We’re having that awkward moment where I see you, after months and months of thinking I should get in touch, and we don’t know what to say to each other.
You look at me with hurt eyes, wondering what you did wrong, or if I’m just a big, fat disappointment of a friend and narcissistic jerk, too busy with my other relationships. The books, either on the page or in my head, must be prettier, or more interesting, or be the kind of friends who come with benefits (wink, wink). Did I ever once think to invite you to any of those little soirees? Never! Could I at least touch bases and pretend I care once in a while?
I babble incoherently, filling the uneasy void with the sound of my voice, because the uncomfortable silence is more than I can take.
Out of social convention and politeness, you ask how I’ve been, knowing you’ll get way more information than you asked for.
And you do.
And when I finally stop for a breath, waiting for some sort of response from you, you smile and embrace me in forgiveness. Because that’s the kind of friend you are.
I’ll check back in with you soon. I PROMISE. And I’ll catch you up on what’s been going on. Like my very first passport, and cruise, and grownup vacation back in February. Or the Power of the Pen conference in March in which I pitched the book. Or my recent submissions.
Let’s not be strangers, okay?
Thanks for everything. You’re a peach.