The Unfriending

"I can't be your friend anymore." I stood next to Helen's red front door as her facial muscles migrated from a forced smile to shock. She didn't like surprise visits, even from her best friend.

"What's wrong?" said she.

"It's cold. May I come in?"

"Of course. I have the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea? You see, I'm being gracious despite what you said."

"No tea." I stared at my feet.

"Well, would you like to sit down?"

"No. I need to stay standing." We faced each other in her foyer.

"What do you think I've done?"

I thrust the one-page government paper toward her.

"What's that?" Helen treated the paper like a hot stove and wouldn't touch it.

I withdrew my arm from the neutral zone and said, "Joe's being deported. My daughter is an absolute mess. My granddaughter is going to lose her dad."

"Oh, no." Helen drew her hands to her face.

"Our family is being separated, and I'm holding you responsible. You voted for him, and I can't forgive you." My eyes bored into hers—my outrage had found an outlet.

The electric kettle rumbled on the kitchen counter, and then it clicked. Helen snapped our link of anger and walked to the kitchen. As I heard her preparations—the cutlery drawer opening and closing, the spoon into the loose tea, the strainer placed onto the cup, and the hot water pouring—I paced the great room. 

How long would I stay? Did I expect a response or regret? Would anything she'd say be helpful? Would she try to change my mind?

I gazed upon the infinity scarf I'd knitted that hung on the hallway hook. That yarn was my favorite combination of colors and wasn't available anymore. Now, I resented the time I spent creating it for her.

Strolling to her bookshelf, I spotted a photo of us on a girls' weekend on the coast. We'd watched the puffins fluttering and fishing for hours, an unforgettable getaway. On that trip, she'd shared that she was about to leave Mac, but then Mac Jr. went into rehab. She stayed to be a united front for their son.

Helen brought two cups of tea to the coffee table, even though I'd refused her offer. She sat and said, "Can we talk this through a bit? I think our thirty-year friendship is worth that."

I didn't know how to respond, but shuffled to the sofa and sat. 

"I love your daughter and her family, just like my own. I don't want them separated. I didn't vote for that."

"But you did. It's part of the package deal."

"You know I'm not a political person. My vote was just a protest vote against our town's homeless crisis, drug use, and crime. You and I avoid talking politics. Can't we just stick with that?"

"Not when Joe is being sent back to a country he doesn't know, a language he doesn't speak." My spit sprayed the air between us as I spat out the words. "Sorry." I tapped my mouth with the napkin from the table. I lifted the tea to my lips and noted that Helen had added half-and-half just how I liked it.

After a pause, I continued. "Look, I don't know what I hoped to accomplish here. I just didn't want to ghost you, as the kids say. But I wanted you to know why I have to stay away."

"I know you need someone to blame, and I'm convenient, but my vote didn't make a difference. Our state delegates went all for her, so my vote didn't really count. I understand you're angry—"

"Don't patronize me." I blasted out of my seat like a rocket. "I think I need to go."

"I was going to say Mac will know an excellent immigration attorney. Of course, I don't know Joe's particulars, but maybe a good lawyer can stall things a bit while his paperwork gets in order so that Joe can stay."

"That's helpful, actually." My shoulders relaxed a bit.

Helen patted the sofa cushion, and I sat down again. She went to the kitchen, placed some shortbread cookies on a plate, and put them on the table between us. 

"We have difficult years ahead," said Helen. "Personally, I think we're going to need each other. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't given me your shoulder when MJ went to rehab."

I nodded. "I'll always be grateful for your support during my cancer bout. Thank you. That doesn't change, but how do I get past your vote for him, Helen?" My head bowed and shook.

"Maybe we pause. We wait. It's the hardest thing to do, isn't it? But we can't know the future, can we?"

"I don't know…" I reached toward the plate of cookies and bent one in half, breaking it. Dipping the broken shard into the tea, it dropped and swirled to the bottom. I took a sip and welcomed the sugary hit.

 My phone buzzed, and I saw a text from my daughter, Kay. I opened it.

"Hopeful news! Joe says the Dreamers Resource Center at school is helping. Stay tuned," texted Kay. Joe and others brought here as children by their parents formed a coalition.

I long-pressed the text and hearted it. Helen had dashed off to the kitchen when I got distracted by my phone. She had a thing about people looking at their devices when they're with company. 

Selfishly, I didn't share the text information with Helen. I didn't want to let her off the hook.

Helen sauntered back to her place on the couch. "Will it help if I express regret? I'm sorry this letter happened. I'll talk to Mac tonight about attorney recommendations. What else can I do?" 

Helen tilted her head and looked straight into my eyes, which brimmed with tears. I twisted the napkin in my lap, mirroring how my gut felt.

"How will I face my daughter if we remain friends? This is an ‘us vs. them' situation with her generation."

"I know." Helen closed her eyes in resignation.

"Right now, I share Kay's feelings. This is goodbye, but I'll welcome a text of lawyer names from you. Maybe that will be a bridge to the future, but I don't know."

"Well, I have to accept that for now. Just know I'm here with a hot cup of tea if you change your mind. You'll all be in my prayers tonight and every night."

A surge of emotion welled up from a place deep inside me, and I didn't want to erupt in front of Helen. Before losing control, I picked up my purse and bolted toward the front door.

My hand reached out and grabbed the infinity scarf on my way out.