I put a hand over her face to shut her up, then drop some of the folders I’ve been carrying in her lap.
She glances down. “What’s all this?”
“There’s this cool trick I’ve heard about,” I say. “It’s called…oh, now I’m forgetting…oh yeah, reading.”
She ignores me, already flipping through the assortment of brochures and pamphlets and getting the idea quickly.
Parker glances up. “Business school.”
I lift a shoulder. “I’ve decided it’s time to start embracing the fact that I love my job, and that I want to challenge myself. I was thinking maybe this could be, like, my do-over, since I was pretty average in college. I want to be good at something.”
Her face is elated as she listens to me, and I can’t help it, I think my chest puffs a little, because she also looks proud.
She returns to the brochures, riffling through them more quickly now. “Have you thought about what your specialty would be, or are you going to start general, and—”
She breaks off and I tense, knowing what’s going to happen.
Parker looks up, and this time her face is confused. “These are all in Seattle.”
“Yeah,” I say, shifting in my seat and trying to play it casual. “They’ve got some great schools up there, and—”
“And they have some great schools here. In Portland,” she says stubbornly. Cutely.
“But Seattle is only a
two-hour drive,” I counter. “Close enough for an easy weekend trip.”
Hence its appeal. Close enough to be, well, close to Parker. To be there for her. But far enough to give us both a little bit of distance.
Far enough to get over her. I hope.
“But what about your job?” she says. “You just said that you—”
“There’s a spot for me in the Seattle office. They said it’s mine if I want it.”
“You’ve already talked to them?” Parker looks stunned. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
I hear the question she’s not asking:
You didn’t tell me?
I understand her confusion. Because once upon a time we’d told each other everything, but now that I can’t tell her everything, I have to be, well…careful.
It’s self-preservation.
And maybe it’s completely selfish, but going to Seattle is one way that I can continue to be Parker’s best friend and to maintain all of the best parts of our friendship without completely destroying myself in the process.
“Well, I’m happy for you!” she says. “And I love Seattle! I’ll come up all the time, and you can take me to Pike Place Market, and we can—”
I see the tears welling up, and put a hand over hers. “I just need the change, Parks. You get that, don’t you?”
She sniffles. Squeezes my hand back. “Yes. And if this is what you want, I’m happy for you. Truly.”
I smile, because I know she means it. Because over everything we’ve been through, that’s one rather crucial detail we’ve each learned about the other person. That we’ll put their needs first. Always.
We both jerk our hands away when we realize that we’re all but holding hands in our office parking lot. So, okay, not everything’s exactly like it was. We don’t touch anymore. Or when we do, accidentally, it gets weird.
By tacit agreement, we don’t talk about my possible Seattle move for the entire ride home, focusing instead on the latest recall of my company’s running shorts that apparently have been linked to a rather unfortunate rash.