Beads of condensation crawled down the side of Anya’s half-empty plastic cup, pooling in the bottom of the cup holder. She picked up the drink with a delicate hand, the liquid transferring to the pads of her fingers as she sipped on the peach-flavoured tea. She did not like the sensation and quickly wiped them on the hem of her shirt. Sitting in the passenger seat, her best friend, Talia, smiled at the passing cars, sometimes even earning one in return when traffic came to a hold.
“He stomps his foot against the break, face creasing with impatience,” Talia narrated, procuring a small smile from Anya. “A velvet ring box weighs down his jean pocket, the feeling causing a string of nerves to tangle themselves around his limbs. Please say yes, he thinks, as the light turns green.”
Following along with Talia’s commentary, Anya pressed her foot against the gas pedal, pulling ahead of the well-dressed man tapping his pale fingers against his leather steering wheel. She wondered what it was about his expression that made Talia plot out a proposal for his story. When she had looked at him, all she had managed to notice was a faint tracing of stumble grazing his jaw and a scar beneath his right eyebrow.
“I think you may have been wrong about that one,” Anya stated. “I doubt he’s on his way to become engaged.”
Talia sighed, dreamily, the back of her head meeting the seat’s headrest. The passenger-side window was slightly ajar and a frigid breeze blew into the car. The wind whipped around Talia’s head, sending strings of blonde hair into a whirl. They fluttered and looped around the crown of her head, occasionally tangling on her earring backings. She looked like an angel. “Your imagination cannot be wrong, merely too prolific for the confines of reality.”
Anya wondered where her seventeen-year-old best friend got these ideas from. She considered voicing the thought, but they had encountered another red light and Talia’s eyes were already roaming around the scene beyond the window. Her gaze stopped on a silver minivan, filled with three rambunctious children–all younger than the age of eight–who appeared to be fighting over a takeout bag. The lady driving the car pressed a palm to her temple.
“The rarest treasure money can buy–a strawberry-glazed donut larger than the size of a kitten–is in reach, but who will be the one to outsmart the rest and claim the prize?” Talia deepened her voice as if she was recording the introduction of a drama. “The three competitors each try to pry the paper bag from the other’s grasp, settling on the same strategy: force. But little do they know that their own mother is plotting the betrayal of the century, and, in time, will take the delectable treat all for herself.”
Anya watched with intrigue, wondering if, this time, Talia’s tale would come true.
It did not.
Her green eyes burned through the window of the van, only to see the woman sigh before speaking a set of exasperated words. She must have asked the children to share the contents of the bag because they each reached into the crumpled bundle one by one and obtained a greasy paper container of fries.
“I liked your version better,” Anya said.
“It was more exciting, wasn’t it?” Her best friend beamed, folding her knees up to her chest. They were nearly at their destination: a small cottage-style home on the outskirts of the city.
The GPS navigated Anya to take a left, then a right, until the cars previously crammed into traffic had dispersed. Anya wondered if Talia could feel the emptiness settling throughout the car, even if nobody had left, yet. It was a sort of ominous feeling, one that made Anya want to suddenly stop thinking about the future.
They pulled into the newly-painted driveway of the house–the lawn flourishing with brightly coloured roses–but both girls remained rigid in their seats. I will miss you hung in the air, but neither Anya nor Talia made a move to grab it, fearing the finality of the four words.
Instead, Talia whispered, “I’m going to tell you a story.”
Anya forced a half-hearted smile. “Is it fictional?”
Talia shook her head, eyes glimmering. “It will be the truest tale to fall from my lips.”
“Go ahead, then.”
“Okay,” Talia breathed. “A girl sits beside her best friend in a beat-up Toyota Camry. Change looms ahead of them in the form of a red brick house with a bold SOLD sign sticking out from the lawn. She stares at her best friend with fondness, and remembers all of the thrilling memories they have together. With certainty, she swallows down words of farewell because she knows this moment is nowhere close to the end of their friendship. And she hopes her friend–whom she loves so dearly–agrees.”
Tears pooled in Anya’s eyes. “She does.”
Ksenia Martynova is a self-proclaimed bibliophile from Canada. She’s currently a student at Emma Willard School and enjoys spending her evenings writing stories of her own or enjoying the works of others, alongside a glass of iced tea or coffee.