You came back with a girl.
One of your new friends had introduced the two of you, and apparently you liked her. I don't blame you; she was practically perfect. Amicable, smart and pretty. She got along with our family, our friends, strangers in the street. It was impossible to hate her. Even I couldn't do it.
I remember when the two of you first came back together, the jolt in my chest when I saw you weren't alone. I remember the look on your face, the quiet pride and muted excitement as you introduced her to everyone. And I remember the wariness in your eyes as you watched me, thinking that I couldn't see you.
I told you I was happy for you, said it out loud multiple times, as if that would make it more believable. But perhaps I was trying to convince myself more than anyone else.
We avoided each other a lot that year.
