Amanda
Amanda Webber sat cross-legged on her balcony’s wicker coffee table, just outside the common room of her apartment. In one hand, she held a spotless wineglass. In the other, she held a half-empty bottle of wine. Atop her head was a yellow paper party hat with red polkadots.
For an entire week, Zaliel had blown off work and dodged her calls.
Oh, her other friends were just so patient when she met with them to talk about her trip, but they were too self-absorbed to provide any comfort for someone who’d blown a holiday weekend just to get puked on. So, what if Julia was too engrossed with her esports team? Or Tabitha too wrapped up in conspiracy theories that Changlings weren’t real. And Barbara was too damn pregnant to do anything but talk about how excited she was and how much Amanda should totally meet the baby. The only three more terrifying words were “I love you” and “he won’t bite.”
“Amanda, I’d love to talk,” Ben told her. “I’m just, uh, deep in this project and things are really coming to a head, so while I appreciate the distraction,” he went on, out of breath
—probably hiking or whatever, “I just need to keep my head down with a firm grasp on the situation, okay?”
Amanda looked at the blank screen—audio only—damnit. So, she ended the call, grabbed a bottle of wine, replicated a birthday cupcake, and devoured it angrily as she looked out over the San Francisco skyline. She tried counting all the little lights, but the numbers started getting hard to remember.
“When did I get so lonely? Or dependent on Zaliel?” she drank large, unwieldy swigs from the bottle. “All this time I thought she needed me around to show her the ropes; help her make it on Earth but—did I just need to be needed?” It was an ugly thought that turned bitter quickly.
“Oh Amanda! I’m so helpless I can’t tell the difference between a penguin or a parakeet!” she grumbled. “Oh Amanda! Let me pretend to be fucking murdered just to play a dumb prank on you—thanks for risking your life to save me let me repay you by fucking off to wherever-the-hell and not even bothering to replicate a sticky-note!” God! It made her so angry!
So she drank and grumbled and floundered for an anchor. She picked at the wicker idly while she looked at the city. There were a thousand places she could be right now: clubs, bars, parties. But really all she wanted was a friend—a real friend—to be present for her. To give her a hug, show her some goddamned empathy, and hold her hair when the wine inevitably came up.
Amanda woke up on the couch in the common area covered by a blanket, drenched in sweat, and smothered with a splitting headache. She had broken several cardinal rules about alcohol:
- Never drink alone
- Never drink when angry
- Never drink on an empty stomach
Her eyes were so dry and crusted she didn’t notice the waiting hypospray on the table. Didn’t see the boots or bags or other signs that Zaliel had returned. She hit the replicator and yelled something close enough to “black coffee” that she got what she wanted, then drank as she shambled into her en suite. There, she stripped naked and drank coffee as the sonic shower slowly stripped away the grime and sweat. The headache stayed, but it only fueled how she wanted to feel: miserable.
By the time she drained the last delicious drop from the thermos, Amanda was more or less dressed. With a little vigor, she stepped into the common room, only to find it decorated with streamers and balloons. On the couch, sitting rather close, were Zaliel and Ben.
“Surprise,” they whispered in unison, making jazz hands as if it were some fucking joke.
Amanda stood there in disbelief. It had been the week of hell and they just—“and you just show the hell up like this was the plan all along? Since when the hell did you meet? How are there streamers? Where have you been? Why didn’t you return my calls?”
“Can I?” Zaliel asked Ben who only laughed and nodded, the ass. “So,” she began as she stood, approaching Amanda as if she were a dangerous animal. “We met over a week ago, we put the decorations up while you were in the shower, and mostly we’ve been at Ben’s place—did I miss one?”
Amanda grabbed Zaliel by the shoulders. “The most important one! Why have you been hiding?”
This time her brother stood. “That one’s on me: when we weren’t busy on your birthday present, I was showing Zaliel around Cali and,” here it comes, Amanda braced herself, “l didn’t think you should know we were together, I mean, at first, like until we finished your present, you know, not to spoil the surprise?” he said with increasing uncertainty as Amanda’s eyes metaphorically burned holes through his brain. “Also,” he added quickly, “how have you lived here for years and never taken her surfing?”
“Together? Like?” Amanda made a gesture that made it clear where her mind immediately went. “Is it serious?” she asked. Amanda hoped to disguise her concern, but in that moment she was overwhelmed. It took everything she had not to scream at them. Yes, she was thinking about matching them but that was before Zaliel got wonky and Ben, well in hindsight he was still the same person she’d always known.
Ben and Zaliel laughed, though Amanda could see Zaliel was laughing in that insecure way she did when she wasn’t sure if she should be laughing. There were so many Human nuances she didn’t understand, but the reasonable part of Amanda’s brain wasn’t driving at that moment. “You two have been fucking all week while I’ve sat here and sobbed my eyes out over a shitty trip, a shitty work week, and an even shittier birthday and then fucking laugh at me for it? Fuck you,” she pointed to Ben, “and fuck you,” she pointed at Zaliel, “and double-fuck the both of you,” she finished, both middle fingers raised high at her roommate and brother. God this catharsis feels good, she thought as she slammed the apartment door dramatically on her way out.
Amanda was so angry, so bitter, so hateful in that moment she surprised herself with what she did next.