One by one, all three of us fell asleep at some point during the movie. Mum said that coming home to see us all cuddled up on the couch like that gave her crazy déjà vu, like she'd time-travelled 10 years into the past or something. At first, I worried that she meant it in a bad way, like seeing us with Dad brought back too many memories of everything our family used to be.

But she said it with a strange, dreamy sort of smile – a peace. As though she knew that love would always unite us in some recognisable way, no matter what happened. When I think about it like that, I've got a hell of a lot to be grateful for.

Not to mention Walt. Mum hasn't stopped gushing about their date since she woke up this morning – literally. Luckily her phone rang, giving August and I long enough to grab breakfast from the kitchen before she starts up again.

"Oh, girls, it was magical!" August effuses in a falsetto lilt that's supposed to sound like Mum. She flaps the tail of her bathrobe like a ball gown. "We went dancing, he took me to see a show, and then we had 'shakes at the dinner!"

I snort, reaching a leg out to kick her stool.

"Hey!"

"Don't be offensive," I chide, "Mum's voice isn't that high. D'you think Walt's gonna move back in soon?"

"Dunno," August muses, swirling patterns in her yogurt. "I want him to, though; I kinda miss him. And his pancakes."

"Same," I agree, closing the pantry door when none of the cereals take my fancy.

"Mum definitely does. You should've seen how she blushed when I asked her if she'd see him again."

"For real?"

"Oh my God, yes. She went beet red. Ask her yourself," I tease when I hear Mum's approaching footsteps as she enters the kitchen.

We turn to face her with smiles on our faces, but there's a troubled look tainting her features. Mum tucks her phone into her pocket and shakes her head.

My eyes dart down to the phone. "What's wrong? Who was it?"

"Lisa," Mum answers, gnawing at her lip. "You remember her husband, Babe's father?"

There's an added gravity in her voice for subtext – Babe's father who went to prison for fraud.

I nod.

"Apparently, he's coming out. And Babe hasn't left her room since she heard the news."

***

Within the hour, I set off. I'm not sure if it's what I want to do, but I know that I have to. I have to be there for Babe, whether we're on speaking terms or not.

I only realize how long it's been since I've been to her house when I get to the bottom of the hill and can't remember whether her house is 10 or 11 Goldstein Ave. I stand outside, bang in the middle of the two, and think about which house is hers, and about a few other things.

For one, I think about Babe's father, Joey. I don't remember too much of him. It's been so long since I've seen him in person that I only recall him in that peripheral way that you recall a second cousin you've only met once: incorrectly – probably misremembering the colour of their hair.

But Joey was slick, I remember that much. He could talk anyone into believing anything. He talked Babe and Lisa into believing he'd be out in 'just a couple months'. Babe only stopped believing that 4 years into his 10 year sentence.

I remember the jokes she, Caz and I made up once Babe's parents got properly divorced, and we were old enough to have watched too many reruns of Friends. We said it made sense that her parents didn't stay together, because everyone knew that there was no way Joey and Lisa could work out.

I catch myself smiling, and the second thing I consider is whether or not I'm still mad at her for everything that happened with Eric. The annoying thing of it all is that it's all come down to a rather dramatic this-or-that, where I have to decide what means more to me: my best friend's wellbeing, or the end of my relationship and the fact that she played a part in it. I stick my hands in my coat pockets stubbornly.

The third thing comes to mind like an invasion, and won't disappear no matter how hard I try to blink it away. I wonder what it will be like in the moment when I see her. What will I feel? Will she even remember those things she said about me, about us? If she does, did she mean them? If she did, where does that leave our friendship?

Before I can ask any more questions and ultimately chicken out, the front door opens (it's number 11). Babe's stood in the doorway, her shapely frame swallowed up by an oversized purple hoodie and tired, grey joggers.

"Hey," she breathes, like she can't believe it's me.

"Hey."

She gestures vaguely at the stairs behind her,

"I saw you upstairs – I mean, from my window, which is upstairs, and I... do you want to come in, or?"

"Yeah," I exhale, psyching myself up for what's coming next – whatever that is. "Thanks."

***

I follow her upstairs to her room and it almost feels like any other day at my best friend's house, except it isn't. When I sit, I don't jump spread-eagle onto her bed like I have before, I perch myself on bench at the foot of the bed, and only once Babe's given me an awkward nod signalling that I should settle in.

When I finally lift my gaze from my trainers, I notice her hand – outstretched to me, like she's expecting something.

Oh, God. Does she want my hand?

My confusion clear, my eyes flicker between her face and extended hand.

"Your coat?" She says it with her eyebrows raised as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. I guess it is.

"Oh, right, of course," I say, shaking it off before she takes hold of it and hangs it on the back of the door, on the hook closest to the window. I'd have hung it there myself if it were any other day. If I didn't feel so stiff and awkward.

As she walks back, we make eye contact, and she run an uncharacteristically self-conscious hand over her curly mane.

"So, when's your dad back?"

"D'you want juice or something?

I let out an amused exhale when we both try and ease the tension at the same time, although I'm not sure if it's been made better or worse. She laughs lightly too, but only with great hesitation once she's read my reaction.

"Um, he'll be back a week before valedictory – May 30th."

"Shit." I have to take a deep breath when I realise we graduate in just over 2 months. "That's fairly soon."

"Yeah..." she nods, taking her lower lip between her teeth. I can't tell if she's excited or terrified, but her anticipation is palpable.

I nod too, because it's all that seems appropriate, and run and uncomfortable hand over the threads of her duvet.

"I, uh... I thought he was supposed to be in there until, like, 2022?"

That isn't what I really want to say. I want to ask her how she feels; how her mum's dealing with it; what she wants to say to him after all this time. But the atmosphere is too uneasy for honesty, so instead I stick to details like this, as though I'm a work colleague afraid of over sharing.

"Me and mum thought that as well," she admits with a frankness that suggests they had hoped so too. "Good behaviour or something, I guess? Don't know."

I watch her as she rubs her dry eyes a few times too many. I can't get a read on her; her gaze is darting all over the room, out of her window – anywhere but at me. No matter how mad, confused or utterly lost I am, I need to know how she feels.

"Babe, this is- it's a fucking lot." The harsh word somehow softens the air, and when her shoulders relax, just slightly, I go on.

"You're the strongest person I know, B, but, I mean... are you okay?"

I place a timid hand over hers, laid flat on the bedspread between us, but she jerks away the moment our hands touch, clutching to the thick cuff of her hoodie instead, and standing from the bed.

"Don't, Angie."

"Don't what?"

Babe is restless, pacing the length of her room before her answer erupts from her, like she's trying to hold it in,

"Don't act like I deserve this!" She gestures between us with an agitated hand, perplexed. "Like I deserve you being nice to me! Why! Why would yo-?"

She doesn't finish her sentence, her tight posture and flailing hands speaking for her.

For a second, I'm speechless; although, Babe's always been like this. Most things don't faze her; and with the few things that do, she holds them all in until alcohol or raw emotion make them bubble over whether she likes it or not.

"Babe," I begin, shaking my head in disbelief, "I didn't come here to fight with you."

"Why not!" She yells. "Fucking yell at me – something! I don't want you to feel bad for me, or run off when you see me in the school corridor; just scream at me or something! Anything!"

Her voice cracks. I can see the hint of a tear glistening in her eye, and all I want to do is hug her, but I'm afraid I'll start to cry too.

"I don't want to bloody scream, B. Not at you. What? What do you want me to tell you - that I can't stay mad at you, even when I try? Jesus, I can't even count the amount of times I've picked up my phone to call you, and put it back down again. Yes, not having Eric feels like waking up and having half my goddamn heart gone, and part of me wants to scream and break down and cry, but still, some-fucking-how, I miss my best friend so much that none of that really matters."

After scanning my expression, Babe bounds over to me. When she throws her arms around me, I feel warmer than I have in ages.

"Angie... I'm so sorry. I had absolutely no right to tell your mum, no matter how I felt about him or you. If I could take it back, I would in a second, you have to believe me."

"I do, Babe," I nod against her shoulder, sniffing. "Me and Eric are done, I think."

"Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Ange."

"B, I love you. I'm sorry for avoiding you, avoiding this, for so long. I just..."

Babe senses where the conversation is headed, and steps back, her hands dropping to her side. I pick at my nails, choosing my words carefully.

"I love you," I say again because I mean it, "I just, I don't know if it's in that way. I haven't got a clue about how I feel about any of it, honestly. Eric, you..."

That night flashes against my memory, in all its drunken tears and revelation. Babe blushes, and I'd bet that she's recalling the same thing.

She shifts.

"Okay... Close your eyes. Just trust me, close 'em."

When I comply, I hear her sigh before she says,

"Think about Mac- Eric."

I don't know where she's going with this, but as soon as she says his name, his image pops into my mind without me even trying. In my mind, it's the morning of his birthday, and his light curls are rich on the white pillow. He's smiling, wide and sincere, love beaming from his look and filling me. I smile too, and the sweet fireworks feeling paired with the sting of knowing he's only in my imagination makes a tear roll down my cheek.

Babe's warm thumbs brushes against my face, taking the trailing tear.

"Keep your eyes closed," she whispers. "Now, think about me."

It takes a greater effort to clear the perfect image of Eric from my mind, but I squeeze my eyes and try.

We're right here, Babe, Caz and me, on Babe's bedroom floor, listening to new music. I close my eyes a little tighter and it's just Babe and me. I steal glances at her while she shows me the new album she loves by De La Soul, and her silk smooth skin glows with joy. I smile, and feel a real, soft kiss, delicately pressed against my lips, tinged with Babe's scent - strawberry and mint. I open my eyes.

Babe's looking right at me, and her eyes ask what her mouth won't. Well?

I shake my head gently. I don't know what I was supposed to feel, but if just the thought of Eric made me feel more than Babe's kiss did...

"There's your answer then," she says, with a light laugh and smile but no humour in her eyes.

"Babe," I start, taking her hand. She doesn't jump away this time, but she shrugs softly in resignation.

"It's fine, Ange – really. In case you haven't realised, I think you're pretty fucking wonderful. And I get to call you my best friend? What more could a girl ask for?"

"Piss off," I laugh, shoving her. I fight the urge to say 'I love you' again, because I know it'll make things a little too awkward for comfort, but I feel it, and I know she does too.

"I think I'll take that juice now." I smile, and as we walk to her door, the atmosphere has eased. If things aren't already back to normal between us, they're well on the way.

"How are your mum and Bea taking the news about your dad?"

"Oh my God. It's crazy – one is completely chill and the other one can't stop panicking."

Babe pulls on the door handle, and we hear the scuffling of feet before we see it: Bea and Lisa scramble away from the door as it swings open, doing their best to act natural.

"Mum? Mubby?" Babe smirks. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"Whaaat?"

"Pfft? Us? Eavesdropping?" Bea laughs, tragically overacting. "Of course not! But hypothetically, if we were, I'm the 'completely chill' one, right?"

************

If you're reading this, I appreciate you beyond words! I'm so sorry it's been so long since my last update; I've had a couple of setbacks this December, but I am so excited to keep writing! Thanks for reading along - hope you enjoyed the chapter! <3