Once You Were My Friend

Eight Months Later (December 2024)

The tinsel hung over the front door step and the tops of each window, along with lush plastic wreaths entwined with a string of lights that were the source of incandescence around and inside the house. Electronic candles were fitted in every nook and corners of the room. It smelt of ginger, citrus and cinnamon; a sign that Tamo had made his famous sangria and gingerbread for the guests to decorate. They were going to make these Christmas parties an annual thing from what Em had told Nami over Thanksgiving. And a thing it was; the house was filled with indistinct chatter and low music, soft in its bass. Greenery draped around the house as the Christmas tree adorned in charms tucked away in the corner of the room by the front window. Around the house, on coffee tables and the kitchen counter were trays of catered food Em had rearranged in vintage bowls and plates she had thrifted from goodwill. Their new house in Brooklyn was narrow but was spacious enough for parties. Upstairs, people loitered and queued for the bathroom.

          Nami was looking at the tree Em had decorated with colourful orbs and ornaments, pictures that used to be on their fridge from a long time ago made its return hung by tiny frames, suspended by jute yarn. She took a sip of her wine and let the stem rest between her fingers.

          The Christmas party had a very interesting Evite, but most suitable of the married couple: it looked like a club invitation with Em sitting on a large throne-like chair, and Tamo on the foreground, holding bottles of champagne, both of them wearing overly large sunglasses over their eyes. The flash of the disposable film brightened their faces against the shadowed background. That photo was taken by Samantha on New Year's last year. Nami didn't attend, but remembered the pictures being a definition of how one celebrates the birth of a New Year. The house had already filled with guests and Nami had come late, coming from her parents' house and missed the earlier train.

          Two months ago, Nami had moved out from home, out from New Jersey, out from Red Bank and into a very tiny apartment in Queens above a bodega shop. A home her parents didn't own or have their claws sunk into and a place she didn't have to feel beholden to them or accounted to. She could pay her own rent, be diligent with her bills, and account herself without having anything to fall back onto. It may have been rough at times, but it didn't matter because her life was finally hers and she earned it.

          She moved through the Brooklyn house like a ghost, blending in enough becoming unnoticeable. She didn't mind it. It used to be something detrimental and appealing, like she wanted to be noticed how mysterious and ghostly she was, but not anymore. Showing up to a party only to leave felt like the wrong thing to do now, especially if it were an invitation to her friend's house. For example, when people greeted her, she found it refreshing and normal, being able to hold conversations without slight disinterest. Introducing herself to some new faces she hadn't seen before was a pleasant exchange, in fact it rejuvenated her. She was met with a couple, Lin and Manuel. Lin was a seamstress and Manuel was a stage director in theatre. They were new friends of Em and Tamo, who had met each other from mutual friends of a similar industry. That was an interesting thing she noted: once married, married people become friends with other married people like an exclusive club. She guessed it was a stage of life thing that people needed to do. Nami couldn't understand it, but she was open to this idea that it may be a stage in her life she could achieve. For now, she was starting her life anew, she supposed. Regardless of this fact, it didn't take away from her friendship with Em. They'd always be close, no matter how far or how different their lives would be - that had always been the two of them.

          Wedding pictures of Em and Tamo were adorned in mismatched frames by the fireplace, making it more personal and kitschier. Some photos were black and white, most were in colour and two pictures were taken in motion blur. She turned around when Em had snuck an arm around her waist, "Merry Christmas, bestie."