A Friendship Tested by Time
Emily and I have been friends since secondary schoolYear 7, to be exact, when she moved into our neighbourhood. Back then, I didnt have many close friends in class. Most of the girls orbited around the schools beauty, Lucy Harrington, whose father was a university professor. The rest of us, myself included, kept to ourselves.
I didnt idolise Lucy, but I didnt pick fights either, preferring to stay neutral. While Lucys clique sized up the new girlchecking her family backgroundI took Emily under my wing. Naturally, I filled her in about Lucy and her followers.
*”Why are you alone? Rebelling?”* Emily asked me.
*”Not really. I just like my own company. But suit yourself. If youd rather be friends with them, I wont mind.”*
Emily chose me. We werent bulliedjust ignored. I showed her around school, explained the teachers quirks, and clued her in on the class dynamics. Ironically, Lucythe professors daughternever followed in her fathers footsteps. I once spotted her working in a boutique, pretending not to recognise me.
Emily excelled in school, outshining me, andin my eyeswas prettier too. As a teenager, I hated my reflection: too plump, too busty, with short legs and wild, curly hair. A proper ugly duckling. Emily, though, had smooth blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a perfect figure, and long, graceful legs.
Years later, she confessed shed envied mebelieving *I* was the pretty one.
We grew inseparable, even planning to attend the same university. But her mother pushed her toward economics, while I dreamed of becoming a surgeon. We argueddidnt speak for three daysbut made up because life apart was unbearable. In the end, we pursued our own paths, meeting less often but talking for hours when we did.
In her second year, Emily fell for a classmate, gushing endlessly. Meanwhile, I wrestled with Latin and anatomy, too busy for romance. By her third year, she had an abortionher parents never knewand in her fourth, she got pregnant again. I disliked the boyfriend, begged her not to marry him, but she wouldnt listen. Her parents ensured she wouldnt be a single mother.
By my sixth year, I abandoned surgery for gastroenterologyless stress. Emily and I lost touch, but fate reunited us one day. Shed gained weight, pushing a pram with a rosy-cheeked girl. I eyed her rounded belly.
*”Husband wants a boy,”* she said, noticing my glance.
She was shocked I was still single, admitting shed once feared being overlookedhence the rush to marry. *Silly girl.* We promised to stay in touch.
A year after her sons birth, her husband left.
*”He called me a cow. Said I trapped him with kids,”* she sobbed.
*”You shouldve told me soonerId have helped you lose weight,”* I scolded.
She looked roughsweatpants, hair in a scraggly ponytail, her once-bright eyes dull. I gently suggested self-care.
*”Youre still prettyand still alone,”* she shot back. I didnt take offense.
Years passed. Her son, Oliver, started school; her daughter, Lily, discovered boys. I had flings but no marriage. No regretsjust life.
Then, at a medical conference in Edinburgh, I noticed a manAlexanderstaying next door. Instant connection. Over wine, he mentioned a new clinic in our city, run by a friend.
*”Should I take the job?”* he asked.
*”Your choice,”* I said lightly.
On the last night, distracted by farewells, I left without goodbyes. He never asked for my number. *His loss.*
Two months later, Emily called, giddy. *”Come over!”*
I brought sweets for the kids, ice cream, and wine. Emily glowednew haircut, slimmer, eyes sparkling.
*”Youre in love,”* I guessed.
*”Met the most wonderful man”* Her description matched Alexander.
*”Hes perfect,”* she sighed.
Oliver was at his grandparents; Lily was out with friends. Over wine, Emily revealed shed left banking for the new clinic.
*”He offered me a lift home, carried my bags”*
*”And?”* I pressed.
*”Nothing yet. But its only a matter of time.”*
*”Does he even like you?”* I asked, hiding relief. *”Whats his name?”*
*”Alexander. Alexander Whitmore.”*
Ice flooded my veins. *No coincidences.*
At her birthday party, Alexander recognised me instantly. Emily watched, jealous, as we spoke.
*”Why leave?”* he asked, chasing me outside. *”I moved here for you.”*
Emily called, furious. *”You stole him!”*
We argued like schoolgirls.
*”Let me have him,”* she pleaded. *”Youll find someone else.”*
But Alexander wasnt interested in her. Still, I refused to betray my friend.
Weeks later, Emily visited. *”He likes you. I wont interfere.”*
We cried, drank, and reconciled.
Alexander and I grew close. He proposed two months later. Emily attended my weddingwith a date of her own.
I got pregnant quicklyno reason to wait. Emily soothed my fears, remaining my confidante.
Our friendship survived the test. They say two womens bond lasts only until a man comes between thembut ours endured. True friendship isnt about possession; its about wanting happiness for each other, even when paths diverge.
