Vicky was intrusive. She was the type of person to bulldoze her way into anything. Our becoming BFFs started because she decided that we were friends. There was nothing organic about our bond. It was forced. It was all-encompassing. It was perfect.
We met at a cemetery three years ago, a grim start to a beautiful friendship. I was doing research on a cold case and wanted to take some photos of a victim’s tombstone for my true crime podcast. I stumbled upon her crying at her mother’s grave. I might not have had a tombstone to weep at, but we found common ground regardless. She decided we were friends right on the spot, and I just kind of went along with it because Vicky intimidated me. I vividly remember my first impression of her. Vicky seemed strong and gorgeous and outgoing. She simply grabbed my hand, waltzed us out of the cemetery, and informed me that we would meet there again the following Thursday. We'd been meeting every Thursday ever since.
I checked on the two occupied tables in the diner, making sure they didn't need anything, before wiping down the counter and heading back to Vicky and her bodyguard.
"Sit down," she said while patting the seat next to her. "We have fifteen minutes before your shift ends, and I want to soak up as much time as possible with you."
I slid into the booth and ignored the grumpy guy sitting across from us. I learned early on that I just had to get used to talking about my life while someone blatantly listened in. It wasn’t so bad. He was stone cold, an emotionless statue that never responded. Even when I told Vicky about the time I lost my virginity, he never said a word. He never reacted. He knew just as much about me as Vick did. Sometimes I wondered what he thought about me.
"So, how was your last podcast?" Vicky asked with a grin.
"The podcast did great," I beamed. "I’m up to fifty subscribers."
Vicky pinched her lips together, trying desperately not to laugh. "A whole fifty, huh?"
"Your best friend is a celebrity, Vick," I teased. I ran a very small passion project podcast where I talked about true crime. What started as a coping mechanism turned into an obsession. I might not know what happened to my own mother, but I found closure by researching and discussing other victims. "I got an email about it, actually. A legit fan email."
Vicky curled her fist and rested it under her chin. "What did they want?" She leaned in excitedly.
"Well, you know how this week was about the 1946 Phantom Killer?" I asked.
"Of course," Vicky lied. "I listen to all your super, hella creepy-as-fuck podcasts right before bed so I can have awesome nightmares." She gave me a broad grin to accentuate her point.
Her bodyguard cleared his throat.
I replied with a smile, placing my hand over my chest. "Thank you for your dedication to my passion project. Anyway. I got an email from [email protected] asking me if I wanted to suck his phantom cock."
Vicky tipped back her head and laughed. "What does that even mean?" she choked out through bursts of bright laughter.
"I think he has a ghost dick," I deadpanned. "I kind of want to see it."
"You should absolutely marry this man. Then you can have little ghost babies."
I grabbed her hands and giggled. "You’ll be my maid of honor, right?"
The conversation turned serious when Vicky replied, "I'd be offended if you didn't ask, and then I'd kill whoever you picked instead of me." I forced a smile and giggled, not sure if she was joking or not.
"Oh my Hemsworth!" she exclaimed. "I wouldn’t actually do that!"
"That’s what all the murderers say. Maybe I’ll pick someone else for my phantom cock wedding just so you’ll kill them, and I’ll have an epic story for my podcast," I replied jokingly.
"Then you’ll have fifty-one subscribers!" she replied with a wink.
We both laughed once more, and I felt the weight of my stressful week melt from my body. Vicky and I only spent one day per week together, but it was very precious to me. Our time together meant a great deal to me.
I didn’t let very many people in. Most of the time, it was Grams and I against the world. I’d just graduated high school a few weeks ago and couldn’t tell you anything personal about my peers. Don’t get me wrong, I could force a smile and make small talk with the best of them, but at the end of the day, I kept my circle small. It was easier that way. The fewer people you had in your heart, the fewer opportunities you had for loss.
"How’s your Grams?" Vicky then asked. My good humor slipped, and her bodyguard tilted his head to listen to my answer. Always listening, my stranger.
"Her Parkinson’s is getting bad. She dropped a pot of water the other day, and I was so freaked out. Thank fuck she hadn’t started cooking yet. What if it was boiling? I can’t ever tell if it’s her medicine making her sick or her actual Parkinson’s. And her doctor is a piece of shit. It’s hard getting an appointment, and then he sits with her for two minutes. Barely asks her any questions, then writes a prescription and sends us a bill."
Vicky reached out and patted my arm. She had a vacant look in her eyes, but her mouth was twisted into a pitied frown. "I can’t imagine how hard that is."
I cleared my throat. "I’m just constantly worried about her falling. She has more good days than bad, but I get anxious. I started making all her meals for the day in the morning."
"Have you considered that place we talked about? You’re going to have to find something before you go to college," Vicky asked. She’d brought me a brochure for an assisted living place for Grams a few weeks ago. Eventually, my grandmother would need a lot more help. Parkinson’s was a nasty disease that affected her nervous system. She trembled constantly and was already struggling to speak.
The brochure was nice, and I even took the bus there to look around last week. But the truth was, even if I could afford a place like that, I didn’t feel like I could leave her. Grams took me in after Mom...disappeared. She held me the night Mom didn’t show up after her shift at the grocery store. She dragged me to the police department when we couldn’t get a hold of her the next morning. She called the news stations when the police didn’t prioritize Mom’s missing persons case. She helped me research. Grams never gave up on Mom. She was my greatest advocate and protector. I didn’t want to abandon her now.
"They have a spa and a twenty-four-hour nurse. She’d have her own apartment, and the food apparently is amazing," Vicky added, proud of herself for researching.
The home was also seven thousand dollars a month. I didn’t have that kind of money. I refused to tell Vicky that I was already planning on attending college part-time online so I could stay home and take care of Grams. My best friend was so determined for me to go out and make something of myself. I wanted the full college experience, but it just wasn’t an option for me. "I went to look at it," I replied.
"And you loved it, right?" she asked with bright eyes.
The bodyguard shifted in his seat and grumbled something under his breath.
"I’m really thankful you took the time to research that," I evaded. Vicky liked being helpful, she just sometimes lived in her own dream world of opportunity. We were from opposite sides of town. Money wasn’t really a problem for her.