted plant sits, interested in the new addition to the room. 

Angela can't look at it any more. 

She stands on shaky legs, shooing her dog away. Spork retreats to the far side of the room immediately.

Angela doesn't think as she pushes the plant pot off the table. It falls to the ground unceremoniously, shattering on impact. Dirt sprays across the room, covering her feet and ankles. 

It's a release, but it's not enough. 

She kicks at the ground, stomping the soil into the carpet. When that's still not enough, she falls to her knees, clawing at the dirt. Her tears mingle with the soil on the carpet, and she dirties her face as she tries to wipe them away. She picks up the plant, shredding apart the leaves. It's satisfying to feel something tangible break apart in her hands. 

Maybe Amanda was right: maybe the plant does have healing properties after all.