And then, I go take a shower.
I walk to school, hoping that the fresh air and vitamin D will help perk me up even more. On the way, I dial Megan’s number.
“I’m sorry for not calling you,” I say.
“Don’t apologize to me,” she says. “Your best friend just died. I’m impressed that you’re even functioning.”
“I wasn’t there for a few days,” I say.
“I know,” Megan says quietly. “Mason called my mom for advice.”
“Sometimes I think they love each other,” I say, smiling.
“Same.”
“It’s a good thing we love each other, too,” I say. “Just in case they ever own it and get married or something.”
“We’re already sisters, anyway,” Megan says.
We’re quiet for a few seconds.
“Hey, Megs?”
“What’s up?”
“I feel… guilty,” I say.
Megan is quiet, encouraging me to go on.
“I feel like I’ve been given so many chances, and Audrey didn’t even get one,” I say. “I feel horrible about it.”
“You have survivor’s guilt,” Megan says softly. “It’s normal.”
“Yeah, but it’s more than that,” I say. “I feel like I should have done more for her. I feel guilty for being in Seattle when Audrey was going downhill. I feel like I abandoned her or something. I actually feel bad for being with you.”
Megan is silent for so long I think the phone might have lost service.
“I can see how you might feel that way,” she says finally.
“You do?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “But stop worrying about things like that. You didn’t give Audrey cancer, and you couldn’t make it go away, either. Audrey knew you loved her, and you guys were good. There’s no way you could have predicted when it would happen. It’s not your fault.”
When Megan says those last four words, my heart implodes. Not until this moment have I realized that I’ve been blaming myself. I mean, sure, Audrey had cancer, which was totally out of my control. But in a way, I thought—I hoped—that my friendship was helping her to stay strong.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “It’s not my fault.”
“I’ll tell you what is your fault, though,” Megan says, a little tinge of teasing in her voice.
“Oh, really?” I say, okay with thinking about something besides death for a while.
“It’s totally your fault that our blog is lopsided right now because of a serious lack of coverage out of Middle America.”
>“Tell whoever it is to go away.”
“You’ll have to do that yourself,” Mason says. I hear him leave the room. Someone else comes in. Whoever it is sits on the end of my bed but doesn’t say anything. I don’t move the pillow: I breathe into it and wait. The moisture of my breath, trapped between me and the fabric, makes me feel like I’m in a sauna, but I don’t move. And still, silence. Eventually, I start to get perturbed. Why come into my room and just sit there? Frustrated, I toss aside the pillow. And then I see someone I never thought I’d see again.
“Sydney?”