The Beautiful Truth

•• 108

The first thing Micki noticed about her best friend was her eyes.

The girl had songs written about her eyes—bottomless blue, California eyes. At least that's how he'd put it before, and before that dumb shit was probably right, but now, now Sawyer's eyes looked like concrete. Still blue, but less...hopeful.

Micki got it—they talked on the phone almost every day, so she'd heard it in her voice, but seeing it on Sawyer's face was so different. So heartbreaking.

This was her best friend—the friend that had helped her through so much, without even knowing that she was doing it, and now Sawyer needed her and Micki had no idea what to do. What could she say?

Probably best not to start with 'hey, guess what, the new album sucks' even though by 'it sucks' she would've meant 'it's the saddest, most bitterly angry song-writing I have ever heard, and by the way, Barton Black is an asshole.'

Instead, Micki just smiled widely at the sight of her best friend as she rounded the corner of the facility's airy, light-filled lobby.

Sawyer looked up just then, and gave one of her half-hearted smiles. Micki sighed internally. Her best friend was an awful actress.

"Heyyyy!!" Micki cheered, crossing the lobby with outstretched arms.

"Micki! Ah, I've missed you," Sawyer greeted her cheerfully and hugged her a while longer than Micki expected. SF wasn't much one for hugs, but then again, she probably needed one.

"Woah, Jesus, SF," she stepped back and held on to the tops of her best friend's arms. "You feel like you're made of concrete!"

"Oh," Sawyer stepped backwards a pace and looked down at herself as if she didn't know her own body. "It's living with Chase and Travis," she admitted, slightly blushing.

Micki laughed gently, aware of Sawyer's discomfort. "Well, you look great," she assured her. And she really did—if people around O'meara could call Micki 'Summertime Skipper' then Sawyer was definitely 'Summertime Courtney'...maybe even 'Summertime Teresa' because she looked more gorgeous than a cute kid sister.

"Thanks," Sawyer grinned. "So do you. It's good to see you."

Micki twirled around. "Much better than the last time you saw me, right?"

Sawyer cringed, although she hadn't meant for her to see. "Micki, I—"

"Hey, I'm fine, and I love you, and everything's gonna be OK, and that's the end of it, all right?" Micki finished with a genuine, dazzling smile.

Sawyer gave her the reaction she wanted—she rolled her eyes, rocked back on her heels and reluctantly smiled. "Well, where to? It's your town, I'm just the driver."

"Oooh, I bet your Beamer is far nicer than Palm Springs public transportation," Micki beamed, suddenly bounding forward and looping her arm through her best friend's.

"Can we go get some real food? I need something greasier than asparagus and salmon," Sawyer groaned.

Micki scoffed, turning to the familiar woman behind the desk. "Val, I'm taking my long-lost best friend to Matchbox. Be back later, kay?"

Val smiled. Micki thought, not for the first time, that Val should've been a movie star, rather than a retired nurse working as a rehab facility's medical admin assistant. Then again, everyone in Palm Springs looked like that.

"We'll leave a light on for you, Micki," Val assured her. "Nice to meet you, Sawyer. I've heard all about you."

Before Sawyer could protest, Micki whisked her through the glass doors and into the circle drive entrance, where the Beamer was still parked.

"God that's a gorgeous machine," Micki sighed.

Sawyer wrinkled her nose and shook her head, walking around to the driver's side. "Right. So the receptionist knows about me?"

Micki laughed. Sawyer was nothing if not reliably predictable. Or maybe Micki just knew her better than she knew most other people. "That's Val," she explained, watching Sawyer as she started the car with the push of a button. "She's like my second mom. They're all kind of like family now."

Sawyer smiled, pulling out onto the main road.

"Take a left at the light," Micki instructed. "I'll be sad to leave here in a few weeks."

Sawyer already knew the story—Micki had been cleared to leave weeks ago. But, going home to Nevada had never even crossed her mind. She enjoyed the solitude of living on her own in the center—no roommate for her to resent for not being Sawyer—and she'd wanted to continue her therapy. It was helping. So, she'd convinced her parents to let her stay for the rest of the summer and had taken one class, then another, and then two more at UC Riverside, and suddenly, it was like she'd figured herself out. Between the solitude and the talk therapy and the art classes, and the occasional weekday visit from Alex when he could take a break from the studio in LA, Micki felt as if she'd discovered some critical element of herself that before, she hadn't even known was missing. Of course that's when Dr. Roark had declared her free to come and go as she pleased, but she kept up her appointments. She'd told her parents she did so because, well, they were paying for it, she may as well use it, but the truth was, she liked the routine of it. And the company.

"Although I can't wait to come back to Berkeley," she continued. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, babe," Sawyer said, making the turn onto Palm Canyon.

They were both thinking it—how was she going to hang out with Alex and Sawyer. But, if Micki had learned anything from being here all summer it was this:

One day at a time.