In the middle of the night I got out of bed to investigate the light coming from the small kitchen of Natasha's unfamiliar apartment. I had woken feeling hot and disoriented after sleeping off most of the effects of the inadvisable quantity of wine that Natasha and I had drunk earlier in the evening on top of my jet lag. I'd flown back to New York to visit my oldest and dearest friend because over the phone she had said she was depressed.
She didn't see me at first. She was sitting on one of her favorite retro red vinyl chairs in just her white night-shirt and panties. The half empty bottle of Patron on the table became visible when she flicked a lighter, illuminating her beautiful, sad face briefly as she lit the hand-rolled cigarette that hung limply between her relaxed fingers. The strong but pleasant aroma of marijuana reached me as I stood for a second, watching her and thinking how lovely she looked, but how sad.
Sounds seemed to be unnaturally amplified against the muffled background noise of the New York City night. The click of the flint, the slap of the lighter on the table, the sound of her lips as she puffed on the joint, and then her breath as she exhaled reflectively. Unaware of my presence, she took a generous sip of golden liquid from the small glass then let it rest back on the table with a sharp tap. Maybe these were the sounds that had awakened me, despite my lack of sleep from the very early flight I had taken from London the previous night. Natasha had taken me out for a Rioja-fueled session at a crowded little wine bar called Vines or something like that. We'd talked a lot about how I had discovered that Nigel had been having an affair with a little blonde slut with perfect tits who was a receptionist at his law office. Natasha had mainly deflected questions about her own love-life which was also in tatters apparently. Because I was jet-lagged Natasha had taken pity on me, and we both came home early and fell into a drunken slumber in her king bed in her cosy, one bedroom apartment. It was dark outside so I had no idea what time it was, and I definitely hadn't sobered up. My sore eyes told me it wasn't morning yet.
Noticing there were two glasses on the table I felt emboldened to step from the shadows into the small kitchen, wearing nothing but my giant Marylin Monroe T-shirt, to take my place on the chair opposite her. The red vinyl was cold on my bare thighs. She looked up at me gratefully, and I wasn't surprised to see mascara streaking her beautiful face from tears of self-pity. The long pause was punctuated only by the sound of a distant siren and the tequila chuckling as it tumbled into both shot glasses in turn. She replaced the bottle on the table then looked up at me, her lovely, wet eyes reflecting a deep emerald as she raised them to meet my enquiring gaze.
She handed me the joint.
"Sam..." she started, but then tailed off, her eyes downcast once more as she decided how to proceed.
OK good, we were finally going to talk about Sam. I was there mainly to help my best friend through her break-up with the mysterious Sam, who had apparently broken her heart good and proper as they say in London. My head throbbed as I studied my beautiful sad friend. I admired Natasha hugely for the way she had built a successful career and for her incredible bravery in the way she made her way in the world. She was bold, intelligent and fearless. But at the same time, she had always been somewhat tender emotionally, even back in the days when we were at school together, and I was surprised how very fragile she seemed now.
It had been six years since she had moved to New York from our California home town in response to a job offer she couldn't refuse. I had hardly seen her in that time, partly because I had been swept off my feet by the adulterous Englishman who had persuaded me to move with him to London, where we had since married, much to my chagrin. Her call was perfectly timed so I hadn't hesitated in getting on a plane to see my old school friend in her hour of need. We were united in the unbreakable bond that old friends have, now rekindled by talk of my husband's infidelity and Sam's poor treatment of her and how, clearly, neither of those shitty guys appreciated the good thing they had in us California girls. Natasha was studying my face somewhat seriously, and I knew something big was coming.
"I know I should have told you this before, but Sam wasn't, I mean Sam isn't..." Natasha started hesitantly. We both took a sip of tequila and I waited. "She's ... I mean her full name is Samantha. She's a woman." She looked up at me beseechingly, her sad eyes seeking acceptance. " I went and fucking fell in love with a girl."
I was stunned. My oldest friend was ... gay? A lesbian? And, after all the crazy relationships she had been through, it had been a woman who finally broke her heart? I didn't know what to say as I sat there and tried to digest this news, thinking through her long list of prior boyfriends. Did I have any inkling this was coming? No, I don't think so. This was a complete shock. I took a long drag on the joint and handed it back to Natasha, which seemed like a pretty cool move considering the bombshell she had just dropped. She took it from me, searching deeply in my eyes for recognition of the old friendship we had shared for so many years. Then she puffed on the rapidly burning stub, filling the tiny kitchen with strongly aromatic smoke. This was an brave admission on her part. In that moment, I think we both wanted our relationship to survive this seismic shift. I took the joint back from her and, with some difficulty, finished it, coughing as I dropping the blackened end into the saucer that Natasha had thoughtfully provided for that purpose. It was strong stuff, and I found my head swimming. I wanted to go back to bed.
How do you deal with the admission that your best friend is attracted to other women and had never told you? Did she know? When did she realize? Was she bisexual? Perhaps she just been seduced one time by an attractive lesbian and would now go back to dating guys. There were many questions but my head was so foggy I couldn't even think where to start. Instead I picked up the tequila and held it up for Natasha to toast. She smiled and chinked her shot glass against mine.
"Cheers!" I said, for lack of anything better, and drained my glass in one go. She followed suit and we banged our glasses down on the table. We burst out laughing, both knowing that nothing -- not even this -- could break the bonds formed many years ago.
"Well, that's a turn-up for the books!" I said, and started to giggle at the meaninglessness of the expression. What the hell did it even mean? I felt stoned. The pot was making me dopey. She smiled, then started to laugh along with me. Soon we were both helpless with laughter. We were going to be OK.
