Free Lemon Reef by Robin Silverman

didn’t understand how deep it was between you and Del. I didn’t get the problem until it was too late. You always knew how to be there for me. But I didn’t know how to be there for you.”
    Appreciating her now, I felt foolish for my grudge. For some reason, Katie had always been someone I loved for her effort more than for any result. No matter how disappointing she was, I had the sense she was doing her best, and I just forgave her. Except over what happened with Del; her disregard for my feelings about Del, the way she gossiped about us along with everyone else, was a deal breaker. Del had felt betrayed by me; I had felt betrayed by Katie. Del had cut me off; I had cut Katie off. Was this all not just adolescent-girl drama? Could I have expected us at fifteen to have behaved any differently than we did, to have known any better? I stared at her now, having missed her more than I realized, and felt as if I’d been too hard on her.
    â€œMaybe I wasn’t so easy to help.”
    â€œWell, that’s true!” We were turning to walk again. “You could read rejection into anything.” And as if citing the definitive authority on the matter, Katie said, “Del was just saying that about you.”
    â€œDel?” I balked. “Del made rejection her art form.” Then: “What do you mean, Del was just saying that? When did you last see her?”
    â€œOh,” she said. Silence. Katie strained to sound nonchalant. “We hung out sometimes.”
    The air left my lungs, my chest caved in, and I felt my most basic assumptions shatter. Synchronously, like a once-practiced dance the moves of which you’re surprised to find you still remember, Katie took hold of my elbow to steady me. My inability to hide my sense of betrayal and anguish compelled Katie to abandon the casual tone and begin explaining.
    â€œShe started waitressing at the deli right after Gail did. We got to know each other again. It was no big deal, Jen, really. We only saw her a little. I swear. It was no big deal.”
    I knew Gail, who was a teller at a bank, had taken a weekend job at the deli to make some extra money to help pay off her new car.
    â€œGail didn’t tell me Del worked there,” I said, my chest feeling as if a demolition ball had just dealt it a first major blow. We arrived at the baggage conveyor belt and stood side by side, waiting for my suitcase to appear.
    She focused her attention on the bags going by. “Nobody wanted to tell you.”
    Second blow. This one made my legs a little wobbly. I was beginning to realize this trip would test my hard-earned steel infrastructure in ways I could never have anticipated. The crushing feeling was accompanied by the thought of Del seeming so far away all these years—gone from our lives. No news of her, no idea where to find her, no sense she would want to be found. Now I was being told she’d been right next door, and I was the only one who didn’t know it.
    â€œWhat you’re saying is my two best friends were hanging out with Del and didn’t tell me.”
    I saw the slight twist in Katie’s face, as I said “best friends.” Saying it had surprised me as well. But strangely, I knew it was true. In my current life, I had Madison, and I had many close colleagues, and I had people I hung out with—but friends? Like this? Like Del, Katie, Gail? I was embarrassed to admit it, but no. When Gail had visited me in California a few weeks before, she had said growing up we were like the kids in the Peanuts comic strip, raising ourselves and each other. The adults in our lives had been nothing but whiny EKG lines for voices, coming at us from offstage. It was true. We had been responsible for each other. I was there now, with Katie, on our way to Gail’s, concerned that Del’s daughter needed help, because we still felt responsible for each other.
    She squeezed my elbow reassuringly. “You