Invitation from a Long Lost Best Friend
Anne Anthony
Your invitation surprised me; not one visit since you left for college, a month after I married David. The first five years, you sent cards—birthday, thinking about you, Christmas—but school and later work kept you busy; honestly, I lost track of your address after all the job transfers, all the new cities, and all the return-to-sender stamped mail. Later, I snooped, as everyone does, on your social media. You never married, never posted about someone special, steadily posting more photos of cats than people.
Driving from the airport, I stop at the grocery store; what guest shows up empty-handed though your invitation said to bring nothing? I choose a basket, dumping in a bag of white chocolate chips, a box of pancake mix and Vermont maple syrup. Remember the gooey pancakes my mom made after our sleepovers? How you gobbled them up? Tomorrow morning, I’ll surprise you and make pancakes before your cats crawl across your blanket to wake you.
Heading down the beer aisle, I remember that night, a week before my wedding, at your parent’s house where you still lived—we shotgunned beer. You taught me how to punch a hole near the bottom and quickly cover it with my mouth before pulling the can’s tab open. Not much of the
first can got swallowed; most landed on the towels spread across your bedroom floor, but I got the hang of it around can three. I grab a six-pack just for fun.
My body freezes at the sight of the jar of maraschino cherries.
You said I needed something stronger, that I’d be a married woman soon, and pulled a jar of bourbon-soaked cherries from the refrigerator and looked up how to make a Manhattan in your father’s bartender’s guide. We dropped ten cherries in each glass, savoring their sticky sweetness as we dragged them out with our fingers, savoring each one while watching Romcom movies. When you thought I’d passed out, you whispered questions: Why David? What makes him special? Why’d you choose him?
I pretended to sleep, a coward’s choice, rather than answer the unasked question living inside those asked. Why not me?
I reverse shop. Return the syrup, pancake mix, white chocolate chips, and six-pack, leave the store empty-handed, head to my car, and text you.
Can’t make it. Sorry for the late notice. Stay in touch.
Anne Anthony tends to carry on conversations with characters inside her head. A few years back, she stopped shushing them and at last agreed to tell their stories. Sometimes, the path of least resistance sets things straight. Recent publications may be found in Bull, Gooseberry Pie Lit Magazine, Flash Boulevard, Flash Fiction Magazine, and elsewhere. Her micro-fiction, It’s a Mother Thing, was nominated for Best Microfiction 2024 by Cleaver Magazine. She is a senior editor and art director for the online literary journal, Does It Have Pockets. Find more of Anne’s writing here: https://linktr.ee/anchalastudio. Social media: IG: @anchalastudio FB: @anchalstudio