No More Understudy For My Best Friend

I was at Landons parents house for dinner.

His mother, all graciousness and pearls, was serving him soup. Ive done a preliminary seating chart for the engagement party next month. Do you see anything you want to adjust?

My hand, poised to lift a piece of chicken, froze.

Landon took the phone and answered dismissively. "Mom, whatever you think is best."

The dining room quieted for a beat.

His mother laughed, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. "Calla, honey, why are you being shy? Weve reached this point now."

Landon finally looked up. "Mom, engagement is on the table, yes, but the bride isnt Calla.

"Delilah is coming home soon. Were going to start over."

My spoon clattered into the soup bowl, and a splash of hot liquid scalded the back of my hand.

Landons mother rushed over, dabbing my skin with a napkin. "Oh dear, Calla! This... Landon, what kind of joke is this?"

Landon put down his chopsticks. "Its not a joke. Calla knows. We had an agreement from the beginningwhen Delilah came back, wed end it."

I slowly pulled my hand away. The red burn was already starting to sting.

"Thats right," I said. "We did."

His mothers eyes were tearing up. "But your past few years..."

Landon answered for me. "It was transactional, Mom. We both got what we needed. Don't overthink it."

I nodded, lowered my head, and took a sip of the soup.

It was rich and savory, but my throat was tight, making it hard to swallow.

It felt like all the swallowed years of hurt and silent humiliation, finally, it wouldn't go down.

Landon lit a cigarette once we were in the car.

The window was half-down, and the early autumn wind whipped inside, making my eyes water.

"Are you upset?" he asked.

"No. Just surprised its happening so fast."

He exhaled a plume of smoke.

"Delilahs flight is next Wednesday. We need to clear things out before then. I have a few things at your apartment; Ill swing by tomorrow to get them."

"Okay."

"The things you left at my place, Ill have them boxed up and sent to you."

"Okay."

He was quiet for a moment. "Calla, dont be like this."

"How should I be?" I finally turned to face him. "Should I cry? Should I demand an explanation? Or should I ask you, like I did before, why you always choose her over me?"

Landon crushed out the cigarette.

"We had an agreement, Calla. From the jump."

He repeated the phrase, as if trying to convince himself.

"You remember, don't you? The day Delilah left for Europe, you came to me. I was clear: when she comes back, we stop."

I remembered.

I remembered it all too well.

I had thought I would be satisfied.

But the human heart is a greedy thing.

Five years of silent longing had made me foolishly hopeful.

What if?

"I didnt forget," I said flatly.

Landons jaw tightened. "Do you have to use that tone?"

"What tone should I use?" I laughed.

"Should I thank you for letting me be Delilah's stand-in for three years? Or thank you for finally proving that I can never win against a ghost whos been three thousand miles away?"

The car pulled up outside my apartment building.

Landon didnt unbuckle his seatbelt. He looked at me. "I won't take the apartment back; you can stay as long as you need. Ive also wired a substantial amount of money to your account. It's for your time, your..."

"Severance package?" I finished for him.

He didn't deny it.

I nodded and pushed the door open.

The night air was cool. I hugged my arms as I walked toward the building, hearing him call out behind me. "Calla!"

I looked back.

He was sitting in the car, his face flickering in the streetlamp's harsh light.

"We can still be friends," he said.

I smiled.

"Landon. The one thing Id never stoop to is being your damn friend."

The beginning of my story with Landon wasn't something I was proud of.

I was his girlfriend, Delilah's, best friend.

And Id been secretly in love with him for five long years.

I confessed my teenage crush to Delilah.

A month later, she brought Landon to me, introducing him with a dazzling, innocent smile. He was her boyfriend.

The day Delilah left for her graduate program overseas, I went to the airport to see her off.

She hugged me, crying. "Calla, keep an eye on Landon for me. Don't let any other girls get close to him."

I promised I would.

Then, I watched her walk through security, turned around, and went straight to Landon.

He was wasted that day, sobbing on my living room sofa like a puppy that had been abandoned.

I knelt in front of him, my fingers brushing away his tears.

"Landon. She doesn't want you right now. But I do."

He opened his bloodshot eyes.

Then he kissed me.

It was savage, laced with liquor and a desperate, bitter edgea raw act of vengeance against a phantom.

When he woke up the next morning, he looked at the bloodstain on the sheets and was silent for a long time.

"Calla. I don't love you."

I said I knew.

"When Delilah comes back, we stop."

I said okay.

You see, I knew it was a losing bet from the first moment.

But I played anyway.

I bet that three years would be long enough for one person to get used to another's presence.

I bet I could win against a shadow a continent away.

Clearly, I lost.

I lost everything.

The day Landon came to collect his things, Delilah was already back in Boston.

When I opened the door, she was standing there, effortlessly radiant, her arm looped through his.

"Calla, long time no see."

It had been three years. She hadn't changed at allstill bright, outgoing, like a sunflower perpetually facing the sun.

And I was already forgetting what it felt like to stand in the light.

"Come in," I said, stepping aside.

Landon didn't look at me, walking straight to the bedroom.

Delilah followed, surveying my apartment.

"The dcor is different. Didn't you use to like warmer colors?"

"People change," I said.

Landon emerged from the bedroom, holding a bag containing his clothes.

Delilah went to him and, very naturally, took the bag and looked inside, pulling out a man's shirt.

"This doesn't look like yours, hon," she said, looking at Landon.

Landon took it, looked, and then turned to me. "Why is your shirt in my bag?"

My chest ached, but I forced a casual shrug. "Must have gotten mixed in when I did your laundry."

Delilah smiled sweetly. "Be more careful next time, Calla. Landon is very particular about his clothes."

She tossed the shirt back into the bag, as if it were something dirty.

Then she seemed to remember something else. "Oh, Calla. Landon and I are having our engagement party next month. You should come, shouldn't she, Landon? You're our best friend, after all."

Landon frowned. "Delilah."

"What?" Delilah blinked innocently. "Calla wouldn't mind, right?"

I looked at Landon.

He was looking away.

"Ill see. Work might be busy."

"Where are you working again? That little ad agency?" Delilah asked.

"Still there," I said.

She gave me a look of pity.

"Still? After all this time? Should I have Landon introduce you? He needs people at his company."

"No, thank you. I'm doing fine."

Landon finally spoke. "If you ever need anything, Calla, just let me know."

"I won't," I answered quickly.

He glanced at me, his eyes unreadable.

But Delilah was already tugging his hand. "Lets go. Our parents are waiting for us for dinner."

They left.

The moment the door shut, I slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor.

My knees hit the hardwood with a dull thud.

But I didn't feel the pain.

The emptiness where my heart used to be hurt far more.

I didn't go to the engagement party.

But I received the invitation.

Landon and Delilahs names were printed side-by-side in embossed gold lettering, searing my eyes.

That day, I worked late and bought a bottle of expensive bourbon on the way home.

I drank alone in the silent apartment.

Halfway through the bottle, my phone rang.

It was Landon.

I answered but didn't speak.

His voice was slurred. "Calla. Why didn't you come?"

"Didn't want to. Do you need anything else? Im tired."

He was silent for a moment. "I'm downstairs."

I walked to the window.

The familiar luxury sedan was indeed parked on the street.

He was leaning against the car door, holding his phone, looking up toward my window.

The groom-to-be, in his tuxedo, was outside his ex-lover's apartment.

How utterly pathetic.

"Come down. We need to talk."

"Talk about what?" I asked. "How the groom-to-be drank too much at his own party and suddenly remembered he had a spare woman he used for three years?"

He inhaled sharply. "Calla, stop it."

I laughed, a harsh, dry sound. "How else should I be? Landon, you should be holding your fiance right now, not harassing me."

"I don't want to get engaged," he suddenly said.

I froze.

"What?"

"I don't want to get engaged," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

"But I cantDelilah, her family theyve helped me so much. The company needs their resources right now"

I cut him off. "So youre calling to tell me how conflicted you are? How much of a victim you are?"

"I just" He paused. "I feel awful about what I did to you."

That sentence was the final straw.

I snapped.

I screamed into the phone. "Landon! You feel awful now? For three years, you used me as her replacement, you called me her name, you even asked me, in bed, why I couldn't be more like herand now you feel awful?"

"I"

I was crying, choking on my breath. "Do you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that I knew you didn't love me, I knew you were just using me to fill a void, but I was so damn pathetic I loved you anyway!"

"Calla"

"Get out!" I shrieked. "Go back to your engagement party! Go back to Delilah! I hope I never have to see you again!"

I hung up and turned off my phone.

Then I sank to the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

Five years of longing, three years of sacrifice.

Eight years of my life, exchanged for his pathetic "I feel awful" and someone elses gold-embossed wedding invitation.

I took a sick day.

My eyes were too swollen to face anyone, so I just slept.

In the evening, the doorbell rang.

I assumed it was a delivery, but when I opened the door, it was Delilah.

She was holding a sleek gift box, smiling brightly. "You missed the party yesterday. This is your gift box."

I didnt take it.

"Is there something else you need?"

She pushed past me, stepping inside and looking around.

"Arent you going to invite me to sit down?"

I stood in the doorway. "Thanks for the gift. You can go now."

"Whats the rush?" She sat on the sofa and opened the box. "Want to try one? This brand of dark chocolateLandon picked it specifically. He said you liked dark chocolate."

I stared at her.

The smugness of the victor was unconcealed on her face.

"Delilah. Just tell me what you came here to gloat about."

She smiled. "Calla, youre always so direct."

She stood up and walked toward me.

"Fine, Ill be direct. Thank you for looking after Landon for me all these years.

"Hes a little boy, really. Needs to be coddled. It must have been hard for you while I was gone.

"But Im back now, so you dont have to worry about it anymore."

"Oh, and one more thing," she added, her smile fading slightly. "Landon came looking for you last night, didn't he?"

I stayed silent.

"He was drunk and talking nonsense. Don't take it to heart. We're getting married. We can still be friends, right?"

I looked at the hand she extended.

Her nails were manicured and painted a pale pink lacquer.

Exactly the color Landon loved.

"No," I said.

Her face stiffened.

"Delilah, not everything in this world can be fixed with 'Im sorry' or 'Lets still be friends.'

"You took the person I loved most, and now you want me to smile and wish you well? Why should I?"

"Took him?" She raised an eyebrow. "Calla, Landon was always mine. You just took advantage of my absence."

I nodded. "Youre right. I deserved this."

I met her eyes. "But don't get too comfortable. A man who can sleep with another woman for three years behind your backdo you really think he loves you all that much?"

Delilahs face finally fell completely.

"At least he's marrying me," she said, each word deliberate. "Calla, you'll always be the understudy."

She left.

The moment the door closed, I leaned against the wall and laughed.

I laughed, and then the tears started again.

She was right.

The understudy.

For three years, I had lived a joke.

I couldn't sleep.

Nights turned into blank, agonizing stretches. The moment I closed my eyes, Landon's face was there.

Sometimes the boy on the basketball court who smiled at me for the first time.

Sometimes the man who cried in my arms when he was drunk.

Sometimes the cold Landon who said, "When Delilah comes back, we stop."

They rotated, tearing my fragile peace to shreds.

I went to a doctor.

The diagnosis was mild depression. Recommended rest, recommended moving away from the source of stress.

I laughed.

Source of stress?

Landon was the stress.

But the city of Boston was huge, and everywhere I looked, there were traces of him.

The restaurants we frequented, the stores we browsed, even the corner bodega had a memory attached to it.

I decided to leave.

When I submitted my resignation, my boss was surprised. "Calla, you're doing great work. Why leave now?"

"Need a change of scenery," I said.

He probed. "Did you find a better offer? We can discuss salary."

I shook my head.

It wasn't about the money.

It was about survival.

If I stayed, I was afraid I would genuinely break.

The day I packed up my desk, a quiet colleague I rarely spoke to slipped me a small piece of paper with a phone number on it.

"My friend runs a counseling center," she whispered. "Call if you need to."

I clutched the paper, my nose stinging with emotion.

Even a near-stranger could see I was falling apart.

And Landon, who slept next to me for three years, never noticed when I was unhappy, when I was crying.

Because he never cared.

Those who don't care, don't look closely.

The day before I left Boston, I went to the bank.

I wired the substantial sum Landon had deposited, every penny, back to his account.

The note attached to the transfer was just one word: Settled.

Then I deleted every form of contact I had for him.

Phone, texts, email, social media.

When I got to the last app, my finger hovered over the confirmation button.

I didn't press it.

I told myself to leave one open.

Just one window, so I could look in and see how spectacularly happy he was.

See how the life I'd desperately dreamed of was so easily acquired by another person.

It was pathetic.

But humans are like that: the thing that hurts us the most, we need to stare at.

As if watching the poison work will eventually make us immune.

That evening, I got an unknown call.

I answered. It was Landon.